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Looking for a male German short haired pointer? My best friends husband bought he one as a surprise gift only for her to find out he has not been faithful. She is from the east coast and wants to move back home,driving cross country alone, and can’t bring the dog with her. She wants to find a loving home for him before she starts her drive back. If this isn’t allowed go ahead and delete it just thought I’d try! She doesn’t want him to go to a shelter. I’m not sure how old he is. Under 6 months I would assume.

Confirmed travel the next few months. Graciously accepting any recommendations on theaters and other similar businesses that I should check out along the way, as well as tips and advice for my first visit!
June 10-June 14 Puerto Rico June 17 Lehigh Valley June 18 Berlin, NJ June 19-23 Las Vegas, NV June 23-27 Vancouver, Wa & Portland, Or July 3 Atlantic City July 8-9 Virginia July 14-17 Miami, FL Exxxotica July 22-24 Memphis, TN & Arkansas July 30-Aug 1 San Diego, Ca Aug 4- Aug 8 Las Vegas, NV ASN Awards August 11-14 St. Petersburg, FL Fetishcon November 3-6 Edison, NJ Exxxotica November 11 Virginia December 1-4 Washington DC Exxxotica

I've tried selling this thing for weeks now on Facebook Marketplace, eventually at just 1 cent because I just genuinely want it out of my hair. And I cannot find any takers. I want someone to just take it instead of throwing it out because honestly, I'm deeply nervous about what would happen if I did. But if this advertisement proves to be just as fruitless, I will do it despite my nervousness because my mind just can't take this anymore otherwise I'm afraid I'm going to have a psychological break with reality and need to be sedated.
I grew up originally in Northern California near Mt. Shasta, and four years ago I moved to the Big Island of Hawaii after I got a new job working for the university located in Hilo as an adjunct. The search for a place to rent where I could garden in the backyard took a while, but the wait was worth it. Gardening is like comfort food for my soul, and always has been ever since I was a little girl. My mom brought me up doing it, and I took to it immediately when I was just 3 or 4 she always liked to remind me.
I suppose the reason I wanted to leave California was the fact that she wasn't there anymore, that the last piece or vestige of my family was gone and I was all that was left of the life we used to have out there. I remember the day everything was packed up for the movers and ready to go, I walked outside to wait for a friend to pick me up to take me to the airport. As I sat there on my porch, I saw an elderly man walking in front of my front yard. It was an old friend of my mom's from the neighborhood. He had been very kind to me at her funeral as he had just lost his wife himself. We both waved at each other and I got up to chat with him one last time.
As it turned out, he was there to give me a going away present. It was a batch of strange seeds in a small sack. Some were colored burgundy, others indigo, and still others ivory with fascinating patterns on them. In total, there were 19 by my count. He said that before his wife passed away, she had originally intended to give them to my mom. Apparently, during one of their hiking trips around the mountain, the two of them kept stopping to see if someone was following them. Every time they would, some tree would rustle or a bush would make a quick, sharp noise indicating some sort of disturbance. Towards the end of their hike, they stopped one final time only for them to turn around and notice that someone had left this dingy little sack of seeds on a rotted out tree stump they had just passed. In other words, there was no question at that point that they had been followed.
For what reason? He couldn't say, though obviously the implication was that whoever it was wanted them to have these seeds. His wife died soon after that, before she could pass them along to my mother. He said he was hesitant to part with them after she died, but felt extremely guilty having waited too long to give them to my mom. Now that I was heading to Hawaii, he thought he ought to just give them to me instead of continuing to keep them. Other than that, he told me to be very careful with them, to specifically pour them out into the ground from the sack instead of touching them myself. And I wondered why. Like it's such an oddly specific thing to bring up about them.
Regardless.
I took them gratefully and thanked him for the gift and said that my mother would have loved them. Now, I'm not so sure she would have.
It was only a week or so after I had finally unpacked everything in my new place that I decided to garden again. And the first thing I planted, of course, were the seeds once meant for my mom. In memory of her. It was only one I put in the ground because honestly I wasn’t exactly sure how big this thing was going to grow to be. I wasn’t even sure what exactly this thing was even going to grow to be either. Turns out, it’s a vegetable… of some kind. I think. It’s almost like a yam? Like with the same texture and everything but with bright orange skin… and fur in strange places? Also, another thing, it’s like a yam but at the time of writing this it has most definitely grown beyond the size of a typical yam. Basically it’ll increase in size every week or so by a half a foot by my measure. Also, every time it grows by that much, another bulbous root pops out and burrows itself beneath.
And oh yeah there are little blue flowers (or what I guess you could call flowers) growing out of little nooks and crannies and just random spots all over. I’m not sure what to say. I have yet to identify it. If one of you reading this can, then good for you, would you like to take it off my hands in that case? Please? Okay well, I guess I better finally explain why I want this damn thing out of here. I’ve already ostracized myself at work trying to get people to take it, as well as trying to explain what makes me hate the thing, so what harm will come from making a bunch of internet strangers think I’m creepy or crazy?
The black and white of it is that every time this thing grows a half a foot, every time another root plants itself in the ground, every time another one of those little blue flower buds appears on it, something changes. About the world we live in. About our history. About how we live day to day. And no one seems to notice any of the changes except for me. Today in fact, I almost got into a fatal car crash after I woke up and took note of a new flower bud growing on the side of it facing my house. If you put a Bible in front of me and made me swear to God that I was going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth I would swear on that, my life, and my late mother’s grave that I grew up knowing that Americans in all 50 states drive on the left side of the road.
I know you’re probably laughing at me. Because that’s what the person I almost ran into did when I told them. They wanted to know if I was British or something, and I said no I was born and raised in Northern California all my life. The closest I’ve ever even been to a foreign country is San Diego. But when I pulled over after that scare and looked it up on my phone, there it was. Americans drive on the right side of the road and pretty much always have. It’s just so… jarring. I have vivid memories of me death gripping the wheel to my mom’s Wrangler for the first time in my life, with her in the passenger seat teaching me the rules of the road for the first time. And I remember very clearly her telling me that no matter where I go in the United States or Canada, if I ever did that is, I would be on the left side of the road the entire time.
And I remember everyone else driving on the left side too. I remember them doing it yesterday. And now, everyone’s acting like it’s actually been this other way the entire time and that I’m somehow just noticing it. But I’m not “just noticing” it. It changed without warning me, to my abject frustration. This is what my life has been like since I planted it. I remember when it first sprouted. When I first started noticing the changes. The very first one I encountered were the changes made to the American flag. Again, swearing to God, on my own life, and on my late mother’s grave, I can attest that the American flag has always had 13, red and white, diagonal stripes. Not horizontal. Diagonal.
Again, I remember vividly sitting Indian style around our 1st grade teacher as she taught us some of the most basic history of the Revolutionary War. Particularly when it came to the Betsy Ross story. I remember being told that, when Betsy Ross first showed George Washington her initial design for the flag that it did indeed have horizontal stripes just like the one I suppose all of you are familiar with. But at the last second, he had her change them to be diagonal because he wanted to convey that the United States did not intend to be an empire in which some states would be perceived to be dominating the others by being “on top”. Making the stripes diagonal, to him, avoided this undesired symbolism.
I remember it all so clearly, even the little kitschy cartoon drawings in our school books of him with Betsy Ross as she showed him the final design. I remember reading about it in middle and high school. Hell, I even remember writing a 13 page essay for US History I in college that dealt with the subject. The paper of course, along with any historical record or proof of this detailed memory (digital or otherwise), is nowhere I can find it. It’s as if God or something turned the whole world into one big Wikipedia article and began editing reality at random with no one reverting the changes.
If you don’t think I’m crazy yet, then maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. When I noticed the plant had grown its eighth root, I learned for the first time in my life that Richard Nixon resigned over the Watergate scandal and not for having been outed as having had a nearly decade long affair with both Marilyn Monroe and Jackie Kennedy at the same time as I thought I had been taught. I hadn’t even heard the term Watergate before that. In fact, I learned at the same exact time that apparently for decades since, the affix -gate had been attached to various other scandals and controversies as though it were a naming convention. Until that eighth root planted itself firmly in the ground, I had never once seen or heard of something like that before.
The day I noticed the very first flower to bloom on it, was the same day I found out there’s this little place near Long Island and New Jersey you may have heard of called New York City. You see, to me, that place has always been (and always will be in my mind as I cling onto what I know to be the truth) New Ithaca. Frank Sinatra’s famous song that is played every year on New Year’s Eve, has always been about the great city of New Ithaca, the Big Apple. The changes are just so weird and particular too. The whole general history of that city and state has remains the same though (at least to me), being that it was founded by the Dutch but was taken by the British and renamed before becoming a part of the United States. Only, instead the place was previously named New North Brabant whereas I suppose you have always known that New York used to be New Amsterdam.
There’s even a song about that bit of trivia, I learned. Catchy, and also cringe inducing for someone like me going through what I’m going through.
Actually the overwhelming bulk of changes have had to do with place names. Again growing up, I had it beaten into my brain that in 1492 Columbus sailed the Pacific blue. You heard that right. The vast puddle you probably call the Atlantic Ocean has always been the Pacific to me. And vice versa. Nebraska was a name I had not ever heard of before I measured another half foot in that damn thing’s already enormous length. To me that place was called the State of Fillmore. If before I measured it to be at 3 feet, you had asked me to point out Paris on a map, I would have stared at you blankly until I realized you probably meant to say Degaulleville which was built just northeast of the ruins of the ill-fated City of Lights after it was used as a testing ground for Germany’s most devastating weapon of WWII - the nuclear bomb.
Apparently in this new world the plant has created for me, it is our country that has the dubious honor of being the first military in the world to use nuclear weapons in an actual war.
And the list of changes I have just goes on and on like that. I’m not going to waste time spelling them all out for you. I’m sure that should be enough for you to at least hear me out or dismiss me as having had a break with reality. All I want now is this thing in my backyard, and these seeds to boot, out of here. Like I said in the beginning, I’d throw it away, but now that I suspect there’s some sort of link between it and all these changes being made, I worry what it could do to me if I yanked it out of the ground and chucked it into a dumpster. Degaulleville, Fillmore, etc. were erased by this thing. I could be too, if I made it mad enough.
There’s another part of me, a selfish part, that hopes if someone else takes it they can be the ones to have all these changes happen to instead. They can be the ones to watch desperately as what you once knew to be true, to be there, to be real, is all ground up and thrown away like it was nothing to bend your reality and leave you as the only one aware of it. I want that to happen to someone else instead of me. I want to be the one who’s oblivious to the changes made in the fabric and window dressings of reality. I want to be the one who reads the complaints and desperate cries of someone like me, and calls them crazy. I want want want that.
There’s another, tinier part of me, that naively hopes once I can leave this thing with someone else, it will change reality again but this time for the better. For the better, for me. Maybe once it starts affecting someone else adversely, it can change reality one more time to make my mom come back. To come back in a way that would make me forget she was ever gone. And then maybe I can go home, go back to the life I was used to living. But I know at the same time, there’s absolutely no reason it would do something nice like that for me.
Hell, if anything, it could decide to make things in reality, history, etc. worse for everyone including me. Like let me think… Okay for example, remember back in 1999 when everyone was afraid of the Y2K bug, but then it turned out to not be such a catastrophic ordeal as people were predicting? That damn plant could change things to make it so that Y2K’s catastrophic potential was fulfilled. Or wait, here’s a more recent example - remember like three or so years ago when there was that weird disease in China all the schools and governments got freaked out about for two weeks, warning about having to do lockdowns and stuff like that only for the Chinese government to successfully contain it before it could leave its shores?
I’d imagine the plant could change that history as well. And it’s not like I want any of that to happen, it’s just that I have little to no control over whether or not it will. And I just want to be free from being the only one to know it’s all happening. To notice it everyday. To have your heart and brain scratched at and tortured by it when you do.
So please, someone, anyone out there who can and is willing to take this thing off my hands knowing full well what it is - just DM me. I’ll give it to you at no charge or expense to you. I’ll even dig it out of the ground and drive to where you are (if you’re on the island that is) so you don’t have to get up and go anywhere. If you’re located somewhere else I’ll happily volunteer to pay all the associated shipping costs at my own expense as well in order to get it to you.
You’ll be my knight in shining armor if you do.
UPDATE: I am no longer in need of anyone to take this thing and these seeds off my hands. Thank you to the person that DMed me after I posted this. I got your email confirming that it safely arrived at your address as well. Also, glad to hear it’s grown another root. By glad, I mean that I am glad to know that it has grown yet again but this time I haven’t noticed anything changing. You have no idea what you’ve done to help salvage my sanity. Bless you.

Salutations ! Ancienne khâgneuse j'apprécie les contes, mythes et légendes en tout genre. Je me posais la question du titre, qui doit être un marronnier, mais pourquoi de la cruauté dans les contes ? Je pense à Cendrillon où les sœurs se font crever les yeux par des oiseaux et se mutilent le pied pour qu'il rentre dans la pantoufle de vair, ou Blanche Neige à la fin duquel la sorcière est forcée à danser dans des chaussures brulantes jusqu'à ce que mort s'ensuive.
Là je lisais Le Due Cugine (les deux cousines) en italien, d'Italo Calvino (Fiabe italiane), autant pour le plaisir de la lecture que pour l'apprentissage de la langue, à la fin duquel la méchante marquise et sa fille sont bouillies dans un chaudron et mangées par le gentil roi.
Soit dit en passant je conseille les Contes Italiens de Calvino, même sans les avoir tous lus (il y en a deux cents et je les lis en italien).
Mon impression est que les châtiments infligés aux antagonistes sont souvent cruels, parfois de façon disproportionnée (je n'aimerais pas qu'un juge soit aussi auteur de contes !).
Y a t il eu de la littérature (scientifique, enfin j'entends d'analyses littéraires, ou de la littérature secondaire) au sujet de la cruauté dans les contes que vous me recommanderiez ?
Autre question : observe t on de tels châtiments dans les récits de toutes les régions du monde ?
Merci beaucoup !

Several retailers now have July 25th as the release date for the movie and as you've already seen... they leaked the sweet ass poster / blu-ray cover.
Order it at Target: https://www.target.com/p/venture-bros-radiant-is-the-blood-of-the-baboon-heart-blu-ray-digital/-/A-89029477#lnk=sametab
This this means they'll likely have the world premiere in San Diego during SDCC 2023 with Jackson and Doc.