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SCARY TIMES

DEAR READERS:  Have you been in touch with God, lately?  I’ve left him a gazillion messages and haven’t heard a peep.  Just wanted to let him know that our world really needs him right now.  Also, if you do happen to chat with him, let him know that I’m trying to decide what costume to wear for Halloween, and I’d like to ask him to turn the tide in the election next week to curtail the Hater in Chief in the White House.   Let God know when you hear from him that he’ll (or she’ll) find my copious other “prayer” messages filed under: “Are you Listening (or paying attention) God?”  For your edification Dear Reader, what follows is the fourth installment of a “Voicemail Message to God” which is a short essay on another universal question I wish God would answer about life: “God, what is your end game?”

Scary Times John Darkow Columbia Missourian

Cartoon used by permission: John Darkow, Columbia Missourian

GOD’S VOICEMAIL GREETING:  “You’ve reached the voicemail box of GOD at 1-800-PRA-TOME.  As you might have guessed, if this call is from the United States, I’m sitting Shiva.  I will not be answering phone calls about anything first-world related while I’m in mourning with the city of Pittsburgh.  AMERICANS:  YOU WANT TO SAVE YOUR NATION:  GO OUT AND VOTE ON NOVEMBER 6TH!  DON’T BLOW IT AGAIN. I WON’T DO FOR YOU WHAT YOU REFUSE TO DO FOR YOURSELVES. Please leave a message after the tone.”

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Hello GOD:  It’s Eleanor—again!  I don’t mean to become a pest, but I’ve been trying to get you to call me back for ages now.  I certainly understand why you are out-of-reach at the moment, but that is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.

It’s getting scarier and scarier out here.  Halloween is here and who wants to wear a scary costume these days when our very own Victor Frankenstein in the White House has cooked up a Molotov cocktail of hated and division that is roaming our country seeking whom it may devour.

Hate It is Alive Rick McKee The Augusta Chronicle GA

Cartoon used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle, GA

God, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but you know the massacre in Pittsburgh could have all been prevented, don’t you?  You wouldn’t have to be sitting Shiva for the massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue Congregation had you listened to my prayers.  Eleven people would still be alive and we’d have a lot more hope in our hearts if you had acknowledged my hysteria over the tiki-torch waving, khaki-trouser wearing White men in Charlottesville last year.  Remember in 2017 when the White supremacists hoisted the Nazi flags in Charlottesville as they marched around the Confederate statue and shouted, “Jews will not replace us?”  Instead of our Commander in Chief squishing this hateful monster like the giant demonic cockroach that it is, he said there were “good people on both sides.”  I had hoped you would have sent one of his many sycophantic Christian counselors to let him know that “good people” chanting “Jews will not replace us” is an oxymoron. Actually, I wished you had come to him in his sleep like the ghost of Bob Marley.

Venom Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch OH

Cartoon used by permission: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch, OH

Anyway, dear God, besides getting a little input from you as to what Halloween costume I should wear, I was hoping I could ask you a question that is bugging the hell out of me: “What is your end game for us with this science experiment of a President?”  The scariest costume of all this year is the orange pumpkin with yellow hair which espouses venom toward his opponents and the media, as the whole world watches his followers take up Trump’s call to arms against all those he hates.

Trump inspired Hate Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune, UT

Lord, have mercy on us.  I guess I’d like to know how much more of this vileness we must endure before you let the Great Pumpkin in the White House know that you’re God and he ain’t.  I have a suggestion:  How about sending him a message on blast on Nov. 6th?  The world will breathe a great sigh of relief.

Vote or Die

Celebrity Voting Campaign T-Shirts

Well Jesus, I would love to get your input and guidance after November 6th because I’m either going to want to do a shout-out of praises to you or I’m going to need a strait jacket costume for Halloween and beyond.

Talk soon.  Your devoted follower, ET

Halloween Political Scares Dave Granlund PoliticalCartoons com

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, PoliticalCartoons.com

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WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO HEAR THE AUTHOR’S LATEST PODCAST INTERVIEW? http://breadboxmedia.podbean.com/e/what-if-it-is-true-can-you-find-faith-in-darkness/

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Tree of Life Names Bruce Plante Tulsa World

Cartoon used by permission: Bruce Plante, Tulsa World

We also remember the two African-American victims in the recent fatal shooting at the Kroger’s in Louisville, KY which police have labeled a hate crime.

May they never be forgotten:  Maurice E. Stallard, 69, and Vickie Lee Jones, 67,

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Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
7 Comments

Posted by on October 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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HYPOCRITES, SPIDERS, AND HELL

(2017 Halloween Edition)

Do you know what I discovered this week about myself?  I hope there is a Hell.  I know I shouldn’t wish anybody goes to Hell if I want to be a good person, but I’ve had it.  Nothing is seemingly being done to stop the horror of the man in the White House by God at this moment (although I’m still holding out for a Pharaoh-like deliverance).  Therefore, it sure would be encouraging if I knew certain elements would not get away with their deplorable actions here on Earth and, thus, fry in the afterlife due to a gigantic bitch-slap from karma. I need to know that justice is coming at some point.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot this week.  If there is a Hell, I would nominate two categories to start with:  hypocrites and spiders.  Especially Huntsman spiders.  They act all cool and nonchalant—all Charlotte Webby and shit—but they don’t talk to you or weave webs that say “nice Negro” like Charlotte did to keep you from getting taken to the slaughter house like Wilbur, the pig.  They actually have the ability to move at the speed of lightning and aggressively jump at you if you encounter them during your travels in Latin America, South America or Australia, and their bite can be vicious.

Spider I weknowmemes dot com

Courtesy of Zipmeme

Hypocrites are like that.  They make you think they represent one thing, say—the Christian Church, compassion, truth, honesty, empathy, morality, and godliness (like the Voters Value Summit on October 13th, who hosted Trump as their main speaker, and welcomed him as a conquering hero), while they sell their souls to a man who is vainglorious, boasts of grabbing women by their genitals, boasts that the best way to treat women is like shit, bullies any and every one, lies through his teeth, and must be the most spiteful, insensitive human being alive.  Yep, Hell sounds like a pretty good landing place for Trump and all the Trump diehards—people who refuse to see the truth about him no matter what he does.  Come to think of it, maybe Hell is too good a place for hypocrites such as these.

As I wrestled with my fantasy about zapping deplorable people and spiders into Hell, I came across a Halloween story that dealt with all three.  It was such a timely story that I had to share it with my readers.  Enjoy!

Scooby Doo Meme Dark and Stormy Night

Meme Courtesy of Scooby Doo and Friends, Hanna Barbera

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NOTHING TO FEAR, BUT. . .

The older couple should have known that something was afoot. They’d been married for more years than they could remember, and the patterns were always the same a couple days before All Hallows Eve every year: The day would somehow go off the rails—as if pushed off the tracks by ghosts and goblins just to underscore that they were in charge for Halloween.

This couple loved Halloween, but as they progressed in years, both were finding it increasingly hard to come up with Halloween costumes they hadn’t previously featured.  They weren’t amateurs when it came to figuring out unusual costumes.  No sexy nurse or Freddy Krueger costumes for them.  No siree!  At one Halloween party for couples before they were married, the man went as Frédéric Chopin, and the woman dressed as Chopin’s lover, George Sand (the notorious female, cigar smoking, trouser-wearing novelist).  In the midst of that Halloween party of yore, where there were three sets of bacon and eggs, two devils, five witches, four zombies, and six astronauts, they easily took the first place prize.  But after 45 years of knowing each other, they were stumped as to what to wear to the upcoming Halloween party with their friends that weekend.

You’d think that with all their previous Halloween experience they should have seen the signs of demons afoot.

As the couple barreled down the highway in their minivan to do their monthly Costco shopping, they both noticed how stormy the weather was.  It hadn’t even been raining when they left home, and there had been no rain in the forecast, but all of a sudden the sky darkened and it opened up with such fury, it was as if the Devil had called forth all his handymen to have a party at the expense of the sons of men.  (SCARY SIGN #1)

HER:  This is just awful.  Do you think we should turn back?  I can barely see the road.

HIM:  Of course not.  We’re almost there.  Besides, we promised we’d bring fruit platters enough for fifty people and the only place we can get that much fruit without breaking the bank is at Costco. We’re retired, remember.  Income fixed—fixed income.  Anyway you say it, it all means the same:  limited income for extravagance.  Let’s talk about other things so that we don’t think about lashing rains and flooding roads.  Have you come up with a Halloween costume yet?  The theme of this year’s party is:  things that scare the shit out of you.

HER:  Yes, I have.  I’m going as Donald Trump holding the red button that launches our nuclear bombs.

Scariest Costume Trump Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

Cartoon used by permission: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch

HIM:  Good one!  Simple.  Not much needed:  orange wig, white face makeup, one of my suits, and a red button box made out of cardboard.  Within budget.  That costume should be easily understandable to just about everyone except a Trump supporter.  Unfortunately, I haven’t come up with a thing I haven’t done before.  I’m not like you—I’m not afraid of much.  I’ve been chased by the KGB in my youth, shot at in Beirut, survived a bombing of my business by terrorists in the Middle East, and married you.  Do you know what cojones it took to marry you?

HER:  Oh really, old man.  You’re really pissing me off right now.  Not afraid of much, huh?  How about going as a spider, and not just any ol’ spider, but a big, juicy, gargantuan spider—if your bowels can handle it.  It won’t take much:  put a black stocking over your face, sew on two balled up black socks as eyes, put you in your black diving suit, and attach eight elongated blackened tubes made out of thousands of intertwined and connected pipe cleaners to your body, and voila!  There you have it.  Easy, cheap, and scary.  Then we’ll see just how much you’re NOT afraid of anything.  So nani-nani-boo-boo!

As the perturbed old woman watched her man’s face turn ashen and his knuckles grip the steering wheel (as if trying to hang on for dear life), she instantly regretted her spider taunt and realized she might have crossed the line.  In the stony silence that ensued, she remembered a horror story he had experienced from their salad days that she had forgotten in her old age.

Constipated spider solver END

Many years ago, the man had temporarily rented a room in the home of a couple and their two sons in a city where he was starting a new job.   He had moved to the city ahead of his family until they could sell their old home, while he established himself in his new job.  He knew the couple but had never realized what poor housekeepers they were.  To say that the couple’s home was a pigsty was an understatement.  Roaches weaved in and out of an incessant trail of ants who were constantly holding house parties in the weeks’ old spills all over the counters, stove, and floors.  The smell of months’ old urine caked on the toilet bowls gagged the uninitiated at the entry of every bathroom door and took second place only to the months-long litter box pea-and-poop collection of the two cats.  What made it worse was that the family reveled in their filth.  The consistent rallying cry among them was:  “Who is our friend?  DUST is our friend!”

But the man reasoned that one can put up with anything if one knows the end date.  At least that was his motto until the morning he woke up with his scalp feeling as if it were on fire.  When he rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, swirling in the blood on his head were hundreds of tiny baby spiders who were feasting on his scalp and dangling from his hair follicles into his eyes and ears.  As he frantically scrubbed his scalp with anything he could find and screamed in bloody terror, the family’s initial response was:  “We told you that dust is our friend.  I guess spiders are our friends too!” Although the man stayed in the home another week or two, and scrubbed the mattress with a gallon of bleach, he never fully slept again until he rejoined his family.

Spiders en mass Meme

HER:  I’m so sorry, Honey.  I’d forgotten that you have arachnophobia for a reason.  Forget what I said.  We’ll think of something else.  Okay.  Look, we’re at the Costco parking lot.  See.  You love Costco.  You can turn off the car now . . .  Just put one foot in front of the other—baby steps.  I promise, I’ll never tease you about spiders again.  I was being totally obnoxious.  (SCARY SIGN #2)

The old couple became engulfed in Costco, and the man soon forgot his episode in the car. Like most couples, the old man and woman went into Costco to spend $100 but arrived at the cashier’s station having spent more like $600.  The cashier made a snarky remark about the abundance of their purchases (everybody’s a critic!) and offered to provide boxes for all their items, especially the copious fruits for the party. (SCARY SIGN #3)

By the time the old couple left Costco, the rain had stopped, but it was still gloomy and cloudy.  The man was totally back to normal as he and the old woman remarked on how wonderful it was to be part of a global market where one could have the best fruits and vegetables all year round, whether they were in season or not.  When they returned home and unpacked their goodies, they made a game of noting where each box had originated:  grapes, bananas, and mangos from Latin America, Mexico, and South America—oh my!  As the old couple emptied each box, they threw them into the garage at the foot of the stairs, and proceeded to make their dinner.

Like most couples they had their unspoken duties as husband and wife.  Most of the time, the wife would cook, they’d clean up the kitchen together, and now that the kids were grown and gone, the old man would take out the garbage each night and put it in the industrial garbage can in the garage.  But for some reason that night the old man got distracted by the storm that had picked up again and had gone to check on a noise he heard in the basement, so the old woman (still feeling horribly guilty for the spider tease that had traumatized her man) decided to be especially kind and take out the garbage. 

The minute the old woman turned on the garage light, she saw it at the foot of the stairs by the Costco boxes.  She froze.  It froze.  Her mind couldn’t fathom what she was seeing.  It was not from her realm of knowledge.  It was not from North America.  It was the size of her hand.  Big.  Black. Eight legged.  Beady eyed.  Menacing. 

The old woman knew she needed two things:  shoes on her bare feet and a weapon.  She stealthily backed up the stairs (never taking her eyes off the creature), quietly put on her husband’s house slippers, and grabbed the most dangerous weapon in the house—a can of hornet’s spray.  She would have given anything to be a card-carrying, pistol-packing member of the NRA right about then, but…oh well.

Her eyes locked with the eyes of the alien creature, and they stayed frozen in position for what seemed like an eternity as they sized each other up and down.  The old woman would later swear that at that exact moment she heard the theme song to the western:  “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.”

Large Spider Top

Meme Courtesy of quickmeme.com

The old man’s wife reasoned that it had to be a spider because of its eight legs, but its body was so big that four legs jutted off to the left and four to the right giving it the ability to zig and zag.  She also reasoned that she’d only have one shot at destroying this demonic creature before the old man saw it.  He’d survived many things, as he had said in the car, but there would be no way he’d survive the sight of this creature.  Talk about a widow maker.

The wife positioned the long-shot hornet’s spray at what she hoped was the perfect angle and pressed the button with all her might.  It was Armageddon at warp speed!  No matter how much she sprayed the goddamn creature, the faster he moved—TOWARDS HER!  The creature chased her, she chased him, paint cans crashed to the floor, ladders crashed to the ground, garden tools slammed against the cars, and the garage floor was awash in toxic bug spray.  Just as the old woman shot out her last stream of killer spray and was about to faint from the fumes, the massive spider tried to make a run for one of the Costco boxes from whence he had come.  “Oh, Hell to the no!” screamed the old woman as she lifted up her leg as high as she could and slammed it down on the massive spider with all her might.  She not only stomped on it, but ground it into the pavement a dozen times or so to make sure the execution was complete.  The old woman would later swear that she heard the screams of a million Huntsman spider babies descending into Hell.  Because that is what the creature was:  the biggest Huntsman spider ever, from either Latin or South America that had made the journey across the border in a Costco shipping box to the home of the most arachnophobic man on the planet—just in time for Halloween.  THE END

Jesus killed the spider

Meme: Google/Anonymous

THOUGHT YOU WOULD LIKE TO KNOW:  Although the conversation between the “old man” and the “old woman” are embellished, both spider stories, including the showdown in the garage, actually happened to my husband and me.  His arachnid story happened many years ago and was as horrifying as recounted, and my confrontation of the Huntsman spider happened this past weekend after a trip to Costco.  To say I lost my shit in the garage over the encounter with the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in my life would be putting it mildly—but to conclude that I’m seriously wondering if our earthly creatures are a new ISIS terrorist strategy, then you wouldn’t be too far off the mark.  Also, my husband has refused to wear the murder weapon (his house shoes) ever again—even though I washed them.

Happy Halloween!  May God bless you, may God bless these United States of America (and the Earth) by saving and delivering us from the madman in the White House, just as I saved my husband from the attack of the Huntsman spider, before every day in America becomes a “dark and stormy night.”

Menacing spider top

INSPIRATIONAL QUOTE ABOUT SPIDERS

 “From everything I can read about Aussie spiders, it seems like all they really like doing is hiding in your house or garden or car until you ‘accidentally’ disturb them – probably by doing something crazy like putting on the shoe they are lurking in – and they can officially bite you to pieces.”—John Niven

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THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOK:  “The Fetus Chronicles:  Podcasts From my Miseducated Self” is on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

WANT TO HEAR THE AUTHOR’S LATEST INTERVIEW?  Check out the podcast interview with Leo Brown: http://breadboxmedia.podbean.com/e/what-if-it-is-true-can-you-find-faith-in-darkness/

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 
6 Comments

Posted by on October 19, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , ,

Zombie Apocalypse (“Encore”)

(This Halloween post is a modified recap of a story from two years ago with updated cartoons and fresh information.  My fears are still the same—having my brains sucked out by Zombies—but I’ve become more intelligent about how to flush them into the light before they scare me to death.  Enjoy!)

Do you know what I discovered this week?   There is something to fear that will destroy you every damn day!  This week it is bacon, pastrami, and a nice juicy med-rare steak or a delicious hamburger.  Apparently, we are all going to get colon cancer and die if we don’t cut these foods from our diets, and I say:  Go to Hell, you fear mongers!  I’ve already had to give up bread, pasta, rice, potatoes, popcorn, cheese, hot peppers, eggs, and butter.  If anyone tries to come after my Nueske’s Applewood Smoked Bacon, you are doing down, Mofos!

Halloween FB Bacon Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

Cartoon used by permission:  Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch/Cagle Cartoons

I’ve dealt with enough monsters in my journey on this Earth that I’ve learned how to kick their butts and live to see another day.  (Check out Monsters’ Throwdown* and Fleeing Oz* if you want to read about me in kung fu action against the terrors in my life.)  In fact, after what I’ve been through in life, I have a theory that all fear is simply one thing (or stems from one entity, great and small)—evil—and it reinvents itself and morphs into something else when it can no longer scare the recipient.  (“Maybe this time, by jove, I’ll scare the bejesus out of her, and if not, I’ll have to figure out another ‘BOO’ . . .” )  This Halloween, I’m only afraid of Zombies, but Zombies can encompass many things, which I’ll get to later.

I read recently that scientists equate fear with conditioning, environment, and lack of knowledge.  What scares some people doesn’t necessarily scare others—it depends on how they have been conditioned to interact with that fear.  There is an unethical case study known as the “Little Albert Experiment,” which took place in the early 1900s at Johns Hopkins Hospital by one of their doctors.  The doctor took a nine-month-old baby from the nursery (his mother was reported to be a wet nurse employed by the hospital and afraid to interfere on behalf of her son) and introduced him to “. . . a white rabbit, a rat, a dog, a monkey, masks (with and without hair), cotton, wool, burning newspapers, and other stimuli,” according to Wikipedia.  In the beginning, the baby showed no fear.  In fact, when everything was taken away except a white lab rat, the baby played with it endlessly—stroking its fur and giggling with delight when the rat appeared in the room.  The baby engaged the rat without the slightest bit of hesitation or trepidation . . . until . . . dun, dun, dun . . .  the ersatz “Dr. Mengele” and his assistant introduced a loud clanging sound every time Baby Albert came in contact with the lab rat.  In a very short time, the poor baby began to fear the mere appearance of the rat because he associated his former playmate with the terrible, startling noise which scared him.  Even after the noise was extracted from the experiment,  Baby Albert would try to crawl away from the rat and start to cry.  And get this:  Baby Albert started associating anything with fur and beards as scary and something to be avoided.  Even Santa was to be feared by poor Baby Albert!

Little albert

“Little-albert” by John B Watson – Akron psychology archives. Licensed under Public Domain via Commons/Wikipedia

As I mulled over this experiment, I thought about my own current fears, and I realized that this is what has happened with me and the Tea Party.  When some of my friends became Tea Party members in 2010, I continued to play with them and enjoyed their company because they seemed rather innocuous, harmless little rats and looked rather cute in their revolutionary hats trimmed with tea bags.  But then they started to make all sorts of irrational noises and stupid, meaningless sounds, and pretty soon the sight of them made me cry and afraid to be around them.  I finally had to eradicate them from my life altogether.

Tea Party Deevolution David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star Cagle

Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star, Cagle Cartoons

Since my husband and I used to be Republicans (operative words: used to be), I tried to give my friends in the Tea Party the benefit of the doubt in the early days.  But it didn’t take me long to realize that something was very wrong with them, and I figured out what it was:  They were the first manifestation of the Zombie Apocalypse!   I noticed their trademark skills of sucking out brains and eating human hearts when the likes of Palin, Bachmann, Herman Cain, Cruz, and Perry first hit the scene.   I especially stood up and took notice when some of my friends started turning into zombies.  I mean their bodies were still there, but I’d be talking to them on the phone and suddenly they’d blurt out a zombie statement in a staccato-like vocal pattern (something stupid and inane usually accredited to Fox News), and it made me cry just like Baby Albert.

By the time I figured out what was going on with my friends, they were at a point of no return—beyond the pale.  I grew up with zombies trying to mess with me, so I should have known better and seen the signs sooner—maybe I could have saved them.  But now it is too late—they have all lost their minds and are completely brain dead now (final brain suck happened in 2012 after the reelection of Barack Obama—did you not hear their screams?).  Now they are mindlessly rallying around Trump and Carson and have become full-blown zombies.

Carson John Cole The Scranton Times Tribune

Cartoon used by permission:  John Cole, The Scranton Times Tribune/Cagle Cartoon

I know a lot about zombies because I met the head zombie in my basement when I was just four years old.  In my day, he was called the “Boogeyman” and he lived in cellars in the ghetto, while his counterparts lived in the graveyards.  Every poor black child knew of The Boogey’s existence, which is why no child in her right mind spent too much time below the first floor.  (None of this man-cave crap existed back in the day when I was a kid, and the thought that one day I’d own a house with a basement boasting a surround-sound home theater would have blown my little mind.)

The basement of my childhood was a dirt floor and housed the wringer-washer and the giant furnace which fed on coal that slid down a chute.  I imagined The Boogey lived behind the furnace and practiced his brain-sucking and heart-munching techniques on little kids who were unlucky enough to be sent down into the basement for punishment.  I am one of the few who ever saw him in the neighborhood and lived to tell the story.

It still gives me chills.

Boogeyman Meme

Motifake Demotivational Poster

The floor of the basement of my childhood was made of packed dirt, and it is my theory that the house had been built over a small family graveyard.  The walls were stone with rough beams in the ceiling.  There was only one light at the top of the stairs that cast shadows here, there, and everywhere, but especially against the coal chute next to where the vegetables had been canned and stored.  One night I was sent down to the basement by my guardian from Hell to fetch a jar of pickled okra.  Even though I begged and pleaded, screamed and yelled, I was still threatened within an inch of my life to do as I was told.  So I tip-toed down the steps, across the basement floor as quietly as possible, hoping The Boogey was out on his nightly rounds, and we wouldn’t run into each other.  My heart pounded so loudly that I could hardly hear myself think.  I deduced that if I was as quiet as a field mouse, I might escape the head zombie’s detection.  I think my plan would have worked too, but the furnace let out a sudden fiery red blast that scared the shit out of me, and I screamed and dropped the jar of okra which shattered all over the floor in front of me.  At that very moment something brushed across my feet, and I swear that I saw the silhouette of a monster’s reflection on the jars of vegetables.  His hands began to crawl up my legs, and faster than I could say, “Oh Lord Jesus, help the poor child,” I turned and took the basement steps in what seemed like a single bound as The Boogey’s other hand scampered over my shoulder and slid down the front of my overalls and went back into the darkness.  I didn’t stop running until I ended up in my bedroom under the covers on the second floor, and I didn’t stop screaming for an hour.  I got two beatings that night for refusing to go back down into the basement to fetch another jar of okra, but it was worth it because I know what I saw and so did my caretakers, which is why none of them went into the basement after dark—ever again!

***

Until this day, I can’t go into any basement—including my own—unless there are plenty of windows, and all the lights are on (and I do mean all).  I never encountered The Boogey again until the election of our first black president.  Suddenly, I started hearing of zombie uprisings bearing the name of The Tea Party who were instantly disrespectful and disruptive to our Commander in Chief (remember the Zombie that screamed out “You lie” in the middle of President Obama’s State of the Union address?).  And every time the Tea Party Zombies seemed to have been beaten back, another surge would happen and a new leader would emerge:  first Palin and Bachmann—and now Cruz, Trump, and Carson.  I can’t prove it, but I think the Boogeyman came out of hiding in the basement of my house, and he started recruiting for the Tea Party zombies which is why my friends bit the dust to the TP extremism so easily.  I don’t know whether it is because Halloween is just around the corner and we’re headed for a Zombie Apocalypse that I think I’m beginning to see them everywhere, including in the Republican presidential campaigns, but sometimes on a foggy night I think I can see them amongst the trees waiting for me—trying to get ahold of my head and heart like they did some of my friends, and I am afraid—very, very afraid!

Zombies Appear Meme knowyourmeme com

Courtesy of stuffstumbledupon.com

THE AUTHOR’S “SELAH” (“AHA MOMENT”) ABOUT A ZOMBIE INVASION

I am discovering that I might be onto something with these Tea Party wingnuts being the first of the Zombie invasion.  Seeing the destruction they’ve done to our country these past eight years, the Tea Party Zombies make about as much sense as the Boogey Man did in my basement as a child.  But if you turn on enough lights to show them up for who they really are, they will actually turn out to be just rats hiding in the dark amongst the pickled okra and canned string beans.   

Anyway, all this talk about zombies is really making me feel kind of weird—so I think I’ll go and lay down and take a nap.  In the meantime, Happy Halloween to all my readers, and keep your brains and hearts safe from the zombies because the Tea Party would love to suck out your brains and eat up your heart so that you can no longer think or feel anything for your fellowman!

American Poor vs Paul Ryan Pat Bagley Salt Lake Tribune

Cartoon used by permission:  Pat Bagley, Salt Lake Tribune/Cagle Cartoons

INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES ABOUT FEAR AND ZOMBIES

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”—Plato

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”—H. P. Lovecraft

“Fear can be good when you’re walking past an alley at night or when you need to check the locks on your doors before you go to bed, but it’s not good when you have a goal and you’re fearful of obstacles. We often get trapped by our fears, but anyone who has had success has failed before.”—Queen Latifah

“I think zombies have always been an easy metaphor for hard times. Because they’re this big, faceless, brainless group of evil things that will work tirelessly to destroy you and think of nothing else.”—Seth Grahame-Smith

QUOTES FROM www.goodreads.com

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out www.eleanortomczyk.com

WANT TO READ THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS ON BEING TERRORIZED (Monsters’ Throwdown* and Fleeing Oz*)?  BOTH ON SALE NOW AT AMAZON!

REFERENCES

http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2013/10/why-do-some-brains-enjoy-fear/280938/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Albert_experiment

No Sleep Monster Meme

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on October 27, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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WHAT KEEPS YOU AWAKE AT NIGHT?

“Horror fiction, horror literature, and also horror fantasy are a genre of literature, which is intended to, or has the capacity to frighten, scare, or startle its readers by inducing feelings of horror and terror.”—Wikipedia

Do you know what I’ve discovered this week? Halloween is scaring the crap out of me this year. The horror level of this once benign celebration has been jacked up one hundredfold since I was a kid. Gone are the days when Halloween was represented by a few jack-o-lanterns lined along a home’s walkway accompanied by a cutout of a witch and a ghost bumping boots on a porch banister. Now it is full-out horror. Today, I saw a decorated Halloween house on the news that was so full of gore I could barely breathe. I had to keep looking over my shoulder as I ran on the treadmill to make sure no one was behind me in the dark corner of the basement. Between the dozen or so severed heads hanging from the property’s trees, the caged fake babies waiting to be eaten by some monster emerging from the deep, and the blood spurting out of the chopped off limbs of innocent victims (I saw a uniformed arm of a mailman and FedEx delivery man), I almost lost last night’s dinner while watching this all unfold on the Today Show.

Halloween Horror Top

(In the midst of my exercise routine, my husband (WW) joined me in the basement to exercise on his reclining stationary bike which is about six feet to the left of my treadmill in a rather dim corner of the basement. As is sometimes the norm in the morning, it takes WW a while to get moving [not the real talkative type] while I am a motor mouth from the time I rise until the time I close my eyes in the evening. And when I’ve had two cups of French Press coffee on top of my natural energy, I am a force to be reckoned with. I talk as if I’m afraid the world will stop on its axis before I can express all my thoughts to anyone who will listen and whose life might surely depend upon my vociferous “revelations.” I didn’t wait for WW’s greeting [he seemed to be having a hard time getting going] before launching into a diatribe about the morning news, as if he weren’t watching the same television which was about 18 feet in front of us both.)

ME: Hey Darlin’, you got here just in time to see the tail end of the Today Show hosts going through an over-the-top Halloween display in New Jersey. It’s called the Brighton Asylum and it is considered the scariest haunted house in America. The Today Show hosts screamed so much from the terror that Tamron (Hall) and Natalie (Morales) are hoarse.

Oh, my Gawd, did you hear what they just said? Tamron Hall was in such pain after the event that Al Roker thought she had a burst appendix. She had to be admitted into the hospital. But it wasn’t appendicitis! She screamed so much from the terror of being in that damn haunted house that she had a deep-tissue tear in her abdomen. Isn’t that amazing?

WW: Uh, huh . . .

ME: I’m telling you, I just don’t get the fascination with horror. I know you like horror movies—you have all your life. I’ll never forget the time you tricked me into seeing A Nightmare on Elm Street—a kid’s movie my ass. I dreamt about Freddy Krueger for years. See I have this theory that . . .

Werewolf Feel Safe Meme

Please excuse the misspelling in this meme. Apparently, monsters can’t spell.

WW: Hum . . .

ME:   Only people who have never had to suffer horror in real life can enjoy horror movies. I mean, no disrespect to you Babe, but you’re a privileged white male, and you know nothing about suffering, chil’. Umph, umph, umph, I wrote the book on suffering, my man. Now I can tell you a thing or two about real-life horror—I sure ‘nuff can. My childhood was one serial horror story after another. Freddy Krueger probably lived under my bed before he made his screen debut. Hee, hee, hee! Whew, Lord Jesus—preach it, girl!

WW: Oooooh . . .

ME:  I know, I know. You think that horror movies and Halloween haunted houses are just fake with actors plastered in red-dye corn syrup blood and oatmeal standing in for brains so the zombie actors can realistically scoop them up and eat them with their skeletal fingers. It’s all in good fun, you think. I’ve been married to you long enough to know that what you really consider horror is all the bad news I consume as a blogger—just to stay informed. If I’m being honest with myself, the media hysterics can get a bit much—if I do say so myself. Between the ISIS beheadings and the 4,500 dead African bodies from Ebola that we keep hearing will overrun America, I have to admit it can get a little bit terrorizing.

News Horrors Patrick Chappatte The International New York Times

Used by Permission: Patrick Chappatte, The International New York Times

WW: A-CHOO!

ME:     God bless you! I hope you’re not coming down with a cold. I knew leaving that window open last night was a big mistake. First of all, there was a full moon, and I know it sounds silly, but I find it difficult to sleep with my bedroom windows open on nights like that. I mean anything can crawl through an open window on a full-moon night. Next thing you know, you’re chopped liver for some zombie, and there you have it. I grew up going to see horror movies about the Wolf Man and Frankenstein and even though I know they aren’t real, it still gives me the creeps. Everybody knows that when there is a full moon—goodnight, Irene! Speaking of those old make-believe monsters, do you think they’d find the events of our time too scary to make an appearance? I mean, how could the fear of a bite from Dracula hold up against the scare of ISIS, Ebola, and Fox News? Talk about horror stories. A-N-Y-HOO . . .

Real World to Scary for Vampire Olle Johansson Sweden

Used by permission: Olle Johansson, Sweden

WW: BRRRIIP!

ME: Oh, my God, did you just fart? Euuuew, Babe. That is sooooo gross. I still have twenty minutes to go on the treadmill. and I can barely breathe now. Thanks a lot. Smells like something died over there on that bike.

WW: Euuuew . . .

ME:   Oh, you agree, huh?  You’re such a crack-up. I told you not to eat that extra helping of fava beans. Anyway, where was I? Oh, the media. Have you noticed how they purposely write the lead ins or the headlines with a question to hook the listener and scare the shit out of us? You can be going along minding your own business without a care in the world when you hear a commercial for the 6 O’clock News:

“Exotic, highly poisonous, yellow snake escaped his illegal captivity and is popping up in toilets across the city. Could your toilet be next and are your family’s asses in jeopardy? Tune in later to watch News4 at 6 for more harrowing details.”

ME: And don’t get me started on Fox News or the Rush Limbaughs of the world—they are the worst fear mongers on the planet:

“Obama letting in Ebola as payback for slavery. Is any ‘True American’ safe from this Imperialist President? Will we all have to die before he gets his lazy ass off the golf course and does his job?”

ME: I mean Americans don’t need Halloween monsters to scare us, all we need is our run-amok media to cause us to lose control of our bowels.

Ebola Fear Cam Cardow Cagle Cartoons

Used by permission: Cam Cardow, Cagle Cartoons

ME: So, where was I? Oh yeah, your penchant for horror movies. Do you remember when you took me to see George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead when we were dating? Oh my God that was the scariest movie. The best thing about that movie was that a black man had the lead and was the hero. That was really somethin’ in that day. Raised quite a fuss if I remember. What was his character’s name? Ben, I think. Oh, but the worst was when you whispered that line in my ear from the movie as we were walking along a dark street. I think you did it to get me to lean in closer so you could put your arm around me, you ol’ sly dog.  It was the line the brother said to his sister in the cemetery that foreshadowed the appearance of the zombies. It made me pee my pants. What did he say, exactly?

(At that exact moment, I heard my husband shout from upstairs in the kitchen: “Who are you talking to, Cutie? I just woke up, and I’m going to fix myself some breakfast. Do you want any?” I looked over at the empty reclining stationary bike, and my heart stopped as I felt an unrecognizable presence lean into the back of my neck [breath so hot it singed the hair off the nape of my neck] and whisper into my left ear:

THEY’RE COMING TO GET YOU, BARBARA! HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, AAAHH-HA, HA, HA, HA!”)

Scary Face imgarcade dot com darqd

Google Image/ Scary Face imgarcade.com

P.S. The author is not really as silly as she has presented herself to be in this Halloween tall tale. If she were, life would have imitated art, and her very intelligent, very no-nonsense, and otherwise very sweet husband would have conjured up monsters long ago to kill her in her sleep on some dark Halloween night when the full moon was in full bloom.

Baby Boomer Witches David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star

Used by Permission: Baby Boomer Witches David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star

“I love horror. I love ‘The Shining,’ ‘Friday the 13th,’ ‘Halloween,’ all those kinds of things. I love zombies, especially ’28 Days Later’ and ’28 Weeks Later,’ where the zombies are going faster than the George Romero ones. I love being scared; there’s something that’s awesome about your heart rate going up like that.”Ricky Schroder

“What scares me is what scares you. We’re all afraid of the same things. That’s why horror is such a powerful genre. All you have to do is ask yourself what frightens you and you’ll know what frightens me.”—John Carpenter

frontcover

Want to read a real-life horror Story? | Available at Amazon

Check out more about the author: www.eleanortomczyk.com

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on October 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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When Monsters Come Out to Play

(A Halloween Tale by the Dalai Mama)

Do you know what I’ve discovered?   The monsters have returned and are living underneath my bed!  When I was a kid, I was convinced that monsters lived under my bed, in my closets, and down in the basement behind the furnace just waiting to gobble me up.  All it would take was a stray toe or a wayward hand to drift out from under the carefully wedged-in bed sheets and blankets tucked snuggly around my body and, without warning, I just knew that my little chubby self would become gourmet monster food.

It took me years to get beyond the feeling that something awful lurked beneath my bed, which is why to this day, I can’t sleep in a totally dark room or completely alone.  When my husband, WW, travels for business—I can barely sleep a wink, and things always seem to happen that make me lose my shit.  If he dies before me, I shall die shortly after from what my children will assume is a broken heart, but from what I will know is sleep deprivation.

WW (“White and Wonderful”) has been gone for five days.  The first two days were somewhat bearable—albeit I didn’t sleep more than three hours a night—but tonight I swear I can hear wolves howling at the moon (the neighbor’s “chi-wow-wow,” no doubt?).  I could have sworn that there was someone knocking at my home-office window (the wind and rain hitting the low-hanging tree branch, I hope?), and I thought I heard disembodied voices echoing through the hallways (the new Barbra Streisand album playing in the other room and she talks on it, I suspect?).   I also don’t cook when WW is not here, which means I’ve been trying to work all day, write six hours a night, and investigate every little suspicious sound that goes “bump in the night” after nervously munching on buckets of popcorn, bags of Jelly-Bellies, and packets of cheese sticks, while downing pots of coffee and gallons of Muscle Milk.   I’m so tired that my left eye is twitching as if to the beat of its own internal metronome—not to mention that I feel an overwhelming need to projectile vomit.

Wolf Howling at the Moon|image from bizabin.com

Right after turning on every light in the house to recreate the Home Alone fake-out scene in case madcap robbers are casing the house, the heavens opened up with a torrential downpour, the electricity flickered and went out as strains of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Night on Bald Mountain emanated from my cell phone—causing the bones in my body to dissolve into a pile of limp noodles in the now pitch black house.

ME:                        HELLO . . . hello, is that you honey?

PEE-WEE:            It is if the “honey” is your sister.  Called to see how you’re doin’ since WW’s been gone?

ME:                        Terrible!   I haven’t slept in days, the electricity just went kaput, and I could have sworn I felt something touch my toe the other night when my foot accidentally slipped over the edge of the bed.  I’ve been sleeping on the couch ever since with all of the lights on all through the night—including in all the bathrooms and over the pictures on the wall.  My electric bill is going to be thousands of dollars next month and WW is going to have my head.

PEE-WEE:            Say what?  Something touched your toe from underneath the bed?  Well, well, well, could it be the monster you said lived underneath my bed when we were little?  The one you told me was going to chew off my hands and feet while I slept, leaving me with bloody stumps for the rest of my life?  You know, the monster you claimed hung out with Count Dracula, the Wolf Man, the Boogey Man, and Frankenstein?  I didn’t sleep through a full night until I was eighteen because of your torture.  I’m thinking this is awfully sweet:  revenge on behalf of the baby sister.  He-he-he-he-he!

(IMP. NOTE:   Pee-wee is my only sibling—and she is shorter than I am—thus the name.  I love her more than life itself, but she gets on my ever-lovin’ nerves.  I will reluctantly admit [need to cover my ass, here: don’t know when the statute of limitations ends for sibling torture] that when we were growing up, I might have gone a little overboard in the performance of that universal torture duet known as “big sister vs. little sister.”  When Pee-wee was a little girl, she had ebony colored skin, was always half the weight and size she should have been, and she had eyes the size of duck eggs that seemed to morph together into one single eye when she was terrified by something I had said or done, which was often.  She rarely talked and her favorite expression was a high-pitched scream of terror about everything:  EEEEEEEK!  When you combined all those features about my sister, Pee-wee was the spitting image of the 1939 Buckwheat character from “Our Gang.”  Funny thing about my sister’s sibling grudges is that she remembers everything I ever did to her and I don’t recall one thing of this supposed abuse.)

Buckwheat from “Our Gang” (Little Rascals—William Thomas)

PEE-WEE:            Do you remember how you chose to “help me” get over my fear of the “monster that lived underneath the bed”?

ME:                        I plead the Fifth!

PEE-WEE:            You hopped up on my bed one Halloween night in the middle of a bad thunderstorm after I had had a horrendous nightmare about the monster underneath my bed and you said that you could cure me if I followed your instructions.  You claimed to have created a Monster Bible that was the end-all and be-all of monster knowledge.  You said:   “Listen Pee-wee.  There is nothing to this monster thing.  Monsters DO exist, and they DO live under beds of little kids that have really big eyes and very dark skin, but you just have to build up a resistance to them and then they will disappear.”  When I asked you, “how I do that Elno,” you said:   “Let me edumacate you with the Bed Monster’s relatives and they will eventually all disappear”!

I should have known better, but when I agreed to be “edumacated” by you, you quickly started your run-down of all the monsters you’d seen at the Saturday Movie Matinees with your friends, Rae-Rae and Charlene, and I rue the day I didn’t tell you to go away:

“Pee-wee,” you said, “here’s my Bible list of monsters that, once you know all about them, you’ll be able to kick the Bed Monster’s ass:

  1. The Boogey Man is the really scary guy that lives in the basement behind the furnace and eats bad little kids with big buggy eyes when he comes out of the basement in the middle of the night.
  2. The Wolf Man asshole is a man who looks just like our mailman, but he turns himself into a dog (like the ones next door), except he still keeps his man legs. He chases after people and tears them into pieces with his teeth when he catches them—especially little girls with HUGE eyes (I know because I seen this with my own eyes).
  3. Count Dracula wears a cape, only comes out at night, and drinks the blood of people until he sucks them dry and then leaves them looking like raisins. He is the father of ALL bed bugs, by the way.
  4. Frankenstein is really, really tall (taller than our house), and he was sewed together by a mad scientist with a giant needle and thread. He has a weird sounding voice, and he walks like a giant who drinks too much whiskey, like weird Uncle Oscar.  Not to worry so much about him. He only chases after white villagers, but we live in the ghetto and only Colored people live here.
  5. The fuckin’ Devil is the head-cheese of the monster group and he DOES live in our neighborhood. He’s the nigga’ who created all monsters, and he tells them where to go and who to kill.  He created all roaches and rats and you really gots to watch out for him, Pee-Wee, ‘cause he’ll try and fuck with you every minute of the day.
  6. The Monster underneath the Bed is a brother to ALL these other monsters and helps them with their dirty work of eating little kids with BIG EYES.  Don’t—whatever you do—close your eyes or let your feet dangle over the edge—not even a little bit—‘cause if the Monster underneath the bed gets hold of one of your feet, you’ll be sucked underneath the bed before you can even blink!”

Count Dracula (Christopher Lee)|image from soundonsight.org

ME:                        Oh for God’s sake, why did you go through this litany of monsters!  Are you trying to give me a heart attack in the dark?

PEE-WEE:            Really now . . . I’m giving you a heart attack, am I?  Have you peed your pants—not once, not twice, but three times—like I did when you gave me your Halloween gift of the oral rendition of the Monster Bible?  If I recall, I was only four years old—you are sixty-four!

ME:                        Oh look, the lights just came back on and I just heard the garage door open up—it must be WW coming home earlier than I expected (hallelujah!).  Gotta go.  I’ll talk to you later, psycho-sister.  Oh, and by the way, I’m going on record to disavow all knowledge of this Monster Bible and said treatment of you when you were a little kid.  God broke the mold of a model big sister when I was born.

PEE-WEE:            Hum, are you sure the garage door was opened by WW just now?

ME:                        What do you mean—am I sure?  Pee-wee cut the crap; you’re freakin’ me out, here.

PEE-WEE:              Are you sure it’s my brother-in-law in the garage—maybe it’s the long lost relatives of The Boogey, Count Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolf Man that you forgot to add to your Monster Bible.   Maybe it’s — THE ZOMBIES!   Mwahahahaha . . . Mwahahahaha . . . MWAHAHAHAHA!

******

I am discovering that the overdone meme on the Internet is correct:  monsters don’t live under our beds when we grow up—they live in our heads.  After one exposes the monsters underneath the bed of our childhood to be simply part of an overactive imagination, one has to constantly make sure that real live monsters don’t take up residence under our adult beds, rendering us completely incapacitated:  fear of abandonment, fear of rejection, fear of racism, fear of bullying, fear for the welfare of our children and their children, fear of growing old, fear of death, fear of never finding love, and my personal “top fear”—fear that God is not good and life as we know it is all there is—the haves vs. the have-nots.  The only antidote against monsters that I’ve discovered is that one has to flood the room with “light (Truth)” to push back the darkness, and then all the monsters (lies) have to flee.

I am also discovering that no matter how long it takes—younger siblings will have their revenge on older siblings—and it will seem to taste awfully sweet to them.

What monsters exist beneath your bed and in your head?

Image from thetoque.com “On the Subject of Monsters Under the Bed”

“…it is easy not to believe in monsters, considerably more difficult to escape their dread and loathsome clutches.”― Stanisław Lem, The Cyberiad

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”—Friedrich Nietzsche

 “We make our own monsters, then fear them for what they show us about ourselves.”― Mike Carey & Peter Gross, The Unwritten, Vol. 1: Tommy Taylor and the Bogus Identity

“One need not be a chamber to be haunted;

One need not be a house;

The brain has corridors surpassing

Material place.”

~Emily Dickinson

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on October 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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