← Scary Stories and Rain
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Hey, how's it going? Welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. Before we begin, I just want to remind you that there is now one week left to get your name in the pot to win a Nintendo Switch 2 bundle. If you want to be eligible to win, join my podcast. For $2.99 a month, you get rid of all of the ads, which is really great for sleeping and relaxing. And I might be contacting you to ask where to send your new Nintendo Switch 2 bundle. Also, I do want to say that I'm going to be announcing the winner on the first and I'm also going to be dropping a photo on my Instagram account showing the proof that I have the console, the shipping information that I actually did send it, and by the way, I just got my hands on a PlayStation 5 and I'm going to be giving that away next. So if you want to automatically enter to win the Nintendo Switch 2 bundle, go ahead and subscribe. Get rid of all of the ads and listen to every episode completely interruption free and you'll be automatically entered to win the PlayStation. I'm going to start doing giveaways every single month. And again, I just want to say thank you for being here. So good, so good, so good.
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It's time to save.
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Clear.
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The rack is on at your Nordstrom Rack store now through Monday. Take an extra 25% off clearance. Hurry. The best stuff goes fast. All sales final. Please see Nordstrom rack.com or ask a store associate for details. This episode is brought to you by State Farm. Checking off the boxes on your to do list is a great feeling. And when it comes to checking off coverage, a State Farm agent can help you choose an option that's right for you. Whether you prefer talking in person on the phone or using the award winning app, it's nice knowing you have help finding coverage that best fits your needs. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there. Prime delivery is fast. How fast are we talking? We're talking puzzle toys and lick pad. Delivered so fast you can get this puppy under control fast. Pads, cooling mat, pet cam are fast and fast. And those training treats faster than you can say sit. Fast, fast.
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Free delivery. It's on Prime. You know the feeling of being watched? Sure you do. We all do. It crawls along your spine and prickles your skin. There's something so disconcerting about it. It's an evolutionary thing, a holdover from our early days as a species, before human beings were the top of the food chain. We have this built in danger radar. And what do we do with it. Well, most of us ignore it. We shove that discomfort deep down in the back of our minds and pretend like it's nothing. Hell, sometimes we blame ourselves for having these impolite thoughts. There is one point though, where these feelings can't be ignored. When our base instinct can't be overridden by our brain's societal programming. One may even be inclined to say that we are in our most animalistic, self preserving state state when we are most vulnerable in our sleep. You may think you've experienced this, but I'll straight up tell you that most of you have not. Maybe a few of you suffer from sleep paralysis and have. To those of you, I offer my sincerest condolences. For the rest of you, let me explain to you what you're missing out on. Overwhelming terror. Your blood turning to ice. Your brain sending danger signals to every nerve in your body. All while trying to understand what it's perceiving. I'll tell you friends, that the only thing that comes close to that feeling of being watched in your sleep is the unholy realization upon bolting awake that you were right two years ago. That's when my life changed. I'd had a long day doing something or other and eagerly crawled into my bed. I'm not fully selling the exhaustion I felt. I hungered for sleep. I craved it. And when my head hit that pillow, it was pure bliss for the two seconds before my eyelids heavily slammed shut. I was the kind of tired where sleeping for 12 hours would have been considered child's play. And I knew it. So when my eyes sprung open and it was still dark outside my bedroom window, I was keenly aware that something was wrong. The feelings I described above. Fiery nerves, unexplainable panic. They rushed through me. I wasn't groggy despite still feeling the exhaustion. I was scared. And as my eyes slowly adjusted, I saw that my fear was righteous. Its bulbous white head peered up at me from the horizon that was the foot of my bed. Eyes, black as death, glared up at me. I didn't know what I was seeing, but I knew that it wasn't human. I didn't care. In that moment, every bone, every nerve in my body screamed at me to escape. You aren't dreaming. You are in danger. Move. My body was telling me. This is the exact reason you keep that pistol in the nightstand. I rolled towards the bedside table, intent on defending myself. And my heart stopped as the clawed three fingered hand slammed into my face, covering my nose and mouth. Damn it. My body had Tried its best to warn me. But the consideration that the creature at the foot of my bed had brought a friend had never occurred. My brain was compelling me to fight, urging my body to struggle, but I couldn't. My shallow, rapid breaths were drawing in something on the being's inhuman palm that was relaxing my muscles. Paralysis. Unable to move. Unable to fight. Panic fully set in. My mind sort of short circuited. And I know as my eyes started to fly that there was no point in fighting for consciousness. Maybe if my story ended there, it would have been better. I ask myself almost daily if I'd rather be dead than have those terrible memories of what happened next to be permanently burned into my brain. I truly don't know. But the fact is, it doesn't end here. No, friends. The true horror is yet to come. I don't know how to accurately explain my transition back to lucidity. Best I can do is compare it to the moment your brain jumps from the black void of sleep to the splendid world of a dream. Only for me, it was like leaping directly into the most horrific nightmare someone could conjure. Bubbles. Those were the very first things I saw. Tiny bubbles rising up from in front of me. Blinking to clear your vision is another of those base instincts we have. And let me tell you, my friends, having that taken away from you is something you never want to experience. Go ahead, try it. Hold your eyelids open for a few seconds. Don't blink. How long can you last? I couldn't last long. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not blink. I tried to scream. Nothing. It's like the order from my brain was being ignored. My mind was frenzied. Only a single coherent thought clawed its way to the surface of the swirling sea of chaos that my brain had become. They should be dry, shouldn't they? Yes. Yes, they should be. My eyes should have been dry. But they weren't. Why? Well, that revelation didn't help to calm me at all. It took a long moment for me to comprehend that they weren't dry because they were wet. Those bubbles rising before me, they were oxygen bubbles in some kind of liquid. It became clear that I was in some kind of fluid filled vat. I tried to raise my hands to find the container's curvature, but again, my brain's orders failed. I tried to smell the liquid I was floating in and couldn't. I tried to taste it, but just as when I had tried to scream, my mouth wouldn't cooperate. I couldn't emphasize enough how much my mind broke in that moment. I Literally felt myself going mad. When my eyes finally did spot something other than bubbles, it didn't help. Friends, what I'm about to tell you may not horrify you, it may not sicken you. But for me, imagine how disturbing it was when my eyes processed the image of myself. The same body I looked at in the mirror countless times. Okay. Now imagine how awful it would be to realize that that body wasn't right. It was me, but not all of me. It was my skin, but it had been hollowed out and stretched flatly like a bearskin rug. Except instead of adorning the floor, it was hanging in the middle of a large metallic room. Long taut cords held it in place like some kind of horrific museum display. As I was trying to grasp what I was seeing, my eyes took in more of the area. And if I could have vomited, I'm sure I would have. My skeletal system was on display nearby, completely separated from my circulatory system. I found the latter too, friends. It was lying on what can only be described as a steel surgical bed. My veins were held in place by similar wires that clung to my flesh. I am no medical professional, but I saw that my heart still beat and my lungs drew breath as my inner workings lay there separate from my mind. That's when I saw my brain, eyes and all connections between the two were absent from the human shaped mass. I guess that's where it clicked for me. I suddenly understood what was in the vat. I understood what me was where. I understood how I couldn't communicate with my nose or mouth or eyelids. The why of all of this, though, was yet to be seen. I could do nothing but exist, floating in my test tube. Hell. Time ceased to exist for me, helpless to do anything but observe. That's what I did. That and felt my sanity slipping further and further. It could have been minutes or days that passed before. Before my stupor was broken by movement. One of the creatures, same as the one I saw in my bedroom, entered my field of view from the right. It was short, less than half the height of an average man. And hovering behind it was a kind of dolly. Only the machinery seemed to be automated. The dolly carried a full muscular system and it was easy to assume that it belonged with the rest of my former body. The hovering device slowed to a stop next to the steel bed my veins were resting upon and reclined to form its own bed. Three more of the black eyed, bulbous headed creatures meandered into my frame. What followed, friends, is best described as torture. I was subjected to watch my otherworldly captors poke and prod my various systems. I felt none of it yet the violation as I watched them touch my stretched, severed skin with those three clawed hands. The way the little demons unwove my veins, the way they played with my digestive system. It was all so I felt like I was nothing. I felt like as if I were no more than a plaything, that every event of my life prior meant nothing. There was no me anymore, only chunks of meat to be prodded. This went on for an eternity. I had accepted that I would cease to be at some point and prayed to any God that would listen to let it be soon. My prayers went unanswered. Of course, whatever those bubbles floating around me were, they were keeping my brain alive. Then something happened that I wasn't expecting. A new figure walked into the scene. He was human, tall and lanky, decked out in a long lab coat, with perfectly combed hair and a thin mustache sitting atop his upper lip. It was confusing enough to see the man among the little monsters, but it was when he started to point and give them directions. If I could have spoke, the only words I'd have been able to muster would be does not compute. I watched on, feeling the opposite of the watched sensation. I felt instead ignored, as if I weren't worth a glance. Mentally I was screaming out for help, but my cries went unheard. The man had his back to me, partially obscuring my view with my muscular and circulatory system systems. He and I both watched as one of the small beings plunged a thin needle like tool into what used to be my heart. A tube was then attached to the needle and I watched in horror as my blood began to be pumped through the clear tubing. What the hell are you doing? I screamed internally. My friends. I don't know if it was a coincidence or not, but when my inner monologue shouted that panicked phrase, the man in the scientist outfit turned around to face me. His eyes locked onto mine. He slowly began to approach the vat housing me. When he reached me, he leaned his face near me and furrowed his brow. He blinked a few times, a luxury I had been denied, and raised a hand to completely blot out my vision. I was left completely blinded for a short period of time before I saw the hand move away. The scientist's brow furrowed further and I watched his lips move soundlessly. I had no ears after all. I was only able to make out a single word, dilating. The man was clearly displeased by his discovery and Judging from the way he turned and furiously waved his hand hands at one of the little creatures, I gathered that something had gone wrong. He continued berating the thing before finally turning his attention back to me. He looked at me for a long moment. Something in his eyes looked almost apologetic. Then he was joined by the pale creature he had been yelling at. It held up an object and the scientist took it without breaking eye contact. Suddenly, the bubbles between us vanished and I felt air against my naked eyeballs. The glass that had separated me from the rest of the world slowly slid downward. I felt my eyes rapidly drying out and was helpless to do anything except panic. When the scientist brought the long needle he had been handed up to eye level, I didn't feel it. When he drove the thing into my eye, I couldn't feel anything other than vague dryness. However, watching the thing enter was far worse. Thankfully, as the scientist pressed the plunger on the syringe, I felt darkness engulf me, blinding me. I felt my thoughts weaken and eagerly accepted the embrace of death. I didn't fight. I let go. Of course, I was more mistaken. My eyes flew open, bleary as they adjusted to the sunlight pouring into them. I pressed them shut tightly before it fully dawned on me. I had just shut my eyes. I blinked them a few times rapidly before I was overwhelmed by a strange metallic taste coating my mouth. I grit my teeth together, but knew instantly there was no stopping the inevitable. I rolled my head and had just managed to get it sideways when the vomiting happened. My stomach erupted, spilling its contents onto the sheets of my bed. My bed. My brain was working in overdrive as I spewed out everything inside of me. My thoughts raced as I struggled to keep up. Finally, my retching ceased and I was able to breathe. It took some effort, but I also managed to sit myself up. Indeed, I was in my bed in my room. But I didn't feel right. After a few moments of my head spinning, I was able to pivot and place my bare feet onto the wooden floor. It was cold. So cold. Almost painfully cold. My skin felt as if it were experiencing this sensation for the first time. I thrust my hands toward my puke clad pillow and grabbed it. I wasted no time pressing the vile thing into my face and unleashing a volley of screams. I was overwhelmed with feeling and joyous at the fact that I could scream. I spent a few minutes just sitting there, screaming. Eventually, I was able to stand and make my way to the bathroom room. Despite my balance seeming off, I spent a long while staring at myself in the mirror. I looked haggard and not quite right. I felt exactly how one should had they had been dissected and put back together. My blood felt weird. My vision was different. They may have switched which eye went in which hole. Two years have passed since then and I have consistently noticed changes. My body no longer feels like it's mine. I have worked it over countless times in my head and have come up with no conclusions as to why any of it happened. Why was there a human working with them? Who are they? Aliens? That was my first guess too, but I can't say for certain. Maybe they were demonstration. Those black eyes were so empty. I try not to think about it anymore. So why now? Why share my admittedly insane sounding story with you? Because I don't think I'm alone in my experience. Sure, I may have awoken when I wasn't supposed to, but the clinical, methodical way the beings went about their tasks, I don't think that I was there first. First I guess this is not only my tale, but a question. Have any of you experienced a sudden, unexplainable weirdness upon waking up one morning? If so, has something changed for you recently? For the past few days my right eye has been throbbing and I swear that when it's dead silent, I can almost hear a tiny beeping in my brain. I think something is going to happen soon. I think I'm part of whatever it'll be. I have been trying to ignore it, but friends, that is quite difficult to do. I can't shake the feeling that I am being watched. @blinds.com, it's not just about window treatments. It's about you. Your style, your space, your way. Whether you DIY or want the pros to handle it all, you'll have the confidence of knowing it's done right. From free expert design help to our 100% satisfaction guarantee, everything we do is made to fit your life and your windows. Because@blinds.com, the only thing we treat better than windows is you. Shopblinds.com Labor Day mega sale happening now. Save up to 50% site wide plus a free measure. Rules and restrictions may apply.
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I live in a small suburban area of Vancouver, British Columbia, an unassuming place surrounded by industrial complexes and highways leading to bigger, more interesting locales. My house is a basic duplex. Used to live here with my parents, but they moved uptown and left the place to me. I spent most of my time trying to survive whatever my online university courses throw at me week to week, so naturally I get strong stressed on the regular. I used to remedy this by going on walks at night while listening to some music helped to calm my nerves though Sometimes I just got an odd feeling on these walks, a feeling like I was being watched, even though there was usually nobody else around except maybe the odd neighbor taking their dog out to do its business. I got anxious, scared someone or something was following me, and I got the urge to turn around and check behind me, even though I was terrified of what I might see when I did. Of course, when I did give in to the urge, there was always nothing there. Just faded street lights, trees and empty streets. I always felt stupid for doing this, thinking to myself, of course there's nothing there, you idiot. I always reminded myself that there was nothing dangerous or scary lurking around this boring, quiet neighborhood. I don't believe that anymore. One night around mid August, I was sitting on the couch downstairs in the front room of my house doing some studying. It was around one in the morning and I was getting stressed because my final exam that I was studying for was in two days and I had wasted most of the previous week playing Red Dead Redemption 2. So as I usually did in those kinds of situations, I threw on my sandals and stepped outside for a stroll. It was quiet, but not unnaturally so. Typically, nobody would be out at this time, save for me, and that was the case on that night, or so I thought. The only sounds were the faint hum of the street lights and the roar of the engine of the odd car driving down the nearby highway. I stepped out the front gate of my yard, put my earbuds in, and threw on my favorite playlist. I didn't sense anything out of the ordinary at first. My music was only playing at around half volume, so I could still hear the familiar silence around me. The temperature was about what one could expect at 1am in late summer in Western Canada. There was the familiar anxiety of being watched, but since I knew there wasn't anyone else out there, I chose to ignore it and carry on with my walk. Everything was fine. I wish it had stayed that way. I had maybe gotten five or six feet away from my house when I noticed the flickering of the street lights. They are pretty old, so it wasn't out of the ordinary to see see them flicker slightly, but that night it was more erratic and pronounced. I also noticed only a few of them were behaving like that, particularly only the ones near me. I saw the ones closest to me flickering so alarmingly and uncommonly fast, while the ones further down the street in front of me were seemingly normal. Then my earbuds started to malfunction, the audio quality took a steep dive and the music becoming scratchy and cutting in and out. I unplugged the wire from the jack and chalked it all up to simply being an odd coincidence. But then the strange occurrences became harder to ignore. I then suddenly became aware of an odd sensation. One that made the hairs on my arm and the back of my neck stand straight up. One that coursed throughout my body, almost feeling like tiny jolts of electricity running through my veins. I've experienced things like sudden chills, static shocks and stuff like that, but this was different. Those kinds of things usually only last for a second, then go away. This wasn't. This feeling just made me more and more tense. I knew something odd was going on. Then came the breathing. I hadn't heard it at first because I had still been listening to my music before. I took notice of the lights and the weird tingling feeling, but it was there. It sounded close, maybe a couple of feet behind me. I must be losing it, I nervously thought to myself. If somebody were that close close to me, I surely would have known by now, right? It wasn't just how close it seemed to be that disturbed me. It was also how it sounded. It was ragged breathing, like that of someone who had just run a hundred yard dash. It also didn't sound exactly human. It was distorted and freakish, like someone blowing through spinning fan blades. It also sounded as. As if whatever was breathing was violently sucking in and exhaling air rather than normally breathing. It wasn't normal. I had thought nobody was out there with me. I had thought that it was okay to simply push away the fear of being watched. The fear came rushing back when I heard that awful breathing. I couldn't ignore it. The lights were still flickering. My body still felt as if it were full of pins and needles. And the breathing was still there. I took a deep breath, counting down in my head from free and whipped my body around to face whoever was behind me. It was almost totally dark when I turned around. All the streetlights behind me had turned off, leaving the sidewalk and street nearly completely shrouded in shadow. I couldn't see very well, but my eyes were adjusted enough to at least see two feet ahead, which is how close the breathing sounded. Yet I saw nothing there. The breathing suddenly stopped, as if whatever was there were trying to remain unnoticed. As my eyes continued to adjust to the darkness, I decided to call out my pursuer. Who's there? I yelled aggressively into the night, not caring who I woke up by doing so. I waited a few seconds and got nothing in response. I could see a bit further now, and I peered into the blackness to see if I could catch a glimpse of whoever had been following me. I suddenly saw something, something that made my entire being seize up in fear. It was a figure standing ominously behind a tree. I couldn't see it all too well, but it was definitely there. It looked to be around 10, 15ft behind me, which didn't make sense, as the breathing had sounded much closer. It was tall, abnormally so, probably around 9 to 10ft in height. Its form was roughly humanoid, but wrong. It had long, gangly arms reaching down past one what I assume were its knees. Its head was small compared to the rest of the body, and it was extremely misshapen. I couldn't see if it had eyes, but I could just feel that it was looking straight at me. I couldn't tell if it was simply the lack of light and my own terror playing tricks with my eyes, but its entire body seemed to be pitch black, darker than I even thought possible. Almost as if it were entirely composed of emptiness, a void that had taken shape, I thought. I also saw small tendrils lash out at random from its form, different parts of its figure appearing to warp and quiver, like it was barely holding its corporeal appearance together. I didn't stick around long after that to get a better look. Nearly paralyzed out of my sheer terror, I thought of ways that I could get back inside my house safely. If I ran straight back to the sidewalk, that thing might have just ran straight towards me and got me. I couldn't run around the back and get in through the garage because I didn't have my door opener left. With really only one option, I broke out of my frozen state just long enough to take a sharp ride into my neighbor's yard and jumped over the small head hedges back into my yard. I fumbled with my keys, not wanting to even look back to check if the being was getting closer. I managed to get the door open and threw myself inside, slamming it shut behind me. I locked the door and ran around the house, making sure every possible point of entry was secure. I locked the windows, closed the vents. I even plugged up the sinks and drains. I didn't know what the hell the thing was or what it could do, but I did know I didn't want it anywhere near me. I went into my bedroom, barricaded the door, and turned on all the lights. Collapsing onto my bed, I had a moment to truly process what had just happened. I was just chased by some unknowable being. Something I used to think was a situation exclusive to people in campfire fire tales and horror stories. But it happened. I know it did. I wasn't going crazy. I wasn't having some stress induced hallucination. That thing was as real as my own skin and bones. I was sure of it. I don't know how long I just sat on my bed, curled up in a ball. I didn't know what to do. I certainly didn't want to look outside to see if it was was still there. I debated calling the police, but concluded that they would most likely have thought I was some drunken moron spouting nonsense. I decided I would call my girlfriend just to tell her about the absolutely insane experience I had just had. And so I could hear a familiar voice. I was about to dial the first digit of her number, but then my cell phone suddenly turned off all on its own. Then the lights started flickering. I knew it was back. I just knew it. I felt all my hair standing on end and the shocking sensation spreading through my entire body, same as before, but somehow worse. I didn't know where it was. It couldn't possibly be inside the house, I told myself in a frenzied panic. I locked all of the possible ways anything could get in. But then again, I guess I didn't really know what was possible at that point. Where are you? I screamed out amidst the chaos of the flickering lights and my own feelings of absolute confusion and alarm. Where are you? It spoke. The thing spoke. It had a voice that made my blood turned to ice. A voice unlike anything I had heard before. I will most likely continue to hear it over and over in my head for the rest of my life. If I had to describe it, I would say it had the same sort of distorted and ragged quality as its breathing, but infinitely more unnerving. It sounded as if its throat was full of mucus and blood. Its pitch alternated between inhumanly deep and ear bleedingly shrill, and the way it pronounced words was indescribably strange, almost making them unrecognizable as English. I was so horrified by hearing that voice that it took me a couple seconds to realize that it had copied me. Where are you? It said again in that dreadful tone. I couldn't distinguish where it was coming from. It sounded like it was all around me. Where are you? It repeated once more. I kept hearing it repeat and repeat and repeat, almost as if it were mocking me. I covered my ears in an attempt to block out that horrid voice, to no avail. The lights continued to flicker faster and faster all around me until all the light bulbs simultaneously sparked and shattered, plunging the room into darkness. There was nothing I could do but cry to myself in the darkness. After what seemed like hours, it finally stopped. It was totally silent. I continued to sit on my bed and wait, worried to let my guard down. Despite the feeling of relief. After a while I mustered up the courage to peek through the blinds to check if it was still there. I shouldn't have. The thing was there, but it wasn't still at the end of the sidewalk. It wasn't at my front gate. It wasn't inside my yard. It was right outside my window, looking in with its face against the glass. I stifled a gasp and immediately retreated from the window. The blinds were closed again, so I couldn't still see it. But what I did see for that split second looking through the blinds has burned itself permanently into my brain. I had seen its face. It was just as dark and empty as the rest of its body, except for a huge, toothy, grinning maw and two bloodshot human eyes. I backed up until I was against my door, trembling and shaking uncontrollably. Tears ran down my face face as I became overwhelmed with an unfathomable sense of pure fear and existential dread. Where are you? It screeched much more aggressively than the previous times. Where are you? It growled again. It then started to produce what sounded like laughter, but was just as off putting and disturbing as everything else about was not jovial or mischievous laughter, but laughter that was deeply evil, gripping with wicked intent and malice. It continued to speak, but no longer repeated what I had said. No, what it uttered next was much, much worse. Help me. Get away. Run. What is that thing? Save me. Mommy. Mommy. It's killing everyone. It repeated these phrases over and over in that skin crawlingly devilish voice. It didn't stop at just the phrases either. It screamed and it cried and even somehow made noises that I can only describe as sounding like bones being broken, flesh being ripped apart, and limbs being twisted and torn. Horn. I started hearing terrible scratching sounds, as if 100 chalkboards were being clawed all at once. It was trying to get in. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even scream. The scratching persisted, getting faster and more intense with each passing second. The entity let out a preternatural howl. I heard the glass last crack. I blacked out. When I came to, it was no longer dark outside. The sun had risen. I looked around my room, and all the electronics seemed to be functioning again. I checked my phone. It was 6:30am I hesitantly examined the window, and while there were hundreds of claw marks and a huge fracture, the nightmarish thing that made them had vanished. I searched everywhere in my house to make sure it wasn't hiding somewhere, and I found nothing. I called a repair company right away to replace the window, then proceeded to try and inform everyone I could on what had happened. Naturally, everyone thought I was either crazy, playing a joke on them or just except extremely high at the time. Nobody believes me, but I know that it happened. I don't go out for walks at night anymore. I have tried to do research on what that thing was, but I haven't been able to find anything substantial. I don't know what it was, how it got here, or why I didn't die that night, but I will never forget it. I still hear its tainted voice when I'm alone, and sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see its gruesome visage. I haven't seen it again since that night, and I pray every night to whoever is listening that I never do again.
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Eczema isn't always obvious, but it's real. And so is the relief from Ebglis. After an initial dosing phase, about 4 in 10 people taking EVGLIS achieved Itchri relief and clear or almost clear skin at 16 weeks, and most of those people maintain skin that's still more clear at one year with monthly dosing.
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EVGLIS Lubricizumab LBKZ a 250mg per 2ml injection, is a prescription medicine used to treat adults and children 12 years of age and older who weigh at least 88 pounds or 40 kilograms with moderate to severe eczema, also called atopic dermatitis, that is not well controlled with prescription therapies used on the skin or topicals, or who cannot use topical therapies. EBGLIS can be used with or without topical corticosteroids. Don't use if you're allergic to Epglis allergic reactions can occur that can be severe eye problems. Tell your doctor if you have new or worsening eye problems. You should not receive a live vaccine when treated with Epglis. Before starting Epglis, tell your doctor if you have a parasitic infection searching for real relief.
- [39:06]
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Ask your doctor about ebglis and visit epgliss.lily.com or call 1-800-LilyRx or 1-800-545-5979 this.
- [39:15]
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Three month plan $15 per month equivalent required. New customer offer first three months only, then full price plan options available, taxes and fees extra.
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See mintmobile.com put us in a box. Go ahead. That just gives us something to break out of because in 2025, GMC terrain elevation is raising the standard of what comes standard. As far as expectations go, why meet them when you can shatter them? What we choose to challenge, we challenge completely. We are professional grade. Visit gmc.com to learn more. Does it ever feel like you're a marketing professional just speaking into the void? Well, with LinkedIn ads, you can know you're reaching the right decision makers. You can even target buyers by job title, industry, company seniority skills. Wait, did I say job title yet? Get started today and see how you can avoid the void and reach the right buyers. With LinkedIn ads. We'll even give you a $100 credit on your next campaign. Get started at LinkedIn.com results. Terms and conditions apply. I work in a place called Bull's Heart, Texas. I'm a sheriff's deputy. Sort of. Technically, I'm a federal agent. No, I haven't been to Portland recently. Nevertheless, I'm supposed to protect and serve the people of Bullsheart. Keep a lid on things, keep them calm. But quite honestly, I hate this town. I mean, sure, the people are nice in their own odd way. They recognize that I have a rough job, mostly due to the nature of the citizenry itself. They know that. They respect that. It doesn't stop them from going after each other and creating situations that I have to put my damn full self in the middle of. Doesn't stop the collection of scars on my body from getting bigger. Doesn't stop the nightmares either. But they seem to appreciate the fact that this job is an ass kicker. Which is nice. I suppose if I was the milkman or ran a gas station or something, I might not hate the town as much. But then again, if I hadn't signed a 40 year contract with the threat of life in a federal pen, if I broke said contract, I probably would have hung it up and pushed on down the road of peace. People in this town know they can't control their nature. Some got a handle on it better than others. But most know that they are one stressful day away from a good blow up. That's where I and the sheriff's department come in. Sometimes it's a simple matter of sitting a body down and letting them vent out their frustrations. Sometimes it's so bad that we have to call the big feds in. I hate doing that. Those boys and girls come in wide eyed, terrified and heavily armed. Fear is really something. And when it has a Beowulf 50 caliber loaded with consecrated depleted uranium tipped rounds, it can be a real bloody bastard. But the fact of the matter is that the citizens of Bull's Heart are better off in this town than they would be out in the world. At least so far as normal folks like you and me is concerned. Just because folks are different doesn't mean they are evil. But sometimes evil is a race relative concept. The people have a lot of respect for me, a normal guy, albeit with some technological assistance, throwing down with the nastiness of their nature when they get less than civil hell. They respect the other guys that do this job too. But I'm one of the few normal types who do it, so they give us just a pinch of extra respect. But it doesn't stop us from getting our asses handed to us and occasionally getting gored to death or ripped apart or eaten or drained of blood or. I could go on, but you get the picture. I was hoping for a relaxed evening as I pulled up my armored Dodge Charger Interceptor into The parking lot of the only place a fella could get decent food at this godforsaken hour. I was something of a regular when I was on shift. They knew me, knew when I liked to stop in and usually had a plate of food for me. A woman wearing a typical diner waitress's uniform was standing out front having a smoke as I walked up to the door. She had worked the counter of Toothy Earls as long as anyone could remember. She was a little long in the tooth these days though she carried a little more weight. Her voice was a little harsher, her fur had a little more gray in it. Supposedly she had been quite the looker in her youth though. She turned her head towards me as I walked up to the front doors. Her big yellow eyes got a little wider and she flashed me a fang riddled grin. Her ears tilted forward in my direction a little. Well if it isn't the long arm of the log. She rasped at me with a little purr in her voice like she always did. She leaned in, closed her eyes and nuzzled her fuzzy cheek against mine. She was one of my biggest fans. Ever since a bus got lost on the way to a furry convention in Houston, got off the highway and stopped at the diner. They had mobbed her, pawing at her, telling her they loved her costume. When she was cornered she went into fight mode. She damn near went full feral on them. Older gal or not, she had claws and a few thousand years of hand to hand combat experience. She had taken the right eye of a fat man in a My Little Pony T shirt and cargo shorts by the time I could get through the crowd tour. I took some cuts myself but it was understandable given the circumstances. I bear no ill will towards her. She however had felt awful about tearing out that dumbass's eye, but when she explained the situation to me I was ready to arrest the little creep myself. He had been fondling her, thinking he was fondling a costume and refusing to back off. I mean, what the hell, even if she was in costume you still don't go touching people who don't want to be touched. Ellie didn't want to press charges though she felt that losing his depth perception was enough of a punishment, even though she had done it in a the heat of the moment and not in her rational mind. Hey Ellie, I said giving her a gentle pat on the back. Everything alright? Oh, quiet as the grave hun, she said while taking a drag off of a Virginia Slim. I got food waiting for you in there. Go eat. You're getting Skinny. Yes, ma'. Am. I watched the scrawny striper walking towards my table table in my favorite corner of Toothyearl's Eatery. He must have been new because he was gripping both sides of my plate with strained white fingers. He was holding onto my steak and eggs like his life depended on it, and at Earl's it did. You could always tell the new ones because they weren't used to their new environs. They are all anxious energy and fear. Speak to some of them too loud and they crap themselves literally. Stripers are what we call the various crap bags and death row inmates what get sent to our town to serve the people, keep a sense of normalcy for the inhabitants, trying to live something of a normal life, maybe provide a meal every once in a while. Think of them as indentured servants without the attached value of life. They are dropped here and put to work for the rest of their sentences. In the old days they used to wear striped prison uniforms. That's how the name took root, even though they dress differently now. Keep the monsters with the monsters, the old sheriff had always said. Let us sort each other out, he would finish with a diabolical laugh. He didn't refer to the people of his town as monsters in a denigrating way, of course. He was one. I don't mean that in a bad way either. Sheriff Onryo was literally the physical manifestation of a demon whose particular wheelhouse was vengeance. He stood nine feet tall, had three legs, skin that resembled the strike here part of a matchbox. Four inch fangs, claws, the whole nine yards. A crown of green fire always burned above his bald head whether he was wearing his brown round campaign hat or not. Green flames blazed out of his eye sockets as well. When he wore his silver rimmed aviators, he looked like an Iron Maiden album cover. He had the voice to match too. It was involuntarily terrifying. Part of being the physical manifestation of a vengeance demon, I suppose. Keep in mind, I said, the physical manifestation of he wasn't actually the demon or even a demon. It was some weird metaphysical nonsense that he tried to explain to me over beers once. Something about him growing stronger than the actual demon and killing its mind and breaking free. It didn't make sense to me, but not a lot about Bull's Heart. Texas actually does helluva boss, though. Tough but fair. The striper wordlessly placed the food down in front of me. The patches on his shirt said that he was a child murderer. The three red stars at the bottom of the child murderer patch said he was a pedophile as well. I was utterly incapable of feeling pity for the terrified man. The food looked good though, as it always did at Toothy Earls, but something was to meant missing. Hey dirtbag, I said in my best prison guard voice. Where's my coffee? The striper looked at me with all the hate a man could muster. He looked like he was about to vent some of his stress in my direction, a bad choice for any striper. When I heard something make a riotous racket back in the kitchen like a metal spatula being thrown across a hot griddle. The striper popped up straight at the sound, wide eyed, terror on his face, his head turned towards the service window between the front of the diner and the kitchen in the back. The man acting as my waiter let out a nervous moan. He brought his hands up into a ball under his chin and his eyes went wide. A few of the other regulars turned their heads our way, hoping for a show. I reckon Earl ran a tight ship. He didn't like it when his customers came into his his establishment, plonked down their hard earned money and got poor service in return. When the waitress or waiter was a regular citizen of the town, they might have gotten a talking to or an ass chewing as they were good people, more or less. In the case of stripers, the ass chewing could be a little more literal. Marcel. A voice called from the kitchen. The voice sounded like it was bubbling up through a drowned man voice box. Did you not remember our talk? What comes before the food? The striper looked down, pressed his balled up fists into his eyes. His response was a terrified murmur. Tears were streaming down his face. At this point this was a pretty typical reaction for most stripers who were new in town. I don't think I heard you, Marcel. The drowning man's voice floated out from the back again. D d d Drink BEF before food. Marcel stammered out. That's right, the voice confirmed. Drink before food. Now don't leave the deputy waiting. He takes his coffee with a lot of cream and sugar because he has such a sweet disposition. Earl's voice had a note of playfulness to it upon mentioning my general attitude towards the world. Well, as much as that that voice could sound playful. The striper probably didn't pick up on that. You had to stick around for a while to pick up on these sort of things, and most stripers didn't survive long enough. Thanks, Earl, I called out to the kitchen. A large three fingered scaly hand about the size of a dinner plate reached through the service window. A thumb ending in a massive claw extended upwards. No problem, Deputy Earl was warbled back. A favorable Yelp review would be appreciated. That got a snort out of a couple of the regulars sitting at the bar. It was an inside joke. I've been known to leave the occasional Yelp review. I don't know why people give me crap for it. Quality service should be praised and bad service should be mentioned so as the establishment can get better. But for some reason which is beyond me, people like to give me a rasher of crap for it. And I don't see the humor in it, frankly. Screw you, Earl, I said back as monotone as possible. The regulars at the bar let rip with outright laughter. Charming as always, Deputy, the drowning man's voice called back cheerfully, busting my balls. Earl had known me long enough that he knew I meant nothing by it or I wouldn't have made the joke. I could take Earl in a fight with the proper equipment, of course, but he had started life as a water deity for a tribe somewhere on the Nile river delta. One of the gods folks prayed to me before they went out and screwed someone up, so fights he was involved with didn't tend to be fun affairs, so I generally try and keep it affable with them. I realized the striper was still standing next to my table. His hands were balled up at his sides, his eyes squeezed shut. He was muttering something, sounded like a prayer. Now a fella in his fearful condition might seem somewhat deserving of compassion. I am here to say he is not. He has earned every bit of this. He has earned this torment. Now I know what you're saying. What if he was wrongly convicted of his crimes? What if it was a frame up? What if he is a good guy caught in a bad situation? Allow me to hang a light on it for you. That crap happens in the real world. In this town. People know evil can sniff it out like a bloodhound. Hell, some of them helped write the definition of the word. Now the government has tried to use us to disappear people before my time, or so I'm told. They found out that crap doesn't fly real fast. The people of Bull's Heart aren't a tool for slaughtering suspected communists, just folks tired of living in the dark and wanting to live around people they might have had a thing or two in common with. Doesn't mean they can't still mess stuff up. So when I say the government found out real quick that crap doesn't fly, they found it out real hard. You ever Heard of Herbert Gilroy Chalmers? No. Nobody has. He was President of the United states for about three months at some point in the early 1900s. No one is exactly sure which three months, though now there is some speculation as to which town he pissed off might have been Bullsheart or one of its sister townships or colonies. But for purposes of local pride around here we say it was Bullsheart. But anyway, the dude tried to lay down the law on a town full of nightmares and myths. Now he doesn't even exist in the history books. You figure it out. We're actually on the 46th president and nobody knows it. Sorry, got off on a tangent there. Despite my hatred of my job, I can at least admit that the town has one hell of a fascinating history. The nature of it and all. The fearful striper looked dead set on finishing his prayer. I was more dead set on getting some caffeine. I wrapped my fingers on the table to get his attention. I raised my eyebrow at the dude, giving him a look that said chop chop, asshole. The striper looked down at me. His eyes flicked to the steak knife sitting next to my untouched steak and eggs. I could see what he wanted to do do. I was used to being viewed as a soft target by rambunctious stripers. I'm not, but when you stack me next to some of the folks around here, it might just appear that way. Most of the normies living in this town looked like soft targets compared to everything else. They weren't either, though like most Texans who live outside of the big cities, you had to be tough to get by in Bullsheart. Even more so. I placed my finger on the plastic handle of the steak knife. I met his eyes and slid the blade closer to him. I was damn near daring him at that point. How do you want your day to end? I asked him. You want to go back to the lockup, get a snooze in, wake up and face tomorrow all bright eyed and bushy tailed or I motioned with my head towards a couple of fellas at the bar arguing over who was going to win the super bowl this year, Dallas or Houston? This is Texas, after all. You want to be someone's dinner, I said to him. The striper Marcel, looked down at the knife. Then his eyes flicked up at me and backed down at the knife again. A fat bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. He ran his tongue across his suddenly dry upper lift. As his eyes lit, lost focus. I could tell he wanted to gut me. Old Bubba Ray over there is a vegetarian, but he doesn't mind taking a bite out of a striper every now and again, I said, not taking my finger off of the knife. Now see, he has blunt teeth. Not meant for ripping throats out, meant for mashing down grass and the occasional bug. Not for ripping and tearing. So he has to mash his meat before he can swallow it. Just big massive blunt teeth pulping muscle and tissue down. Can you imagine what that feels like, Marcel? I leaned back in my chair, removing my hands from the table, putting them in my lap, presenting an easier target for him. I pulled his daughter out of a flipped over pickup truck that had the temerity to be on fire at the time. Got myself cooked pretty good in the process. But she lived. Starting high school next year. Good kid. Ol Bubba Ray has pledged something of a life debt to me. Now of course I told him that wasn't necessary. Of course, but you know how daddies are with their kids. You save their babies lives, they think you hung the moon. Marcel's eyes darted over towards the large fellow with horns. Wearing a 5XL JJ Watt jersey. Bubba's horns could put a Longhorns rack to shame. They ended in nasty points that Bubba meticulously kept sharp, not for intimidation mind, but because he liked to look presentable. Bubba Ray was getting deep into his gridiron debate and I could tell he was getting serious too. He was banging his hoof on the floor as if he was punctuating individual points of merit. I could tell that Marcel was deep in the middle the of. Of an internal struggle. He was close to the breaking point. The problem for him is that I really like messing with these guys. I leaned forward in my chair a little bit, doing my best to bore my eyes right through Marcel's. I straightened up my shoulders a little. I stared up at Marcel from under my eyebrows and gave him a mocking grin, one of those that a crazy fella in a movie might have when he is trying to mess with the heroic protagonist. Marcel's peepers flicked to the serrated meat cutter again. I placed my elbows back on the table. We both know you ain't got the sack for it, boy, I said, shoving every bit of high school bully into my voice that I could muster. Calling him boy was a bit of a mock, since he must have been at least 10 years my senior. That's why you went for for kids, wasn't it? Marcel's eyes bored back into mine, anger darkening those baby blues of his. That was it. The striper was nothing but a rat bastard looking to feel tough I had a notion as to what made him tick. Do you know what messes with these guys the most? When you just lay their crap out in front of them, make them confront it, Poke through any different justification notions they may have built up. A full grown woman would have rocked your crap, Marcel. A full grown man would have turned your narrow ass into a doorstop. But kids, they can't fight back, can they? Too small. Smaller than you even. You ain't never been a tough guy or even a durable guy. You probably grew up getting called a wuss every day of your life. Might have been your daddy, or it might have been whatever no good piece of last call bar trash, your horror of a mama drug home that night. Might have been your gym coach. Might have been the guy who bashed your head into the locker so as to make his prom queen girlfriend moister than an oyster. The who might not matter. But it was someone, wasn't it? Some bastard you've been trying in vain your whole life to prove wrong. You probably spent most days of your youth drowning kittens and screwing the sleeve of your favorite jacket, never once making a friend. Because nobody wants to hang out with the kid who smells like old gym socks. And you weren't even getting a second glance from the girls you liked. No, not at all. Because you could never work up the courage to go talk to them, could you? So now you're a quiet, deranged little bastard who went too far and got caught. You got dropped in a spot spot where you're treated with the same regard as those kids. You messed up and it scares the crap out of you, doesn't it? Marcel screwed his mouth up into a sour, pussed, tight lipped scowl. He raised his hands up and laid his palms on his cheeks. He knew damn well he couldn't even respond. He knew that much of the score. He had been cast out by police society and now was forced to walk amongst monsters who didn't seem to hold up in high regard either. I could see the anger in his eyes. I didn't know if anything I said had rung true or was just insulting him enough to get his goat. I didn't care either. Now I started again. We both know you ain't going to do nothing because if you did, well, you know what is going to happen to you. And you may not like your life right now, but you damn sure don't want to to lose it. So go get me my coffee, prick. I spat out the last phrase with as much bile and venom as I could vocally muster. Marcel was shaking. At this point I got the feeling that half the reason he was pressing his hands into his face was just to keep his mouth shut. I could see he was breathing hard, and for a moment I thought he might have the gumption to make a play for that flatware. Sometimes they do, getting dropped into bull's heart, knowing there wasn't really an escape, and knowing that you would most likely die with the knowledge of what your insides looked like. Well, it can be stressful, even for a sick bastard like Marcel. But eventually he only nodded. He did, in fact, know the score. He stared down at me for a moment, eyes cherry red from crying. He was probably trying to find figure me out. Why was the normal looking dude so friendly with all these things that were so mean to him? Shouldn't there be some form of human solidarity? That was an easy answer. They were people. He was not. Screw him.
- [63:56]
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A
Now I'm sure he wanted to bluster and rage at me. I'm sure he wanted to snatch up that knife and cut a new mouth in my face. I'm sure I had gotten myself into some mental list he was building in that deranged little skull of his. I'm sure in his mind he had killed me at least five or six times in a multitude of exotic and intriguing ways. But what he actually did in reality was finally turn around and go get me my coffee. I noticed that when he walked behind the counter toward the coffee machine, Bubba Ray and another bit of local color named Murray, the fella who Bubba Ray had been arguing with, both turned an eye towards him. I noticed that the terrified striper seemed to do his best not to look at them, trying to pretend that the two nightmares hadn't just focused a small amount of their attention on him. I understood why Bubba Ray could be a scary sight on his own, but Murray could be a real perplexing bastard just to look at. I don't mean that in a mean way, of course, but facts are facts. When a man walks into a diner and plops his head down on the counter. Well, that goes against all notions of nature, and it can be a little disconcerting at first. Plus it's hard to talk to Murray. I never know where to look. Do I stare at the half rotten coconut sitting in his hands or do I look at where his head shifts should be? Plus the fact that Murray was a tiny bit self conscious about it didn't help. I mean, he had no reason to be. Couldn't help how the forces of metaphysics and the great beyond had shaped him. I'll spin you up though. If you ever run across Murray or a fella with a similar condition, just talk to the head. If he gets bored and starts tossing it hand to hand, just talk to his chest. Both seemed to be acceptable. The striper made it a point not to look at either man and concentrated on the task at hand. He finally brought the cup back to me and set it down wordlessly in front of me. The tremor in his hands only made him spill a little bit. Without a word he turned to walk away, but I heard a long, drawn out hiss float over my shoulder. It sounded like a mama mountain line hissing at a wayward cub. The striper froze in his tracks, his body going tense. Marcel? Ellie asked with a bit of annoyed hostility in her voice. Apparently she had finished up her smoke break. Did you ask the deputy if he wanted anything else while you were at his table? He looked over at the old waitress and sheepishly shook his head. No, he said quietly. His voice marched right up to the line of being dismissive, or as close to as it was safe to do so. He probably wasn't as afraid of Ellie as he was of Toothy Earl, Bubba Ray, or Murray. She may look like a mountain lion, but she was friendly as all hell. It was her nature. So I could see where he might get a little more comfortable with her. Which, if you know the four of them, is just about the wrong attitude to take. Now don't get me wrong, I wouldn't get in line to tussle with any of them. Swamp monsters, minotaurs, headless horse people are all dangerous in their own right, but Ellie probably had them all on experience alone. I once found a book in the sheriff's office tactical research library. It was a transcription of an accounting of a brouhaha Ellie had found herself in way back in 1300 or some odd year somewhere in proto Germany. I don't remember which part. The condensed story is that 200 warriors, the best warriors from three different principalities at that, went to push her out of a forest she was calling home. At the time. Only one of them came back. He was half out of his gourd and hauling a cart full of severed heads. A very elegant way of saying leave me the hell alone. I briefly wondered if Elly was going to take his head off. I had asked her about the battle in Proto Germany Forest once. She told me that she didn't really remember much about it. The 1300s were apparently a very wild time in her life, and she could hardly be expected to remember every little scrap she had been in. Which is fair, I guess. The striper looked up at her now. I may have had him a little worked up from earlier. The stress might have been getting to him. Or he might just plain old have felt like standing up for himself. No, I didn't, he said a little louder, damn near glaring at Ellie. This. This isn't my job. This isn't right. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be surrounded by you things. And this. He motioned towards me. Traitor. None of you are real. I noticed that his voice was rising. It was also starting to crack. Sounded like his balls were mid drop. Racism aside, I can't say that a piece of degenerate detritus like Marcel implying that I was some sort of race traitor, had much of an effect on me. Nevertheless, I eased my hand towards the handle of the large caliber smoke wagon sitting on my duty belt. Not to defend him, of course. I might have been okay with him taking a swing at me, but I didn't like anyone getting lippy with Miss Ellie. As Marcel got defiant, Buba Ray and Murray dropped their conversation like a sack of bricks. Almost in sync, they spun around on their stools and leaned back against the counter, the counter creaking as Bubba Ray leaned his considerable bulk against it. Murray picked his head up from the bar and placed it on his lap. He jocularly elbowed Bubba in the ribs and pointed at the brewing altercation. Bubba slapped his elbow away. I'm watching it too, dumbass. Bubba Ray snorted at his pal. Now hush up. Elly's pupils got thin as she stared back at the wayward striper. I noticed that her hands began to flex, her claws slowly sliding out of her fingertips as she worked her fingers. Her posture tensed up like she was about to pounce. I noticed that her ears were laid back against her skull. In the background, I noticed a toothy snout sliding out of the kitchen service window, followed by the rest of Toothy Earl's head. It reminded me of a crocodile growing gliding through water, his reptilian eyes taking in the situation, his forked tongue sliding out of his mouth, slapping at his lips like a lizard. He looked like he was invested in the situation taking place in his dining room. Listen here, you cheeky little gobshite, she said, her voice more of a low rumble at this point. Your people cast you out. You were sentenced to death. You are dead as far as anyone of note is concerned. She was interrupted by my radio squawking to life, a dispatcher calling my name out of the ether, wanting to know my location. Marcel jumped and a little bit of tension was bled out of the room. Son of a bitch, I grumbled as I reached down to the hand sitting on my shoulder. Yeah, Jan, I'm at Earl's, I replied back into the radio. I realized I hadn't eaten yet. If they were calling me, I might not have a chance to eat tonight. So I shoveled a forkful of eggs into my mouth. I got Deputies Gruk and Delawal responding to a 1016 over at the Miller's place. Can I route you over to back them up? I sighed. Getting between the Millers in the middle of a marital dispute was about the last thing I wanted to do. But I doubted that Gruk and Dalawal wanted to be there either. Though before I could say anything, Ellie pounced forward. Marcel let out a high pitched squeak and fell back onto his narrow ass. He started screaming and scrambling back as fast as he could. He kicked chairs away with a clatter. Tables fell over. Little bundles of silverware wrapped in napkins were propelled across the room. I could imagine that his life life was flashing before his eyes. Ellie came to a stop in front of me. She reached down and picked up my cup of joe. She spared a glare towards the simpering striper, one that bespoke of a lot of matronly anger. She spun on her heel and moved with a purpose towards the coffee machine and the stack of Styrofoam to Go cups next to it. Murray and Bubba Ray fell over each other, laughing. Murray thumped Bubba Ray's back as he howled with laughter. Bubba Ray himself was in the middle of hitching snorting laughs sounded like a bull who was charging a matador. But he had just thought of a really funny joke another bull had told him. Back in the bullpen, Toothy Earl was glaring at the destruction of his dining room, or as much as a reptilian swamp monster was capable of glaring. I knew that Marcel was going to have a rough night ahead of him if he even survived the night was a different question altogether. As funny as the spectacle of it all was, he was a striper, and he had just made a big ol whopper of a mistake. My thumb shifted to the PTT button on my handset as soon as the ruckus died down some. Yeah, show me en route it make.
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