Hello! I'm happy to officially announce Dispatch, a new experience for your TV. To start, here are some screenshots, a demo video, as well as a website to sign up for the beta. Later down, you'll find some more info about the app and my plans for it. Feel free to ask any other questions in the comments!
Screenshots
Demo video note: screen recording introduces a certain amount of stutter that is not present in the actual app
Sign up for the beta!
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What is it? Dispatch is a new launcher for Android TV devices (with more devices coming) that will integrate directly with your existing media services, such as Plex. Dispatch aims to provide a unique, immersive, and media focused experience on the largest screens in your home. Also note: the app will function completely fine as a standalone app. Using it as a launcher is optional.
Will there be ads? Dispatch will launch with a 7 or 14 day trial or something like that. After which, users will have the option to pay for either a monthly or a lifetime subscription. Users who have an active subscription will never ever ever see an ad in this app. I don't even have any concrete plans for a completely free version, however, if a free version does land in the future, I imagine it will be ad-supported (though I'm open to suggestions. In fact, I have some novel ideas I might try out first before going down that route)
How much will it cost? I haven't decided yet. Feel free to dm me or leave a comment indicating what price you think would be appropriate.
What platforms will it support? To start, Dispatch will be available on Android TV devices only. In the future, I plan to release versions for Fire TV, tvOS, Samsung Tizen, Windows, Linux, and macOS. The project was architected from the start to be on as many platforms as possible. That being said, I will be focusing on the Android TV experience for now.
What services will it support? Plex first, with Jellyfin, Emby and other cool stuff planned for the future.
Can it play media directly? Not for now. The first versions of Dispatch will simply launch the appropriate app at the appropriate location within said app. Adding my own media player is a top priority, however, it will take some time to get it right.
When can I try it? I'm hoping a first beta release can be ready in the next 3–5 weeks. If you want to help test the app out and provide feedback, sign up here!
Stay tuned! I'm very excited about this project, and I hope some of you will be too!

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I have optimum that runs around $160 a month with internet that I do not use. (Would like to get rid of ASAP)
I have verizon 1G internet, Netflix,Peacock,Paramount+, Prime, Disney bundle (Hulu,Espn+)
I live in Long Island NY, I believe I am too far away for an antennae, I would like to ditch the cable but I still need to get Fox local, NBC Local,ABC local (I get the CBS local through Paramount+) My 2 sports I want I will be able to get through subscriptions from YES Network and MSG + (launching this Summer) how can I achieve these local channels so I can ditch this cable?

I read so many good things about the capabilities of "Tiled Diffusion & VAE", but I could use a step-by-step tutorial or video on how to use it. I have installed Tiled VAE and Tiled Diffusion. But when I drop my finished image in img2img and start the generation with default settings, I get a blurry, bad image. Is there a more detailed description of this?

Hello,
I hope I am on the right spot here :)
I have a problem with sign up to a website that I use for business.
I don’t know who can fix the problem so I wanted to ask here maybe someone knows :)
The website is called Kleinanzeigen it’s a german website and my job is to send emails (messages to new customers)
the problem my accounts are banned and now every time I want to sign up it’s practically impossible.
what i tried VPN (didn’t work) deleted all history (didn’t work) RDP (didn’t work) Brave browser (works to get the verification email and then after I finish everything i get banned) Tor browser (access denied)
they also need an european SIM card, i have some sim cards but they just know it’s me and I don’t know how.
Is someone there who can help me I am also willing to pay for it, since my job is on the line :)
you can DM for more Info also.
Thanks :)

So I am very new to kombucha brewing. After reading many posts here I tried making my first batch.
F1 went very well with a mix of green and black tea and a starter gifted from a friend. For the F2 I used frozen passionfruit puree and juice from crushed raspberries. It carbonated nicely, but I had a top pellicle and lots of clouding from what I assume to be mostly yeast. It tasted good but felt "heavy" compared to store bought. I tried filtering some through a coffee filter but it was too thick to filter. A tea filter wasn't fine enough to filter it.
My question is, what do you all use to filter out the majority of larger particles from your kombucha?

Example: In Episode 1, his apprentice Darth Maul was able to successfully hold his own against 2 jedi's, both a master and an apprentice.
Yet in the Disney series, Maul got annihilated by Palpatine in seconds, even when he had his brother as backup.
I feel we never really got to see this side of Palpatine in the movies. His agility, skills and mastery at fighting. We saw glimpses of it in Episode 3, but nowhere near enough.
He easily fooled me into thinking he was just a frail old man who was able to shoot deadly lightning from his hands... but the truth is this is just a clever act to deceive people. In truth, his fighting skills dwarf those of practically EVERYONE else in the galaxy. THAT is why everyone fears him, including Vader.
PS. It shows that Yoda truly was the mightiest Jedi who ever lived, to be able to go toe-to-toe with Palpatine, with no holes barred, and survive. Note how Yoda was the only Jedi that Palpatine tried to escape from, and when fighting him, even when using ALL his powers, the best he could do against Yoda was a stalemate.
Had it been any other Jedi, hell even a whole gang of Jedi's, I'm sure Palpatine could have flattened them in seconds, whilst holding a sandwich in one hand.
For the record, I know people will argue that Mace Windu 'defeated' him - I don't think Palpatine was actually using his true strength against him. Remember, at this point his key agenda was to fully turn Anakin to the dark side, and he needed an angle to finally make Anakin snap. By allowing himself to 'lost' to Windu, and be 'at his mercy' right in front of Anakin, it gave Palpatine the PERFECT outlet to finally force Anakin to give in to the dark side.
I believe Yoda was the only Jedi in the movies that Palpatine truly used 100% of his power against.. and still survive.

Pokémon is a series I love - or loved, it depends on how I think about it.
It's since four years that I'm drowning in my own disappointment and delusion. How can you support abominations such as Sword and Shield and Scarlet and Violet?
Game Freak cannot do things that involve an accurate knowledge of 3D: we can see that by the fact that Gigantamax models were two normal models put together and Scarlet and Violet's graphics that look like a PS2 game and performance. They should get help from Monolith Soft and other competent software houses. By doing so, they could put their money in productions that are worthy of this franchise with beautiful - or at least acceptable - graphics, catching and interesting stories and innovative gameplay. But because of Game Freak's incompetence and The Pokémon Company's crazy deadlines, Pokémon cannot improve itself just like other Nintendo series did and is still in the 90s.
Since how something at least at Black and White's level doesn't come out? Why do fanboys keep supporting any shit from Game Freak's ass without any critical sense? Isn't it time to use our wallets to ask for more quality?
There would be just advantages in not buying Pokémon games until they get better: The Pokémon Company and Game Freak would finally wake up, we would have better games in the future and you could save your money for something much better.
It's time for you to change your eating habits and make a good gastric lavage.
Insult me as much as you want, fanboys!

Hi, I have LV11 squad on Normandy with 1 MG Gunner, 1 Engineer, 1 Radio Operator and 1 AT Gunner.
I've unlocked AT gunner obv, but how do I build AT Cannon???
I can place Heavy MG, but can't place AT Cannon, don't see an option to do so...

PODCAST: https://ayearofwarandpeace.podbean.com/e/ep1572-hail-and-farewell-george-moore-vale-chapter-112/
PROMPTS: George does not care about you, whatsoever.
Today's Reading, via Project Gutenberg:
Borde could not enlighten him on that point, and I suggested that he should make application to the publisher of his Prayer-Book and get his money back. There is nobody. I said, like him. He is more wonderful than anything in literature. I prefer him to Sancho who was untroubled with a conscience and never thought of running to the Bishop of Toledo. All the same he is not without the shrewdness of his ancestors, and got the better of Archbishop Walsh, and for the last five years Vincent O'Brien has been beating time, and will beat it till the end of his life; and he will be succeeded by others, for Edward has, by deed, saved the Italian contrapuntalists till time everlasting from competition with modern composers. He certainly has gotten the better of Walsh. And I thought of a picture-gallery in Dublin with nothing in it but Botticelli and his school, and myself declaring that all painting that had been done since had no interest for me.... A smile began to spread over my face, for the story that was coming into my mind seemed oh! so humorous, so like Ireland, so like Edward, that I began to tell myself again the delightful story of the unrefined ears that, weary of erudite music, had left the cathedral and sought instinctively modern tunes and women's voices, and as these were to be found in Westland Row the church was soon overflowing with a happy congregation. But in a little while the collections grew scantier. This time it couldn't be Palestrina, and all kinds of reasons were adduced. At last the truth could no longer be denied—the professional Catholics of Merrion Square had been driven out of Westland Row by the searching smells of dirty clothes, and had gone away to the University Church in Stephen's Green. So if it weren't Palestrina directly it was Palestrina indirectly, and the brows of the priests began to knit when Edward Martyn's name was mentioned. Them fal-de-dals is well enough on the Continent, in Paris, where there is no faith, was the opinion of an important ecclesiastic. But we don't want them here, murmured a second ecclesiastic. All this counterpoint may make a very pretty background for Mr Martyn's prayers, but what about the poor people's? Good composer or bad composer, there is no congregation in him, said a third. There's too much congregation, put in the first, but not the kind we want! The second ecclesiastic took snuff, and the group were of opinion that steps should be taken to persuade dear Edward to make good their losses. The priests in Marlborough Street sympathised with the priests of Westland Row, and told them that they were so heavily out of pocket that Mr Martyn had agreed to do something for them. It seemed to the Westland Row priests that if Mr Martyn were making good the losses of the priests of the pro-Cathedral, he should make good their losses. It was natural that they should think so, and to acquit himself of all responsibility Edward no doubt consulted the best theologians on the subject, and I think that they assured him that he is not responsible for indirect losses. If he were, his whole fortune would not suffice. He was, of course, very sorry if a sudden influx of poor people had caused a falling-off in the collections of Westland Row, for he knew that the priests needed the money very much to pay for the new decorations, and to help them he wrote an article in the Independent praising the new blue ceiling, which seemed, so he wrote, a worthy canopy for the soaring strains of Palestrina.
Unfortunately rubbing salt into the wound, I said. A story that will amuse Dujardin and it will be great fun telling him in the shady garden at Fontainebleau how Edward, anxious to do something for his church, had succeeded in emptying two. All the way down the alleys he will wonder how Edward could have ever looked upon Palestrina's masses as religious music. The only music he will say, in which religious emotion transpires is plain-chant. Huysmans says that the Tantum Ergo or the Dies Irae, one or the other, reminds him of a soul being dragged out of purgatory, and it is possible that it does; but a plain-chant tune arranged in eight-part counterpoint cannot remind one of anything very terrible. Dujardin knows that Palestrina was a priest, and he will say: That fact deceived your friend, just as the fact of finding the Adeste Fideles among the plain-chant tunes deceived him. For of course I shall tell Dujardin that story too. It is too good to be missed. He is wonderful, Dujardin! I shall cry out in one of the sinuous alleys. There never was anybody like him! And I will tell him more soul-revealing anecdotes. I will say: Dujardin, listen. One evening he contended that the great duet at the end of Siegfried reminded him of mass by Palestrina. Dujardin will laugh, and, excited by his laughter, I will try to explain to him that what Edward sees is that Palestrina took a plain chant tune and gave fragments of it to the different voices, and in his mind these become confused with the motives of The Ring. You see, Dujardin, the essential always escapes him—the intention of the writer is hidden from him. I am beginning to understand your friend. He has, let us suppose, a musical ear that allows him to take pleasure in the music; but a musical ear will not help him to follow Wagner's idea—how, in a transport of sexual emotion, a young man and a young woman on a mountain-side awaken to the beauty of the life of the world. Dujardin's appreciations will provoke me, and I will say: Dujardin, you shouldn't be so appreciative. If I were telling you of a play I had written, it would be delightful to watch my idea dawning upon your consciousness; but I am telling you of a real man, and one that I shall never to able to get into literature. He will answer: We invent nothing; we can but perceive. And then, exhilarated, carried beyond myself, I will say: Dujardin, I will tell you something still more wonderful than the last gaffe. II gaffe dans les Quat'z Arts. He admires Ibsen, but you'd never guess the reason why—because he is very like Racine; both of them, he says, are classical writers. And do you know how he arrived at that point? Because nobody is killed on the stage in Racine or in Ibsen. He does not see that the intention of Racine is to represent men and women out of time and out of space, unconditioned by environment, and that the very first principle of Ibsen's art is the relation of his characters to their environment. In many passages he merely dramatises Darwin. There never was anybody so interesting as dear Edward, and there never will be anybody like him in literature ... I will explain why presently, but I must first tell you another anecdote. I went to see him one night, and he told me that the theme of the play he was writing was a man who had married a woman because he had lost faith in himself; the man did not know, however, that the woman had married him for the same reason, and the two of them were thinking—I have forgotten what they were thinking, but I remember Edward saying: I should like to suggest hopelessness. I urged many phrases, but he said: It isn't a phrase I want, but an actual thing. I was thinking of a broken anchor—that surely is a symbol of hopelessness. Yes, I said, no doubt, but how are you going to get a broken anchor into a drawing-room? I don't write about drawing-rooms. Well, living-rooms. It isn't likely that they would buy a broken anchor and put it up by the coal-scuttle.
There's that against it, he answered. If you could suggest anything better—What do you think of a library in which there is nothing but unacted plays? The characters could say, when there was nothing for them to do on the stage, that they were going to the library to read, and the library would have the advantage of reminding everybody of the garret in the Wild Duck. A very cruel answer, my friend, Dujardin will say, and I will tell him that I can't help seeing in Edward something beyond Shakespeare or Balzac. Now, tell me, which of these anecdotes I have told you is the most humorous? He will not answer my question, but a certain thoughtfulness will begin to settle in his face, and he will say: Everything with him is accidental, and when his memory fails him he falls into another mistake, and he amuses you because it is impossible for you to anticipate his next mistake. You know there is going to be one; there must be one, for he sees things separately rather than relatively. I am beginning to understand your friend.
You are, you are; you are doing splendidly. But you haven't told me, Dujardin, which anecdote you prefer. Stay, there is another one. Perhaps this one will help you to a still better understanding. When he brought The Heather Field and Yeats's play The Countess Cathleen to Dublin for performance, a great trouble of conscience awakened suddenly in him, and a few days before the performance he went to a theologian to ask him if The Countess Cathleen were a heretical work, and, if it were would Almighty God hold him responsible for the performance? But he couldn't withdraw Yeats's play without withdrawing his own, and it appears that he breathed a sigh of relief when a common friend referred the whole matter to two other theologians, and as these gave their consent Edward allowed the plays to go on; but Cardinal Logue intervened, and wrote a letter to the papers to say that the play seemed to him unfit for Catholic ears, and Edward would have withdrawn the plays if the Cardinal hadn't admitted in his letter that he had judged the play by certain extracts only.
He wishes to act rightly, but has little faith in himself; and what makes him so amusing is that he needs advice in aesthetics as well as in morals. We are, I said, Dujardin, at the roots of conscience. And I began to ponder the question what would happen to Edward if we lived in a world in which aesthetics ruled: I should be where Bishop Healy is, and he would be a thin, small voice crying in the wilderness—an amusing subject of meditation, from which I awoke suddenly.
I wonder how Dujardin is getting on with his Biblical studies? Last year he was calling into question the authorship of the Romans—a most eccentric view; and, remembering how weakly I had answered him, I took the Bible from the table and began to read the Epistle with a view to furnishing myself with arguments wherewith to confute him. My Bible opened at the ninth chapter, and I said: Why, here is the authority for the Countess Cathleen's sacrifice which Edward's theologian deemed untheological. It will be great fun to poke Edward up with St Paul, and on my way to Lincoln Place I thought how I might lead the conversation to The Countess Cathleen.
📷
A few minutes afterwards a light appeared on the staircase and the door slowly opened.
Come in, Siegfried, though you were off the key.
Well, my dear friend, it is a difficult matter to whistle above two trams passing simultaneously and six people jabbering round a public-house, to say nothing of a jarvey or two, and you perhaps dozing in your armchair, as your habit often is. You won't open to anything else except a motive from The Ring; and I stumbled up the stairs in front of Edward, who followed with a candle.
Wait a moment; let me go first and I'll turn up the gas.
You aren't sitting in the dark, are you?
No, but I read better by candle-light, and he blew out the candles in the tin candelabrum that he had made for himself. He is original even in his candelabrum; no one before him had ever thought of a caridelabrum in tin, and I fell to admiring his appearance more carefully than perhaps I had ever done before, so monumental did he seem lying on the little sofa sheltered from daughts by a screen, a shawl about his shoulders. His churchwarden was drawing famously, and I noticed his great square hands with strong fingers and square nails pared closely away, and as heretofore I admired the curve of the great belly, the thickness of the thighs, the length and breadth and the width of his foot hanging over the edge of the sofa, the apoplectic neck falling into great rolls of flesh, the humid eyes, the skull covered with short stubbly hair. I looked round the rooms and they seemed part of himself: the old green wallpaper on which he pins reproductions of the Italian masters. And I longed to peep once more into the bare bedroom into which he goes to fetch bottles of Apollinaris. Always original! Is there another man in this world whose income is two thousand a year, and who sleeps in a bare bedroom, without dressing-room, or bathroom, or servant in the house to brush his clothes, and who has to go to the baker's for his breakfast?
We had been talking for some time of the Gaelic League, and from Hyde it was easy to pass to Yeats and his plays.
His best play is The Countess Cathleen.
The Countess Cathleen is only a sketch.
But what I never could understand, Edward, was why you and the Cardinal could have had any doubts as to the orthodoxy of The Countess Cathleen.
What, a woman that sells her own soul in order to save the souls of others!
I suppose your theologian objected—
Of course he objected.
He cannot have read St Paul.
What do you mean?
He can't have read St Paul, or else he is prepared to throw over St Paul.
Mon ami Moore, mon ami Moore.
The supernatural idealism of a man who would sell his soul to save the souls of others fills me with awe.
But it wasn't a man; it was the Countess Cathleen, and women are never idealists.
Not the saints?
His face grew solemn at once.
If you give me the Epistles I will read the passage to you. And it was great fun to go to the bookshelves and read: I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh.
Edward's face grew more and more solemn, and I wondered of what he was thinking.
Paul is a very difficult and a very obscure writer, and I think the Church is quite right not to encourage the reading of the Epistles, especially without comments.
Then you do think there is something in the passage I have read?
After looking down his dignified nose for a long time, he said:
Of course, the Church has an explanation. All the same, it's very odd that St Paul should have said such a thing—very odd.
There is no doubt that I owe a great deal of my happiness to Edward; all my life long he has been exquisite entertainment. And I fell to thinking that Nature was very cruel to have led me, like Moses, within sight of the Promised Land. A story would be necessary to bring Edward into literature, and it would be impossible to devise an action of which he should be a part. The sex of a woman is odious to him, and a man with two thousand a year does not rob nor steal, and he is so uninterested in his fellow-men that he has never an ill word to say about anybody. John Eglinton is a little thing; AE is a soul that few will understand; but Edward is universal—more universal than Yeats, than myself, than any of us, but for lack of a story I shall not be able to give him the immortality in literature which he seeks in sacraments. Shakespeare always took his stories from some other people. Turgenev's portrait of him would be thin, poor, and evasive, and Balzac would give us the portrait of a mere fool. And Edward is not a fool. As I understand him he is a temperament without a rudder; all he has to rely upon is his memory, which isn't a very good one, and so he tumbles from one mistake into another. My God! it is a terrible thing to happen to one, to understand a man better than he understands himself, and to be powerless to help him. If I had been able to undo his faith I should have raised him to the level of Sir Horace Plunkett, but he resisted me; and perhaps he did well, for he came into the world seeing things separately rather than relatively, and had to be a Catholic. He is a born Catholic, and I remembered one of his confessions—a partial confession, but a confession: If you had been brought up as strictly as I have been—I don't think he ever finished the sentence; he often leaves sentences unfinished, as if he fears to think things out. The end of the sentence should run: You would not dare to think independently. He thinks that his severe bringing-up has robbed him of something. But the prisoner ends by liking his prison-house, and on another occasion he said: If it hadn't been for the Church, I don't know what would have happened to me.
My thoughts stopped, and when I awoke I was thinking of Hughes. Perhaps the link between Hughes and Edward was Loughrea Cathedral. He had shown me a photograph of some saints modelled by Hughes. Hughes is away in Paris, I said, modelling saints for Loughrea Cathedral. The last time I saw him was at Walter Osborne's funeral, and Walter's death set me thinking of the woman I had lost, and little by little all she had told me about herself floated up in my mind like something that I had read. I had never seen her father nor the Putney villa in which she had been brought up, but she had made me familiar with both through her pleasant mode of conversation, which was never to describe anything, but just to talk about things, dropping phrases here and there, and the phrases she dropped were so well chosen that the comfort of the villa, its pompous meals and numerous servants, its gardens and greenhouses, with stables and coach-house just behind, are as well known to me as the house that I am living in, better known in a way, for I see it through the eyes of the imagination ... clearer eyes than the physical eyes.
It does not seem to me that any one was ever more conscious of whence she had come and of what she had been; she seemed to be able to see herself as a child again, and to describe her childhood with her brother (they were nearly the same age) in the villa and in the villa's garden. I seemed to see them always as two rather staid children who were being constantly dressed by diligent nurses and taken out for long drives in the family carriage. They did not like these drives and used to hide in the garden; but their governess was sent to fetch them, and they were brought back. Her father did not like to have the horses kept waiting, and one day as Stella stood with him in the passage, she saw her mother come out of her bedroom beautifully dressed. Her father whispered something in his wife's ear, and he followed her into her bedroom. Stella remembered how the door closed behind them. In my telling, the incident seems to lose some of its point, but in Stella's relation it seemed to put her father and his wife before me and so clearly that I could not help asking her what answer her father would make were she to tell him that she had a lover. A smile hovered in her grave face. He would look embarrassed, she said, and wonder why I should have told him such a thing, and then I think he would go to the greenhouse, and when he returned he would talk to me about something quite different. I don't think that Stella ever told me about the people that came to their house, but people must have come to it, and as an example of how a few words can convey an environment I will quote her: I always wanted to talk about Rossetti, she said, and these seven words seem to me to tell better than any description the life of a girl living with a formal father in a Putney villa, longing for something, not knowing exactly what, and anxious to get away from home.... I think she told me she was eighteen or nineteen and had started painting before she met Florence at the house of one of her father's friends; a somewhat sore point this meeting was, for Florence was looked upon by Stella's father as something of a Bohemian. She was a painter, and knew all the Art classes and the fees that had to be paid, and led Stella into the world of studios and models and girl friends. She knew how to find studios and could plan out a journey abroad. Stella's imagination was captured, and even if her father had tried to offer opposition to her leaving home he could not have prevented her, for she was an heiress (her mother was dead and had left her a considerable income); but he did not try, and the two girls set up house together in Chelsea; they travelled in Italy and Spain; they had a cottage in the country; they painted pictures and exhibited their pictures in the same exhibitions; they gave dances in their studios and were attracted by this young man and the other; but Stella did not give herself to any one, because, as she admitted to me, she was afraid that a lover would interrupt the devotion which she intended to give to Art. But life is forever casting itself into new shapes and forms, and no sooner had she begun to express herself in Art than she met me. I was about to go to Ireland to preach a new gospel, and must have seemed a very impulsive and fantastic person to her, but were not impulsiveness and fantasy just the qualities that would appeal to her? And were not gravity and good sense the qualities that would appeal to me, determined as I was then to indulge myself in a little madness?
I could not have chosen a saner companion than Stella; my instinct had led me to her; but because one man's instinct is a little more clear than another's, it does not follow that he has called reason to his aid. It must be remembered always that the art of painting is as inveterate in me as the art of writing, and that I am never altogether myself when far away from the smell of oil paint. Stella could talk to one about painting, and all through that wonderful summer described in Salve our talk flowed on as delightfully as a breeze in Maytime, and as irresponsible, flashing thoughts going by and avowals perfumed with memories. Only in her garden did conversation fail us, for in her garden Stella could think only of her flowers, and it seemed an indiscretion to follow her as she went through the twilight gathering dead blooms or freeing plants from noxious insects. But she would have had me follow her, and I think was always a little grieved that I wasn't as interested in her garden as I was in her painting; and my absent-mindedness when I followed her often vexed her and my mistakes distressed her.
You are interested, she said, only in what I say about flowers and not in the flowers themselves. You like to hear me tell about Miss —— whose business in life is to grow carnations, because you already see her, dimly, perhaps, but still you see her in a story. Forget her and look at this Miss Shifner!
Yes, it is beautiful, but we can only admire the flowers that we notice when we are children, I answered. Dahlias, china roses, red and yellow tulips, tawny wallflowers, purple pansies, are never long out of my thoughts, and all the wonderful varieties of the iris, the beautiful blue satin and the cream, some shining like porcelain, even the common iris that grows about the moat.
But there were carnations in your mother's garden?
Yes, and I remember seeing them being tied with bass. But what did you say yesterday about carnations? That they were the—
She laughed and would not tell me, and when the twilight stooped over the high trees and the bats flitted and the garden was silent except when a fish leaped, I begged her to come away to the wild growths that I loved better than the flowers.
But the mallow and willow-weed are the only two that you recognise. How many times have I told you the difference between self-heal and tufted vetch?
I like cow parsley and wild hyacinths and—
You have forgotten the name. As well speak of a woman that you loved but whose name you had forgotten.
Well, if I have, I love trees better than you do, Stella. You pass under a fir unstirred by the mystery of its branches, and I wonder at you, for I am a tree worshipper, even as my ancestors, and am moved as they were by the dizzy height of a great silver fir. You like to paint trees, and I should like to paint flowers if I could paint; there we are set forth, you and I.
I have told in Salve that in Rathfarnham she found many motives for painting; the shape of the land and the spire above the straggling village appealed to me, but she was not altogether herself in these pictures. She would have liked the village away, for man and his dwellings did not form part of her conception of a landscape; large trees and a flight of clouds above the trees were her selection, and the almost unconscious life of kine wandering or sheep seeking the shelter of a tree.
Stella was a good walker, and we followed the long road leading from Rathfarnham up the hills, stopping to admire the long plain which we could see through the comely trees shooting out of the shelving hillside.
If I have beguiled you into a country where there are no artists and few men of letters, you can't say that I have not shown you comely trees. And now if you can walk two miles farther up this steep road I will show you a lovely prospect.
And I enjoyed her grave admiration of the old Queen Anne dwelling-house, its rough masonry, the yew hedges, the path along the hillside leading to the Druid altar and the coast-line sweeping in beautiful curves, but she did not like to hear me say that the drawing of the shore reminded her of Corot.
It is a sad affectation, she said, to speak of Nature reminding one of pictures.
Well, the outlines of Howth are beautiful, I answered, and the haze is incomparable. I should like to have spoken about a piece of sculpture, but for your sake, Stella, I refrain.
She was interested in things rather than ideas, and I remember her saying to me that things interest us only because we know that they are always slipping from us. A strange thing for a woman to say to her lover. She noticed all the changes of the seasons and loved them, and taught me to love them. She brought a lamb back from Rathfarnham, a poor forlorn thing that had run bleating so pitifully across the windy field that she had asked the shepherd where the ewe was, and he had answered that she had been killed overnight by a golf-ball. The lamb will be dead before morning, he added. And it was that March that the donkey produced a foal, a poor ragged thing that did not look as if it ever could be larger than a goat, but the donkey loved her foal.
Do you know the names of those two birds flying up and down the river?
They look to me like two large wrens with white waistcoats.
They are water-ouzels, she said.
The birds flew with rapid strokes of the wings, like kingfishers, alighting constantly on the river, on large mossy stones, and though we saw them plunge into the water, it was not to swim, but to run along the bottom in search of worms.
But do worms live under water?
The rooks were building, and a little while after a great scuffling was heard in one of the chimneys and a young jackdaw came down and soon became tamer than any bird I had ever seen, tamer than a parrot, and at the end of May the corncrake called from the meadow that summer had come again, and the kine wandered in deeper and deeper and deeper herbage. The days seemed never to end, and looking through the branches of the chestnut in which the fruit had not begun to show, we caught sight of a strange spectacle. Stella said, A lunar rainbow, and I wondered, never having heard of or seen such a thing before.
I shall never forget that rainbow, Stella, and am glad that we saw it together.
In every love story lovers reprove each other for lack of affection, and Stella had often sent me angry letters which caused me many heart-burnings and brought me out to her; in the garden there were reconciliations, we picked up the thread again, and the summer had passed before the reason of these quarrels became clear to me. One September evening Stella said she would accompany me to the gate, and we had not gone very far before I began to notice that she was quarrelling with me. She spoke of the loneliness of the Moat House, and I had answered that she had not been alone two evenings that week. She admitted my devotion. And if you admit that there has been no neglect—
She would not tell me, but there was something she was not satisfied with, and before we reached the end of the avenue she said, I don't think I can tell you. But on being pressed she said:
Well, you don't make love to me often enough.
And full of apologies I answered, Let me go back.
No, I can't have you back now, not after having spoken like that.
But she yielded to my invitation, and we returned to the house, and next morning I went back to Dublin a little dazed, a little shaken.
A few days after she went away to Italy to spend the winter and wrote me long letters, interesting me in herself, in the villagers, in the walks and the things that she saw in her walks, setting me sighing that she was away from me, or that I was not with her. And going to the window I would stand for a long time watching the hawthorns in their bleak wintry discontent, thinking how the sunlight fell into the Italian gardens, and caught the corner of the ruin she was sketching; and I let my fancy stray for a time unchecked. It would be wonderful to be in Italy with her, but—
I turned from the window suspicious, for there was a feeling at the back of my mind that with her return an anxiety would come into my life that I would willingly be without. She had told me she had refrained from a lover because she wished to keep all herself for her painting, and now she had taken to herself a lover. She was twenty years younger than I was, and at forty-six or thereabouts one begins to feel that one's time for love is over; one is consultant rather than practitioner. But it was impossible to dismiss the subject with a jest, and I found myself face to face with the question—If these twenty years were removed, would things be different? It seemed to me that the difficulty that had arisen would have been the same earlier in my life as it was now, and returning to the window I watched the hawthorns blowing under the cold grey Dublin sky.
The problem is set, I said, for the married, and every couple has to solve it in one way or another, but they have to solve it; they have to come to terms with love, especially the man, for whom it is a question of life and death. But how do they come to terms? And I thought of the different married people I knew. Which would be most likely to advise me—the man or the woman? It would be no use to seek advice; every case is different, I said. If anybody were to advise me it would be the man, for the problem is not so difficult for a woman. She can escape from love more easily than her lover or her husband; she can plead, and her many pleadings were considered, one by one, and how in married life the solution that seems to lovers so difficult is solved by marriage itself, by propinquity. But not always, not always. The question is one of extraordinary interest and importance; more marriages come to shipwreck, I am convinced, on this very question than upon any other. In the divorce cases published we read of incompatibility of temper and lack of mutual tastes, mere euphemisms that deceive nobody. The image of a shipwreck rose up in me naturally. She will return, and like a ship our love for each other will be beaten on these rocks and broken. We shall not be able to get out to sea. She will return, and when she returns her temperament will have to be adjusted to mine, else she will lose me altogether, for men have died of love, though Shakespeare says they haven't. Manet and Daudet—both died of love; and the somewhat absurd spectacle of a lover waiting for his mistress to return, and yet dreading her returning, was constantly before me.
It often seemed to me that it was my own weakness that created our embarrassment. A stronger man would have been able to find a way out, but I am not one that can shape and mould another according to my desire; and when she returned from Italy I found myself more helpless than ever, and I remember, and with shame, how, to avoid being alone with her, I would run down the entire length of a train, avoiding the empty carriages, crying Not here, not here! at last opening the door of one occupied by three or four people, who all looked as if they were bound for a long journey. I remember, too, how about this time I came with friends to see Stella, whether by accident or design, frankly I know not; I only know that I brought many friends to see her, thinking they would interest her.
If you don't care to come to see me without a chaperon, I would rather you didn't come at all, she said, humiliating me very deeply.
It seemed to me, I answered, blushing, that you would like to see ——, and I mentioned the name of the man who had accompanied me.
If I am cross sometimes it is because I don't see enough of you.
It seems to me that it was then that the resolve hardened in my heart to become her friend ... if she would allow me to become her friend. But in what words should I frame my request and my apology? All the time our life was becoming less amiable, until one evening I nipped the quarrel that was beginning, stopping suddenly at the end of the avenue.
It is better that we should understand each other. The plain truth is that I must cease to be your lover unless my life is to be sacrificed.
Cease to be my lover!
That is impossible, but a change comes into every love story.
The explanation stuttered on. I remember her saying: I don't wish you to sacrifice your life. I have forgotten the end of her sentence. She drew her hand suddenly across her eyes. I will conquer this obsession.
A man would have whined and cried and besought and worried his mistress out of her wits. Women behave better than we; only once did her feelings overcome her. She spoke to me of the deception that life is. Again we were standing by the gate at the end of the chestnut avenue, and I remembered her telling me how a few years ago life had seemed to hold out its hands to her; her painting and her youth created her enjoyment.
But now life seems to have shrivelled up, she said; only a little dust is left.
Nothing is changed, so far as you and I are concerned. We see each other just the same.
I am no more to you than any other woman.
She went away again to Italy to paint and returned to Ireland, and one day she came to see me, and remained talking for an hour. I have no memory of what we said to each other, but a very clear memory of our walk through Dublin over Carlisle Bridge and along the quays. I had accompanied her as far as the Phoenix Park gates, and at the corner of the Conyngham Road, just as I was bidding her goodbye, she said:
I want to ask your advice on a matter of importance to me.
And to me, for what is important to you is equally important to me.
I am thinking, she said, of being married.
At the news it seems to me that I was unduly elated and tried to assume the interest that a friend should.

Quite some time ago I was informed that there was a new and improved Flex box that had 4K. The one I had at the time did not. I still have that OG box, because I don't have a 4K TV and didn't see the need to upgrade.
I'm now wondering if there are any other features in the newer box that would be useful for me?
Also, how would I go about swapping my current box for the newer model? I haven't found anything on the website explaining that.

Hello! I'm happy to officially announce Dispatch, a new experience for your TV. To start, here are some screenshots, a demo video, as well as a website to sign up for the beta. Later down, you'll find some more info about the app and my plans for it. Feel free to ask any other questions in the comments!
Screenshots
Demo video note: screen recording introduces a certain amount of stutter that is not present in the actual app
Sign up for the beta!
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What is it? Dispatch is a new launcher for Android TV devices (with more devices coming) that will integrate directly with your existing media services, such as Plex. Dispatch aims to provide a unique, immersive, and media focused experience on the largest screens in your home. Also note: the app will function completely fine as a standalone app. Using it as a launcher is optional.
Will there be ads? Dispatch will launch with a 7 or 14 day trial or something like that. After which, users will have the option to pay for either a monthly or a lifetime subscription. Users who have an active subscription will never ever ever see an ad in this app. I don't even have any concrete plans for a completely free version, however, if a free version does land in the future, I imagine it will be ad-supported (though I'm open to suggestions. In fact, I have some novel ideas I might try out first before going down that route)
How much will it cost? I haven't decided yet. Feel free to dm me or leave a comment indicating what price you think would be appropriate.
What platforms will it support? To start, Dispatch will be available on Android TV devices only. In the future, I plan to release versions for Fire TV, tvOS, Samsung Tizen, Windows, Linux, and macOS. The project was architected from the start to be on as many platforms as possible. That being said, I will be focusing on the Android TV experience for now.
What services will it support? Plex first, with Jellyfin, Emby and other cool stuff planned for the future.
Can it play media directly? Not for now. The first versions of Dispatch will simply launch the appropriate app at the appropriate location within said app. Adding my own media player is a top priority, however, it will take some time to get it right.
When can I try it? I'm hoping a first beta release can be ready in the next 3–5 weeks. If you want to help test the app out and provide feedback, sign up here!
Stay tuned! I'm very excited about this project, and I hope some of you will be too!

Part 2 of “The Exterminators RELOADED!”
A Fanfic of u/SpacePaladin15’s work “The nature of Predators” Thank you for the story!
IMPORTANT NOTICE. I AM WRITING ABOUT 247 EPISODES OF THE EXTERMINATORS. ANY IDEAS WOULD BE GREATLY WELCOMED! AS DETAILED OR NOT AS YOU WANT, I WILL CREDIT YOU FOR ANY HELP GIVEN!
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Memory transcription subject: Henry, Venlil Primary School Student
Sylvan’s dad gestured for us to get the show set up while he walked into the kitchen. I couldn’t bring myself to sit still as the sound of popcorn in the microwave bounced through the house. Sylvan threw himself next to me as the annoyingly long series of logos started to parade through the screen.
“C’mon Dad! It’s starting!” We both held our arms up and caught a bag of popcorn as Mr. Smith copied Sylvan and threw himself on the couch. As Sylvan started to juggle the burning hot bag I started to mockingly mimic him. “Oh shut up! You and your built-in oven mitts!”
I batted Sylvan in the face who didn’t hesitate to try and hold off my attacks by smooshing me down into the chair. We both stopped when the Deep heavy beat of the Exterminators RELOADED started to play. This time though the beat didn’t stop as the opening sequence ended. Instead it played dully in the background like we were hearing it through a wall.
Friotetzali stepped into the scene and sauntered his way through an alley. He stopped and looked at a poster hanging on the wall. It showed a picture of a carrot and tomato with forward facing eyes and silly little stick arms cowering in fear of a ravenous looking Venlil. Plastered above it was the episode's title! “THE HERBIVOROUS BEASTS FROM BEYOND THE STARS!!!”
Frio let out a light chuckle as his tail curled in delight. “Oh that looks hilarious. Gotta remember to go see that.” He gently shook his head as he continued to walk and drop into an indifferent attitude as he approached a lone Mazic by a door. The two stared at each other for a moment before the Mazic slowly turned and opened the door.
With a slow and droning voice he addressed our head investigator. “He’s waiting for you by the dance floor. Doubt you’ll miss him. Welcome back Frio. Try not to burn the place down.” As the door opened the tune picked back up and was almost deafening. Frio walked down the dark staircase and eventually into a room filled with neon signs decorating the walls, strobe lights, lasers, and dozens of people dancing everywhere.
Our Harchen Hero cut through the crowd and haze like a fish through water before finally sitting down at a table with a rather… sleazy looking Gojid. “FRIO! MY OLD PAL! Have a seat! Let me get ya a drink!” The greased back fur of the Gojid just looked out of place as he waved for the servers to bring colorful beverages with little umbrellas over.
I honestly couldn’t make out any words that came out of the Gojid’s mouth after that. The dude just seemed to talk and not say any words. But eventually Frio took a slow sip from his drink and turned his head to stare down the greasy porcupine who’s quills extended in a little bit of fear.
“Cut the crap Genseng. I want to know why by Inatala’s tits you’d think it's a good idea to smuggle terran animals here!” He slammed a pawfull of photos on the table. Each one showed the greasy Gojid buying and selling small animals like rabbits and chickens.
Genseng sputtered and pouted “COME ON! I haven’t done anything that puts anyone at risk! I just sell human’s xeno-safe pets! A bunny never ate a Dossur! Don’t you want humans to take care of the petting addiction on things that want to be pet?” Despite my body telling me this guy was bad news, I couldn’t help but agree. I’ve been ‘pet’ more times than I would like by strange humans… and a few Venlil… and one Kolshian… and I ran away from the Mazic.
Frio sat back in his chair and huffed. “Then WHY have I found NO civilians with one of your pets?” This time he slapped down a paper list of names and places that clearly documented each and every business he sold animals to.
The scumbag sat there with a look of shock on his face and started to sputter out several noncommittal and contradictory statements. ALl the while Frio stared at his “friend” with more and more disgust. Eventually Genseng just sighed, stood up, and shouted. "GUN! HES GOT A GUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” and bolted for the back door as screaming began to fill the room
Frio just casually stood up and watched that douchebag flee! He pulled out his badge and announced to the crowd. “FALSE ALARM! FALSE ALARM! OFFICER FRIOTETZALI, HERE ON OFFICIAL BUSINESS OF THE AVALON CITY POLICE! REMAIN CALM YOU ARE IN NO DANGER!”
I couldn’t understand why he was just standing there as the bad guy ran away! The camera cut to Genseng who was sprinting full force down a narrow hall dodging all manner of obstacles like it was an action movie only for it to cut back to Frio slowly taking a sip of his drink!
Again it cut back Genseng huffing and wheezing as he sprinted through his own shipping operation. The only pauses he took were to open up cages causing a small whirlwind of feathers and bunnies to start in the warehouse. Yet Frio started to casually talk to the people in the room. He just slowly went around reassuring everyone that everything was fine and why he was here.
As I sat there in disbelief that he’d just let the bastard run away Genseng rounded a corner to see his getaway truck. Only to step around the corner and get punched squarely in the gut by Iloralia who was hiding there.
“Come on Genseng? Couldn’t you do something original? This is starting to get boring!” Ilo extended a cattle prod and let the end buzz with electricity as an Extermination Officer van pulled up behind her.
The Gojid let out raspy breaths. “Should have- … figured- … he’d send his- … BITCH! To wait in the alley!” The sleazy man sucked that insult back in when Ilo pressed the business end of her cattle prod to his throat.
“Shut the fuck up. You have the right to remain silent, but for your sake… I hope you’re smart enough to use it!” Ilo’s tail waved behind her with delight as Sephon climbed out of the van with a Gojid arrestor vest to cover Genseng’s quills and bind his arms.
I jumped as the video smash-cut to Sephon slamming down piece after piece of evidence on an interrogation room table in front of a nervous Gojid and his exhausted human lawyer. The angelic Tasamine sat on her perch gently drinking some tea as our perturbed Venlil explained each and every paper and photo that he threw on the table.
“Finally we have you on felony tax evasion. You do know you have to declare ALL sources of income right?” Genseng sheepishly looked to his lawyer, who just sat there with a defeated look on his face. “You are looking at forty years behind bars for this Genseng! FORTY!”
Tasamine let her voice coo out over her cup of tea. “We aren’t going to do you any favours over the tax stuff. The IRS is over our jurisdiction on that, BUT we are prepared to drop the rest of the charges.”
Genseng’s lawyer appeared to wake up in an instant and elbowed his client before he could open his filthy mouth. “So what do you want from my client in return for dropping the charges you have against him?”
Tas let out a little smile that set butterflies to flight in my stomach. “We want everyone that Tas sold animals to. And we do mean EVERYONE.”
Sephon started to pace back and forth as the Gojid and lawyer talked amongst themselves. Eventually Genseng relented and turned to our heroes. “Ok… SO I technically never really sold to a person per say… BUT I kept really good papers on all the businesses I did sell to!”
The conversation started to dull out as the camera began to pan back and into the observation room with Frio, Ilo, and a rather small Mazic. Frio stood stoically silent, his paw held gently under his jaw, lost in thought. Ilo was typing away on the computer crosschecking every business Genseng sold out.
The Mazic took a step forward. His badge now clearly showing that he was the Chief of the Avalon City Police. “I know those businesses… Why would he be selling pets to…” The Chief huffed and stormed out of the observation room leaving Frio and Ilo slightly confused only to watch with an ounce of shock as the Police Chief walked into the interrogation room.
“YOU FUCKING IDIOT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?” Genseng recoiled away from the angry Chief as his lawyer was trying to figure out what was happening. “YOU HAVE BEEN SELLING HUMAN PETS AS FOOD TO HUMANS! YOU KNOW LESS THAN ONE PERCENT OF HUMANS EVEN EAT ONCE-LIVE MEAT! EVERYONE KNOWS THAT! MOST HUMANS GET VIOLENTLY ILL AT THE THOUGHT OF IT AND STRAIGHT VIOLENT IF TRICKED INTO IT! IF THIS GETS OUT THERE WILL BE RIOTS!”
Genseng’s lawyer slowly looked to his client with a look of anger and despair plastered on his face. The sleazy man just kinda shrugged. “I didn’t make them buy it!”
“BUT YOU DIDN’T TELL THEM WHERE YOU GOT THE MEAT FROM DID YOU?”
“no?”
“OF COURSE YOU DIDN’T ‘CAUSE, HOW THEN, WOULD YOU GET RID OF YOUR UNWANTED ANIMALS?”
“HEY! I’VE GOT A GUY WHO TAKES THEM IN! I MAKE SURE EVERYTHING IS HUMANE AND SAFE FOR CONSUMPTION AND ANYTHING UNWANTED GO TO THAT GUY! OK? NO MONEY TRANSACTION! … I think he ships them back to Earth or something. No unethical stuff… except maybe selling Once-live as Cloned… but that isn’t that bad! Humans only just considered Rabbits to be on par with dogs!”
The Chief of Police just stood there menacingly as the ever beautiful Tas asked a question. “Who is this man you give the animals to?”
Genseng slowly walked back to his seat. “I don’t have a name. Just some dude wearing the old face hiding masks and a Pleather trench coat. Kinda creepy and usually lets the fat Venlil do the talking, but they scratch my back I scratch thier’s.”
The screen faded to black before coming back to their conference room and joined by the Chief of Police. “So you think this individual is the same one behind the Sheep Operation?”
Ilo sat up in her chair. “It seems to meet up with his M.O. of undermining food production.”
Tas brought a pair of population maps up on their projector. “Just looking at the before and after, the invasive rabbit population was miniscule at best. We had been doing a great job of catching them faster than they could repopulate. At least until their population unpredictably exploded into the hundreds of thousands.”
She swapped out the maps for a single one that showed several areas circled in red. “DNA testing on the rabbits has shown that they aren’t spreading naturally. One population has no genetic relation to the others even though their areas overlap. It has to be someone introducing rabbits in waves to different locals.”
The Chief slowly shook his head. “Do we have any clues as to where the masked man is?”
Frio’s tail curled in delight. “Why yes! Yes we do! He has a meetup with my good buddy Genseng who desperately doesn’t want to spend the next forty years in jail.”
The small Mazic let out a low and insidious laugh “OH! I think I know where you are going with this. You have my support. Let's get this sting operation set up!”
In an instant the day flew by and night rose over the docks of Avalon City. Genseng drove down the roads and pulled around the corner of a large warehouse situated nearby. The sleazy man looked oddly calm. I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t his first time ratting.
Overlooking the docks from the warehouse was our team of heroes. Tas had set up a network of monitors and was observing the operation. Several disguised vans were parked nearby filled with Extermination Officers all biting to get a hold of their quarry.
Frio walked over and placed a paw on Tasamine’s wing, before speaking into a recorder. “Looking good Gen. Looks like I misplaced the paperwork on those charges. Get through this and I won’t have time to go looking for it!”
Gen let out a small chuckle. “Hey Frio… Do you miss when we were kids? Getting into trouble. Scraping enough money together to buy lunch when our parents couldn’t afford to feed us?”
Frio took a step back from the monitors. “You said that in a really weird way… but yeah. Just the two of us. Sometimes we were delinquents scamming someone out of five credits and sometimes we were the heroes helping people out. Guess we took different paths…”
The greasy Gojid leaned back in the driver seat of his van. “I- … I am kinda tired of living Frio… It’s just… One deal after another with barely enough money to get from one job to the next… Do- … Do you think I could get a job working with you guys?”
It almost looked like Frio was going to cry as his eyes watered up. “Well… we are a man down at the moment, but my team only hires experienced individuals. It would be hard work, but if you joined as an apprentice and applied yourself… I think you could make it.”
Genseng sat and fiddled with his paws for a few moments. “Even with my arrest record?”
“We are the Exterminators not the City Police. I doubt there isn’t a single one of us that hasn't done something that would get us blacklisted by them!”
Gen let out a light laugh. “Ah good point! They hired you! Well I’d- Wait. He's here.”
A long black limousine pulled up around the corner. Slowly and silently stopping beside them. Frio took a step back. “Alright everyone. It's go time. Gen, get ready to duck down if they open fire.”
With almost perfect unison every unmarked van and cruiser lit up with Yellow and Orange lights and started to race towards the Limo. But with a heart stopping ‘BWOOOOOM’ the Limo exploded into an inferno, sending metal flying through the docks at high speeds.
Gen’s voice screamed over the radio for a brief moment before falling silent.
The next sounds we heard were of a heart monitor. Frio sat at the bedside of what I assumed to be Genseng. His body was covered entirely in bandages, with tubes running into his head and arms. Wires tracked his vital signs and, while steady, didn’t look like they broadcasted good news.
Frio looked up to see Ilo leaning in the doorway. “The limo was automated. No one on board. Mask either knew it was a setup or intended to end Genseng one way or the other.” She slowly walked over to Frio and nuzzled the side of his head. “I talked with the Doctors. They think he’ll make it. Might be a few years, and he will have to learn how to do most things, but he will live.”
Ilo forced her way into awkwardly cuddling Frio. After a small moment of resisting he accepted the embrace and leaned back. “How are we on tracking down the leads?”
She somehow managed to wrap herself around Frio as she quietly responded. “The limo was a dead end. Everything was bought from scrap and assembled off-grid. Camera networks were wiped clean enough that even Tas couldn’t scrape something off of the hard drives. DNA results on the rabbits gave us enough to work with Earth and track down the suppliers on that side, but they were using Genseng as a scapegoat and intermediary for all of it. I don’t think he even realized that the man he was ‘giving’ rabbits to was the man that arranged for him to be able to buy them in the first place.”
Frio wrapped his arms around her. “So this whole operation was basically a money laundering scam with rabbits. They scarred him for life just to- to-” Tears ran down his cheeks as the pair embraced each other. The credits started to roll over the sounds of a heart monitor slowly pinging on. Gentle sobbing slowly faded away as the sound of claws on tile echoed through the speakers.
A rather portly Venlil was flanked on both sides by massive looking dogs. Sylvan’s Dad pointed out those where Karelian Bear Dogs. Bred to actually hunt one of Earth’s apex predators. The Fat Venlil, or Chublil as Sylvan said, walked into an immaculate office, where a man with a silvered mask and brown trench coat sat.
“Sir? Operation Clean House is over. The results are one Gojid launderer hospitalized. He is expected to recover in a few years. When the exterminators watching him clear out an agent will enter with an air-filled syringe and fake death by heart-attack. As you expected the last meetup was a sting operation. Police remain slightly aware of your presence.”
A robotic voice came from the man. “Good work Gavreg. Did you enjoy your trip to Earth?”
“Yessir. You were right. Bear meat is simply divine when prepared correctly.”
WHAT THE FUCK. WHY WOULD HE KNOW WHAT THAT TASTES LIKE?!?
“Glad to hear it. As for the Gojid, I think he’s gotten the message on what happens to people who cross us. Send him a normal fruit basket when he regains consciousness. Have it say… Sorry you got fired! Take a siesta!”
“Very well sir. Just to be clear, hold off on permanently silencing him?”
“Hrm… Yes. He was always amusing to work with.”
“Very well sir. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave.”
The Fat Venlil turned and walked out of the room. Ending the episode and leaving the three of us sitting on the couch.
“You know Loural is going to throw a fit if she finds out we let both Sylvan and Henry watch this!”
I wasn’t proud but at least the humans screamed louder than I did.
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Special thanks to u/Dinomannick for the prompt
"I got a few ideas for the show. How about a few episodes have them dealing with invasive earth species on alien worlds, brought there for zoos, rich blokes pet, criminals, whatever. They have either catch or kill all of them before their establishing breeding populations and have the cane toad/rabbit problem like down-under. Think it might be interesting enough for future space TV?"
I hope this lived up to your expectations, and the bunny boom won't be relegated to just this episode either.
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Links are still broken cause reddit is more like brokeit... Will get around to fixing them soon, real life has been kinda hectic
​
Previous!

This topic is driven by the Treantmonk video. So this will be a list of spells in 5th edition that really drive the gap between martial and casters. I really want to hear the community ideas and thoughts on these spells or other problem spells, and how they should be changed or tweaked for the revision.
Honorable mention - Silvery Barbs : this one is here cause its going to get mentioned in the comments. I believe the fixes are simple with this one, but why its an honor mention is because this spell will not be in the new PBH.
Fix 1 - make it a module exclusive spell. the spell really does fit into a strixhaven campaign it lets admit it was balanced for that setting.
Fix 2 - since players are just going to use it anyways even with fix 1, Errata it to be a 2nd level spell. I have zero problem with it being a 2nd level spell and it still very much worth the slot.
Spell 1 : Pass without a trace - This spell makes skill monkeys almost useless. At least when it comes to stealth. In Pathfinder this spell doesn't grant a bonus it just hides your tracks. pretty repairing your path so you can be tracked. So the solution is get rid of the static bonus the +10 is way to high for a 2nd level slot. It probably can grant advantage with still make the spell useful but not make the skill check arbitrary.
Spell 2 - Wall of Force - this spell can literally just end an encounter. stopping the martial from doing anything. you need a spell caster with some sort of teleport ability or can cast 6th level spells to even get around it or destroy it. The fix. older editions and pathfinder Wall of force had an AC and hit points allowing martials to physically break it. So the fix is give it an AC and hitpoints and allow that barbarian or fighters just hit it hard enough to break it.
Spell 3 - Shield - One of the strongest 1st level spells in the game. allow spell casters to get insane armor classes. after research Pathfinder shield spell gives a +4, but in terms of 3.5 and pathfinder a +4 is nothing when AC can easily get into high 20s and 30s. 5e doesn't get anywhere close unless you get some major magically items and for the price of a first level slot to get the equivalent of a 11th level item. (+3 shield, very rare). the Fix. reduce it to a +2 to get it inline with shield of faith. then have it scale with upcasting.
Spell 4 - Polymorph - like wall of force this can end an encounter. The fix. have it stop working on enemies. in Pathfinder you had to be willing. bring that back.
Spell 5 - Conjure X - this is all spells like conjure animals, conjure woodland being, animate objects, and spell that throws action economy out the door. These spell allows spell caster to out dps any martial. plus broke combos. besides making this thing minions. I don't have really good suggestions though tasha tried to fix this but they were underwhelming compared to the PHB options.
What other spells do you think needs some changes to close the gap? What are your thought on these fixes as well?

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My family and I, 43 female, had been planning a trip to the happiest place on earth for almost a year for thanksgiving 2022. Since we booked a condo and had extra room-we invited my little brother and sister in law to be to go with us too. They’re both 25 I only mention this because I think it affects the story.
So fast forward to the Fall. We lose our other brother to deteriorating health. Although not completely unexpected-he was still my little brother and it was avoidable so it was absolutely devastating. I said then we should reschedule the trip-my dad insisted that the kids had been waiting for this and my brother wouldn’t have wanted that. So we pushed through.
It’s just my dad, so I took on the role as the oldest sibling as I usually do, and planned his entire memorial. I didn’t give myself a chance to process until it was over. And when I did I fell completely apart. To the point that I had to voluntarily admit myself into the hospital. We were now a WEEK out from our trip! My sis in law was packing as I was getting medicated!I know BIZARRE!! My sweet husband handled all the last minute trip items while he spoke to my doctors and they assured him I would be ok and I just needed to get a few meds and grief takes time, etc. So we moved forward with the trip. And I’m glad we did…for the most part.
So I get out, I turn around and pack to leave two days later. We’re traveling with myself and spouse, my brother and sis in law, my 12 year old Star Wars fanatic of a kid, meeting our foreign exchange student from a previous year in Orlando, and my special needs sister who lives with us. All of us in a condo and a week in the parks. I’m sure this sounds like we’re crazy already right?! But- We arrive at our destination, spend several wonderful days in both big theme parks and have a wonderful time!
Until day five. The plan was for us to take the Star Wars nut to Star Wars and my brother to take my sister for the morning/early afternoon. I assumed we’d meet up by lunch or something. Communication isn’t easy when you’re 1-having a great time 2-on and off rides 3-in a crowded theme park. So there was a miscommunication on when we were meeting up let’s just say that.
Brother & sis in law wanted to ride a ride that had a long wait time. When I called to check on when and where to meet they told me they’d left my sister at the exit to the ride and were in line to ride it. They said they left her w/food and a drink and she’d be fine. Now the last time I checked the wait time on that ride it said 3 hours-so I FLIPPED out! I yelled something at him over the phone half in hysterics and raced across the entire park, to the exit to find my sister. I found her! My husband, kid and exchange student met up with us later and all was fine, thank god. But I was Infuriated and shocked that he would do this. And my mama bear (mom of 3 plus 1) kicked in. When we met up with them he was mad I hung up on him?! I exploded!!! Yes, in public, at the happiest place on earth. And so there we were being an embarrassment. He walked away because he wasn’t going to be a part of it, my sister in law started crying because she couldn’t find him-it was a cluster****!
Late that night back at the condo, they all left so we could us try to talk it out. And instead of making things better I threw some below the belt comments that I don’t think I did intentionally, but I was an emotional mess at the time and he was an explosive bear by this point. And It was UGLY! It ended up with them taking our shared rental car staying in a hotel the last day and not even going to the parks and leaving on a different flight. :(
I know we both could’ve handled it better; but little brother is the age of my oldest son! So I know I’m the adultier adult. We have NEVER fought like this! Our family doesn’t DO this! We were SO close, his gf and I like sisters. He was like all that I have left and we haven't spoken since. I know we were both *****. I want them back, like how things used to be. There’s a hole in my heart and I miss them so much! Is there any hope?!

Happy Sunday! I added even more stuff today. Shipping is $5, no minimum, and I ship in a few days.
DESTASH
ALCHEMIC MUSE
-jezebel(5 mL, $10): warm amber, animalistic musk, sweet frankincense, and myrrh accented with a touch of dark patchouli and vanilla
ALKEMIA
-tea garden alchemy: $15
-cherry blossom alchemy: $15
-madam pearl($15):
-perfume fixative(5 mL, $10):
-The traveler and the moon(sample $2): Silver leaf tea brewed in an iron kettle, galbanum, sandalwood, petitgrain, tobacco and bamboo leaves, wild currants, raw honey, fresh hay, and a cool splash of rice wine.
-Roll In the Hay(sample $2): A delightful romp through dried hay, fresh green grass, early summer wildflower honey, vanilla grass, vanilla leaf, and wild poppy.
-Baiser Du Soleil(sample $2): black coconut musk, white musk, vanilla orchid, star jasmine, white hyacinth
-More Light!(sample $2):
-aphrodisia(sample $2):
ANDROMEDA’S CURSE
-Pumpkin Magic:(5 mL, $10) pumpkin, marshmallow, vanilla.
-bat orchid(sample, $2): Orchid, Tea, Jasmine, Incense, Oakmoss, Sandalwood, Vanilla
-the call of the void(sample, $2): French Lavender, Nag Champa, Egyptian Amber, Sandalwood, Cedarwood & Vanilla
-undead undead undead(sample, $2): Clove, Orange, Incense, Frankincense, Myrrh, Vetiver, Patchouli, Black Musk
ARCANA
-Vanilla Craves 90s Malls(5mL, $15): The scent of rebellious young punks and toothachingly sweet innocence. Bright fluorescent lights, glossy watermelon-flavored lip gloss, a ziplock baggie of fresh, green bud, and sticky vanilla-laced marshmallow treats.
-pumpkin layering note($3 shop sample)
-sugar(decant, $2)
ASTRID
-Merci no. 39:
BLACK HEARTED TART
-hips like cinderella:
BPAL(samples, $2 each of all for $10!)
-satyr:
-tlazolteotl:
-dance of death:
-tweedledum:
-death on a pale horse
-al-azif:
-plunder:
-white rabbit:
-lawful:
-black tower:
CHERRY KA’S TRUNK(samples, $3)
-a palaver:
-come and reap:
-sandalwood guns:
DEATH AND FLORAL
-honeybush($10, 5mL roller): Herbal black tea and honey with a slight floral undertone, CO2 extract
HEXENNACHT
-Fougere Accord:($3 Ajevie large sample): My prized, personal house-blended fougère (also used as part of the Wuthering Heights blend): Bulgarian lavender, silvanone, oakmoss absolute, vetiver, tonka, jasmine, cetalox, bergamot, vanillin.
-ghost of christmas past(store sample; $3): ranges, and a petrified clump of old-fashioned ribbon candies stuck to Grandma’s candy dish since 1957.
-honey moon(decant; $2): My prized, personal house-blended fougère (also used as part of the Wuthering Heights blend): Bulgarian lavender, silvanone, oakmoss absolute, vetiver, tonka, jasmine, cetalox, bergamot, vanillin.
-raspberry rosemallow(Ajevie sample, $2)
-curiouser and curiouser(shop chonk, $5)
-french kiss(store chonk, 1/2 full): $2
NAVA:
-spirits of the dead(ajevie slink; $3)
POESIE:
-boudicca(sample, $3):
SEANCE (1 mL(?) samples direct from shop; $6)
-cemetary: dragonsblood resin, grass, earth, moss, wood, with hints of vanilla and patchouli
-La Femme Fantome: neroli, ylang-ylang, iris, jasmine, orris root, rose, lily of the valley, vetiver, oakmoss, civetta, Apple, red current, tulip, freesia, heliotrope, white rose, and a touch of amber and musk.
SIXTEEN92
-once more, with feeling(10 mL roller, $15): Autumnal woods, misty hayrides, brown sugar, pumpkin crumb cakes
STEREOPLASM
-enjoy your waffles(sample, label is damaged, $2)
-reverie(sample roller, $3)
WHISPER SISTERS(5mL $8)
-Ghosts of Christmas Past: marshmallow, vanilla, smoke, frankincense essential, Tunisian frankincense, myrrh essentia
-Sturnidae: Madagascscar vanilla, vanilla bean, tonka bean, geranium, violet, cedar, vetiver, white musk, with hints of jasmine and black vanilla.
-worm cake:
-butterfly’s boots:
-harpactira:
(1 mL sample, $3)
-ezra: dark amber, black amber, dark vanilla, blood orange, teak, patchouli
-hurdy gurdy: black musk, amber dragons blood, tonka bean, aged patchouli, black vanilla, smoked vanilla.
-bellatrix:

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