You probably should not have opened the door. You knew that the FBI were in town and the correlation between two strangers and their appearance were probably closely related. Maybe that was exactly why you did open up the door, because of that unconscious acknowledgement that they were the FBI. The FBI could probably get you out of this hell hole. Away from your mother and the misery and pain that she caused in your life.
Your mother was holed up in the living room, taking a nap on the couch and snoring loudly, when the door bell of your dark house rang loudly. The shrill ring made you jump. You are always on alert, ready for somebody to suddenly snap. You checked on mother, sneaking into the living room to make sure that she was asleep before answering the door.
You swung it open to reveal two men, holding their badges out to you. One of the men was older and dressed in a nice, italian, work suit. The other man was taller than the first. He was much younger, too. He couldn’t be any older than in his late twenties. I also could not help but notice that he was good looking, really good looking, with his floppy golden locks of hair falling around his face and his cute sweater, and dazzling, polite smile.
The two men introduced themselves to you. The older man was SSA David Rossi and the younger man was Dr. Spencer Reid of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. A doctor, huh? He looked much too young to be a doctor. If he was a doctor at his age, then he was definitely smart and able. Maybe he really could get you out of this shambles of a place that I am forced to call home.
“I am y/n y/l/n. Is there anything I can do to help you?” you said politely
You could feel them taking in your unconventional appearance. Your long y/h/c, flowing down your shoulders and hiding the top of your too big, baggy black sweatshirt that you always wore. It covered the bruises. The knees of you pants were worn down so much that they had been patched at least a dozen times. Your socks were both riddled with holes. You pulled your sweatshirt close to you, hugging yourself tightly, and crossing your arms.
“We were wondering if we could have a talk with you about an investigation. May we come in?” Agent Rossi asked
I hesitated. Oh, how I wanted to let them in. Mother would be furious and they would see and they would maybe even take me away. But I could not do that. What if they could not get me away? “I’m sorry, agents. I do not think that I can let you in at this time. My mother is asleep and I would rather not wake her.”
The two agents shared a glance with each other. I tried to ignore it but I knew that it was going to lead to something. “If that is all, agents, I really need to get back inside. I have things to do.” I started to shut the door, almost disappointed that nothing more could have happened. It was a long shot, the FBI agents able to save me. Nobody was able to save me. But then Dr. Reid stopped the door from closing shut. He put his foot in front of the door. You opened the door back up and masked your sudden surge of hope with an annoyed glare in their direction.
The young doctor turned to his fellow agent and sniffed the air theatrically, almost mockingly. “Do I smell what I think I smell, Rossi?” he said. Rossi shrugged. “I think I smell Marijuana. You know that plant over there could very possibly be a hemp plant. Y/n, I think we are going to have to take you in.”
You were shocked that they had played that card. It was technically illegal for them to do. They needed a reason to apprehend you and if they pretended that you actually had possession of pot, they could do just that. To the average, under-educated citizen, this would seem like a perfectly legal move. The feds think that you are growing illegal pot? Why of course they can arrest you. But, you are no average, under-educated citizen. You had always been advanced and exceedingly intelligent. Growing up, you did not have many friends, your parents made you stay indoors, and you never had electronics or games to keep you entertained. Therefore, you studied a lot. You studied anything and everything and when you finished, you were reread it. So, yeah, you knew that what the handsome doctor and his partner were doing was illegal, but they did not know that you knew.
You put on a shocked face, feigning dismay. “That isn’t pot! That is just a normal plant!” you spoke loudly to the two men, exaggerating your words.
“M'am, we have to take you to the station. I am sorry. Protocol.” Agent Rossi said with a shrug. “Do you need to be cuffed or will you come willingly?”
You yanked away from them and started toward their car parked in the street. “No need to restrain me. I won’t fight back.” You climbed into the back seat of the black SUV as the two men got into the two front seats. They drove back to the station in silence.
When you arrived at the police station, you were lead into an interrogation room and you were left to sit alone for nearly an hour until Spencer walked into the room. You had not said a single word since you arrived. You had a long hour to think about what you were going to do. You knew that these guys were experts on behavior, hence the name Behavioral Analysis Unit, so you decided not to give them any intimation to anything that you knew that they did not already know.
Spencer sat down in the chair across from you. You did not move a muscle. You did not flit your eyes to his when he began to speak. You stared straight ahead, unblinking. Consequently, when you stared straight ahead your view was entirely of Spencer’s chest. Still, you did not stir. Then, Spencer began to talk.
“So, y/n, I hear from your neighbors that you are something of a black sheep.” he glanced down at the file on the table “You know, one of your neighbors even described you as the Devil’s Child. I am going to assume that they were not talking about your mother on that account.” he stopped and looked down at his file again.
He was dead wrong about her mother. He may have been right about the neighbor not call Mother the Devil but, that does not mean that you think she does not hold a close resemblance, with her tyrannical ways of punishment to cure her “insubordination” problems. Mother was definitely not a very far throw from the Devil.
You continued looking straight ahead, refusing to speak and disrupt your marathon of silence. “Y/n, did you know that every single neighbor that we asked about suspected citizens in the area mentioned you. Now, a couple of people being suspicious of somebody, I get, but every single person that we interviewed mentioned you. I don’t think that is a coincidence.”
Yeah, well it was. Those naive little pinheads knew nothing. They were all morons. None of them were intelligent enough to realize that she was not the real threat to their precious little community, Mother was.
Spencer waited for you to respond but you did nothing. You stared ahead at nothing. You closed yourself off from all noises, it was nothing but you and your mind. There would be no reaction from you at all. You had trained yourself how to do this over years of mistreatment from Mother. She would yell and scream at you and expect you to not react in any way shape or form. If you so much as clenched your jaw at her obnoxious screeching, she would slap you, again and again until you could not even feel your jaw anymore. Now you knew precisely how to not react. You knew how to hide your thoughts and your feelings. Your behavior would not give you away.
Spencer decided to move onto his next tactic. He pulled out several crime scene photos. There was half a dozen of them. By know, he understood that if he were to place them on the table in front of you, you would not so much a glance at them. So he held them up, directly in front of your face, almost so close that you flinched. But you did not flinch for you knew better.
The pictures that the agent showed you were eerily familiar. The knees of the pants that the victims wore were worn down. Their socks were torn nearly to shreds. The worst part was their faces, caked in their own blood that had once oozed from deep wounds and scratches in the skin from being slapped and beaten over and over again. You knew how that felt. Still, you sat unflinching.
Spencer sat directly across from you, mirroring your silence. He scrutinized you for an inkling of behavior but you gave him nothing. You stayed resolute. He rose from his seat and left the room. The genius called the team’s technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, who quickly printed a copy of your rap sheet. He thanked the woman and grabbed the papers that he needed for your interrogation. He read through your record as he walked back into the interrogation room that you resided in.
Spencer threw the file onto the table and plopped down into the chair adjacent to yours. “Did you know that you have a criminal record, y/n?” he said matter-of-factly, not expecting you to respond to his mock question and to continue with the silence you had been using for the entire night.
But you answered him, “Yes, I knew that. I was in for shoplifting twice and trespassing once.” then you resumed your silent streak.
“Tell me, y/n. Why did you answer that question but not the others?” he asked. He was met with silence from you. You answered his first question because he had obviously known the answer. He had not already known the answer to any other question he had asked, and some things that he asked were not even technically questions.
Being the genius that he is, he quickly deduced the difference between the question that you actually answered and the ones that were met with silence. You were detained for two more days, three days in total. Spencer and you had developed a sort of dance. He was the only human being that you had any contact with for all three of the days. They kept you isolated because you were the lead suspect in a federal crime. Spencer always tried to get you to trip and speak more than you wanted to or even do something as simple as clear your throat, to do something that would reveal more about your behavior. But you were unyielding.
Finally, on the last day, Spencer waltzed into the interrogation room and said, “In exactly 35 minutes, we are obligated by law to let you go. If there is anything you want to say, I recommend saying it now.”
You almost did not say anything. Afterall, it did not follow your silence rule. But then you panicked by the idea of hope. It surged through you like a rocket, just as it had the day that the two mysterious strangers had shown up at your door step. You contemplated what you were going to do, tell everything you knew, which was a lot, or stay silent and protect Mother. Spencer sighed, growing impatient, and finally gave up. He turned to leave the room and you shouted his name after him.
“Wait! Agent Reid!” you had shouted at the man
And then you told him everything. You told him how you had been beaten mercilessly by your mother ever since you were barely able to walk. You told him, in detail, of all the awful things that she had ever done to you. You told him that you believed she was behind the heinous murders because the pain that had been inflicted upon those victims had frequently been exacted on to you as well. It was your mother’s preferred method of torture.
By the time, you finished basically retelling your life story to Reid, it was hours past your three days. You were proven innocent and your mother was proven guilty. You somehow felt both elated and pitiful. You had just turned in the woman who had drilled thoughts of misery into your mind for more than twenty years.
You went with Agents Reid and Rossi back to your home. It was where you had lived for your entire life and you were exultant that you would finally be able to move far, far away from the torturous memories.
The three of you climbed out of the car together and you walked up to your front door, Reid and Rossi taking the lead as you stood behind the two of them. They rang the door bell. You heard the familiar repugnant voice of Mother shout sharply from within. You stood straight as a statue where you stood, unwavering. She soon came to the door.
“What do you want?” she barked, her unsavory voice stabbing you from the inside out, anger rising from within. But you were well trained, you stood still despite the burning anger for the woman. You focused on your victory, twenty years late but here nonetheless.
“Ms. y/l/n, you are under arrest.” Reid said, swiftly standing behind your Mother and cuffing her before she could refuse. He read the woman her rights. She shouted out pleas of help. She begged you to get her out of the mess that she got herself in. You stood stone still and looked her straight in the eye.
Reid handed your mother off to Rossi, who lead the woman, shouting disreputable slurs as she walked. Rossi squeezed her cuffs on extra tight as she restrained against them. He managed to get her into the SUV. Then he drove away, leaving you alone with Spencer. You turned to him and the two of you stood for a long moment, remembering the long hours of silence.
Finally, you reached your hand out to his. He stared at it for a moment, before reaching out and shaking your hand enthusiastically.
“Thank you, Agent.” You said. You really were grateful. This man had given you a life. He had given you a chance. Now you were going to trade in the fearful silence, for the life that you had always only dreamt about.
He smiled and you were reminded again of how good looking he actually was, lanky and awkward in a graceful and beautiful way. “Anytime, y/n.” he said “Anytime.”
Write about a world where it's illegal to grow plants
The call came at 3:42 AM. I was wide awake, tending to my crop. I always got potential buyers this time of day. It all depended on the strain they wanted.
“Psst,” said the scared, hushed voice on the other line. “I heard ya got the good shit.”
“Depends,” I mumbled. “Whacha after?”
“I’m lookin’ for some…” he trailed off. Maybe someone had walked by. “Some reddies, if ya got them. Redlamp, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know….where you at?”
“Meet me at the telephone booth at Main and Tenn. I’ll pay in cash, I promise.”
“I don’t accept anything but.” I hung up. I stood up, taking one more cursory look over my stash. Every since the government cracked down hard on people who liked to do a bit of DIY farming, people found it hard to get what they needed. That’s where people like me, who don’t give a damn about the law, come in. I pulled a ziplock bag out of my pocket, and got fifteen of the reddies ready.
When I went to the aforementioned phone booth, I couldn’t see the guy at all. I considered calling him back, but even that felt a little too risky. Everyone knew what happened to dealers.
Eventually, the disheveled man came out of the shadows. “Hey,” he whispered. “You got what I wanted?”
“Yeah, here.” I held the ziploc up.
He almost tripped over his own feet scampering towards me. Forty bucks, a solid triple what I was going to ask for, flew towards me. I didn’t bother giving him change, and he didn’t ask for it. I wasn’t even half-way across the block when I heard him moan in ecstasy. It was a familiar sound.
It was the sound of someone who has just eaten his first strawberry in years.
Growing up with Spencer Reid was one of those things where he was the overly law abiding citizen who knew better and you were the less strictly moral led friend who dragged him into things he probably shouldn’t be doing. Being in High School with Spencer Reid meant you dragged him out and about to do things he probably shouldn’t be doing…like hopping over fences into private land and trespassing to sit on the roof of an abandoned building to drink and watch the stars…because that really wasn’t legal and you guys could get caught even if you never had before…but you always managed to drag him out every time and he let you.
“I’m pretty sure this is illegal…we shouldn’t be here, Y/N” You rolled your eyes at your friend taking a swig from the cheap can of beer that you’d managed to scrounge. He always did this, complained and worried and yet you knew he was having fun or else he wouldn’t be here. Rarely could you get Spencer Reid to do anything he didn’t want to do, even if he pretended he disliked trespassing.
“Lighten up, Reid, it’s fine!”
“But-” You cut him off, clapping him on the shoulder, “Don’t pretend you’re not having fun.” Because you knew he was and he knew he was and you both knew you wouldn’t get caught because no one ever came here and no one ever would…and besides worst that would happen would be to be dragged back to your houses by a cop.
Grown and harvested for thousands of years, hemp has numerous industrial uses which benefit mankind. However, in the United States hemp is illegal due to it being a cannabis plant, and its legality is also in question in many other countries. Its important to note that hemp only contains minute amounts of THC, its cannot be used as a drug like marijuana. However due to zero tolerance laws, even trace amounts of THC make hemp illegal to grow in the US.
The banning of hemp began in 1937 with the Marihuana Tax Act. It is often theorized that hemp was included in the law in order to destroy the hemp industry, which threatened DuPont’s business of manufacturing artificial materials. The prohibition of hemp was short lived, it would take a world war to bring about the resurgence of the American hemp industry. With America’s entry into World War II, there was an exploding demand for raw materials and industrial goods. This included hemp, which during World War II was used to produce rope, canvas, and uniforms, all necessary items for the war effort.
Whereas once there was hemp was illegal, within the blink of an eye the US Government was issuing thousands of licenses to grow it. Various propaganda campaigns were instituted to convince farmers to grow hemp nationwide. Many of these former hemp farmers had been driven out of business, fined, and even imprisoned a mere handful of years ago when was initially banned. One of the most famous pieces of propaganda from the hemp campaign was a film entitled, “Hemp for Victory”, which extoled the virtues of the hemp plant and hemp growers. It was a complete 180 degree departure from the 1930’s when the government issued propaganda demonizing hemp and hemp growers.
During World War II 350,000 acres of hemp were cultivated. As soon as World War II ended, the US Government made another 180 degree policy turn, once again demonizing hemp and crafting regulations which made it de facto illegal. In 1970, it was made illegal to grow in the US with the passage of the Controlled Substances Act. Today hemp is still illegal to grow hemp in the United States according to Federal Law, and even small countries such as Serbia produce more hemp than the US. However, hemp is legal to import into the country, and quizzically the United States is the largest consumer of hemp in the world.
Since I’m one of the lucky ones that got to read Bloodline one week before the U.S release (in Sweden), I’ve decided to share a few things while doing a proper book review of it. But since that means spoilers, I’ve hidden the rest of the review under the cut. So if you don’t want to be spoiled – stop reading now!
Apparently it's easier to find out how to grow magic mushrooms than legal ones
I have been trying to figure out how I can grow ANY kind of mushrooms in a yard or anywhere else outside. I don’t want to eat them, just look at them, so it doesn’t matter what kind. No one seems to know how I can do that. But if someone wanted to grow illegal, hallucinogenic mushrooms that will land you in federal prison, well, they have all sorts of ways and equipment and stuff you can buy online to do that.
Why do I live in such a goofy, upside down and backward society, where it’s easier to find out how to do illegal things than legal ones?
But I am trying to discover on my own how to do legal stuff in spite of this goofy society.
And I figure if I get different kinds of mushrooms and put them in a blender with water to suspend the spores, and I add some kind of carbohydrate to feed the spores, and add a little food oil to also feed the spores, and then blend all that together, and then mix it into a mixture of wood chips and cow manure sitting in a pile on the ground, then, surely at least one of the kinds of mushrooms will like it and I will get something growing.
But there is also the possibility the ground up mushrooms will either digest each other or be too busy competing with each other to actually be able to grow.
I guess I am hoping one kind will grow initially and use up what it needs but set the stage for the next one to grow in what’s left.
So far here are the kinds of mushrooms I have chopped up or blended and dumped in the pile: white button, brown button, shiitake, enoki, white oyster, brown beech, yellow oyster, king mushroom, seafood mushroom, grey oyster, and wood ear.
My carbohydrates have been diet coke, diet pepsi, corn syrup, sugar, soy flour, and different seeds. The food oil has been palm oil and canola oil. And composted hardwood chips and composted cow manure.
Nope, you will have to stop salivating now…
What I am hoping will happen is the button mushrooms will grow in the manure and sprout up while meanwhile digesting the wood chips a little, and the oyster mushrooms will like the wood chips and sprout out of that while doing something that will let the rest grow later and then sprout. I don’t know what the others do to manure or wood chips but maybe they will grow later.
I don’t see anything anywhere about any mushroom liking food oil. But maybe it will hold the spores in or something.
So, I got orchids for my birthday, as in a live plant, not dead ones. So I went on a bender, looking up a bunch of info on orchids.
About: The world has an estimated twenty-five thousand kinds of orchids. Costa Rica has one thousand five hundred species. The United States has seventy. The far northern nation of Greenland has four. Some of the plants are found above the Arctic Circle. Not all orchids grow from the ground. Some are “air plants” that grow on trees. Unlike parasites, however, they do not rob the trees of nutrition. It is illegal to collect orchids growing in nature. But poachers often do so. And orchids reproduce with difficulty. They depend on birds, bees or insects to spread their pollen to another orchid flower.
How to Grow: Orchids need bright, indirect light, lots of water, gentle air movement, high humidity, fertilizer, and moderate temperatures. If you plants leaves turn yellow, it could have spidermites. Wipe it down with a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol, then rinse it in clean water. Some orchids need a certain amount of darkness at night in order to complete the chemical processes which allow them to flower again.
Medicinal Uses: Used to treat upset stomachs, convulsions, and migraines apparently (I’ll have to try this one). Unfortunately, there isn’t any hard science to back this up, it’s all unproven folk medicine, mostly originating from Asia.
Magical Uses: Used for love spells of just about every kind, Removing Curses, Psychic Abilities, Wish Magic, and Fertility. Associated with Air.
“I need to inspect your farm for illegal growing of drugs.”
I said, “Okay, but don’t go into that field over there…..”
The DEA officer verbally exploded saying, “Mister, I have the authority of the federal government with me!” Reaching into his rear pants pocket, the arrogant officer removed his badge and shoved it in my face. “See this fucking badge?! This badge means I’m allowed to go wherever I wish… On any land! No questions asked or answers given. Have I made myself clear?! Do you understand?!”
I nodded politely, apologized and went about my chores. A short time later, I heard screaming, looked up, and saw the DEA officer running for his life being chased by my big, old, mean bull… With every step the bull was gaining ground on the officer, and it seemed likely that he sure enough would get gored before he reached safety. The officer was clearly terrified.
I threw down my tools, ran for the fence, and yelled at the top of my lungs…
So, #MeghanKelly calls out #DonaldTrump for his past numerous sexist remarks, he denies being sexist, says that people are too “politically correct” and then calls her a bimbo for bringing it up. Donald Trump is an embarrassment to the Republican party and to America. You’d think that people would distance themselves from him more, but instead he is the #2 favorite for the Republican nomination. What does that tell you…? Side note, there is a big difference between being “politically correct” and not being a disgusting human being. You can’t call women sluts, fat pigs, dogs, slobs, bimbos and disgusting animals, get pissy when its brought up ahead of an election, then argue that its a joke and that people need to stop being so “politically correct.” Especially not when you have an illegal immigrant growing on your head and two out of your three wives were all Russian mail order brides. *cough cough*…sorry, I digress.
Dendrobates leucomelas, sometimes called the bumblebee poison dart frog. These guys are one of the larger species I keep. =)
Some trivia about poison dart frogs in captivity:
1) They are not actually poisonous! At least, not enough to hurt you if you accidentally touch them. In the wild, dart frogs absorb their toxicity from their prey: usually ants. In captivity, if dart frogs are fruit flies and other small insects like termites, their toxicity greatly decreases. A decrease in toxicity is not harmful to the frog.
2) Dart frogs sing! Male dart frogs can be spotted a mile away when they begin to sing, or call, by puffing out their throats and vibrating in place. Some dart frog calls are quite soft and beautiful. Others will rouse you from the deepest sleep more harshly than any alarm clock.
3) In captivity dart frogs live in vivariums, humid glass boxes in which hobbyists (like me!) often grow live plants and microfauna. Building vivariums and keeping dart frogs are both hugely enjoyable pastimes that unfortunately also often mean dirt on the carpet, escaped fruit flies in the house, and weird noises at all hours. Not to mention your expensive grow lights might encourage the neighbors to think you’re growing illegal plants, when really you’re just growing moss.