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Genre=Action / cast=Juan Ochoa / In Mexico City's wealthiest neighborhoods, the Ochoa family runs a private ambulance, competing with other for-profit EMTs for patients in need of urgent help / / audience Score=387 Vote / writers=Luke Lorentzen. What the heak. People: forgetting something Also people: PARALLEL UNIVERSES. Me: lets get down to business Disney: no. The dude in the Thumbnail looks like Master Oogwa.

Disney: WE MUST APPEASE OUR CHINESE OVERLORDS HARDER

Tight like a tiger From Austin Powers 😂. In the audition room Judges: are you Morgan Freeman? This guy: Yes.

 

Everyone here is like wheres the dragon and Im her like WhEres ThE GrAndMa. Hey Joe ur dog wants to play Taboo. 2012 Toulouse and Montauban shootings. Keith: kpop Inner kpop lover in me: triggered. I recommend, if you pick this series up, to go straight into Super-Sons (Adventures with Jon and Damien. It is absolutely amazing, and improves on everything that Tomasi and Gleason built on. SAVAGE. Im earlyyyyy. I loveee you Audreyyy! ❤️❤️❤️😍😍😍😘😘😘.

Film making and acting at it's best. this movie will be burned into my brain for years to come. Aside from being the best movie ive seen in 2019 - this is the best trailer ive ever seen to represent any movie. Oh shit they just whipped out Maybe I'm amazed that's it Its time to watch this. Can you react to my videos. Midnight Family Where Midnight Family Online download Midnight imdb Watch~MidnigHt~FAMIly~Online~Subtitle~English.

I thought I'd give it a chance just to see. Saddest mistake of my life but truly makes me cherish the present more than anything! Adam Driver just keeps getting better. Esmè's riddle: your age. Best Superman run I've ever read. I still can't believe Willem Dafoe was snubbed for an Oscar nod, and Robert Pattinson who did an awesome performance too that proved he can truly act. Just watched it right and now. gotta say shit blew me away. Omg I'm so early. You guys are so inspirational! Xx. The little details and little cute things is what makes this movie amazing. Like when she ties his shoes, when she says the tea is amazing, when he asks why Cassie had a cake and it made it even worse, etc. Little things are what makes it so realistic and amazing. I don't agree with everyone saying I don't wanna get married anymore, and this is not the message either. It just says that you shouldn't marry someone who is not giving the same to the relationship as you do and you should always communicate your needs clearly. The world would be a better place and marriages wouldn't end up that way. But as we can see in the movie, after the worst times we can still be human beings with the other person and we can still love each other. Amazing movie.

When you have worked in the field of divorce for as long as I have you see some stuff. You hear some things you can never unhear: creative threats, barely-disguised statements of violence wrapped in many a choice word, bedroom secrets you can’t forget even with the help of gallons of alcohol. You see marriages fall apart daily. You see couples on the brink of collapse suddenly fall back in love, come back together and dismiss your services with a poorly written email and a cheap fruit basket. The processes can take hours, days, weeks and, yes, years. I’ll never forget my hardest case. The one that didn’t quite make sense. The one filled with such violence and horror it chills me to think of it still to this day, 20 years after closing the case and some caskets. My therapist says it’s important to share the hard cases. Usually I ignore her advice and daydream about who helps therapize a therapist-- we all need help in our fields, you now? But sharing this case finally makes sense. Maybe I can close the case within myself; get some deep, dreamless sleep and not wake up screaming in my bachelor bed. The case was weird from the start. I had just started at my third and final firm, settling into the divorce branch of lawyering and feeling like I’d found home. I was the low man on the totem pole and I grabbed more coffee than casework, but I didn’t mind that so much. Higher ups had passed on this one couple; so many had passed, in fact, that they ended up with me. They weren’t my first divorce case and they certainly wouldn’t be the last, but I was still unsure how to handle them with all the rumors circulating their “differences”. Professionals who hardly gave me the time of day were giving me their sympathy, warning me over pricey coffees about the “bat-shit crazy Cady couple”. No one would say what had them so spooked, of course. Just that the higher ups didn’t have time for the trouble that would come with the Cady case. So I was tasked with sorting out the couple’s business. They seemed normal at first glance and, really, I couldn’t see why they were getting divorced. Sidney Cady was a bright-eyed, gorgeous young woman who, while a bit soft spoken, was incredibly strong-willed and opinionated. Craig Cady was a handsome guy with deep dimples when he smiled, which he did quite often, at first. They held hands as they sat before me, Craig absently stroking Sidney’s knuckles in a gentle and loving way. They looked at me with gratitude and thanked me profusely. Apparently they had been kicked around every firm in the area. I felt sorry for how unprofessionally and unfairly they had been treated; God do I laugh at how sorry I felt now, how I wish I would have kicked them to the curb just as quickly as everyone else had. The first meetings went smoothly enough. They were organized and educated in the divorce process. They had paperwork, deeds and titles, certificates-- everything you shared on paper in a little folder labeled “Divorce”. We breezed through the firm’s charges and their own finances, and started in detail on a meeting schedule. The Cady’s told me they wanted the divorce absolutely final by the end of the year. Sidney got a little teary as I noted their request-- it only gave us two months, but with how organized and certain they seemed I knew I could make it happen. Then I asked the damning question. “I have to ask, ” I remember cheerfully and harmlessly (I thought) saying as they held hands in front of me. “ Why are you separating? ” You learn quickly not to ask that question in such a way when handling divorce. There’s a lot of he-said, she-said. A lot of secrets. Usually some form of abuse or another. Unless they want to handle their separation in a dirty way, airing out all that laundry and throwing each other under the bus, it’s really best to just not ask. But I did. “Because He says we have to. ” Craig stated, very simply. I noticed a tremor in Sidney’s lower lip when he said it, more tears glinting in her eyes. Ah, I thought. Another case of Narcisistic-Daddy-Doesn’t-Love-My-Husband. “No one controls whether you can be together or not. ” I told them. “That’s a whole other branch in the complicated lawyer system. ” I joked. Trying to lighten the mood doesn’t help when the conversation actually isn’t about a controlling parent. Trying to lighten the mood doesn’t help at all when you’re dealing with a couple who believe they’re being haunted by a jealous and All-Powerful Being. Sidney had fled the room in tears and I was left with the awkward task of apologizing to Craig. I told him I hadn’t meant to be rude or invasive, that we could carry on with the proceedings without further questions if that’s what they wanted. I remember how much Craig seemed to age in that short amount of time. His smile faded, his skin paled, his eyes went vacant and dark. A shake started in his hand, a shake he seemed barely aware of. I noticed how dark the shadows under his eyes were; I remember wondering if they had been there the whole meeting, and wondering if they were sleeping at all. When Craig finally broke the awkward tension in the room his voice was raspy and he sounded like an unhinged, ancient man. “We were highschool sweethearts. We’ve been everything to each other. And then we bought this damn house…” Craig had slammed his shaking hand into my desk. “We bought the damn house and He makes us do things. He won’t let us live while we’re still together. ” I heard it then, the unmistakable capitalization of “He”. Their Being. Their Reason-For-Divorce. I remember I sat there with my mouth wide open like some kind of fool, completely unable to say anything. I wanted so badly to tell Craig that ghosts or haunted houses weren’t real; that maybe he and Sidney just needed some help and a vacation. I said nothing. Sidney came shuffling back into the room with the same blank expression that Craig had. A young, once-happy couple with the faces of people who have completely given up. Totally defeated. I pulled myself together long enough to tell Sidney I was sorry for upsetting her. I told the Cadys that we would continue this in our next meeting. I promised them I would have everything finalized by the time they wanted. They said they were grateful, shook my hand with their own tremoring hands, and disappeared for a whole month. After attempting to contact them several times I gave up, almost relieved to be rid of them. I decided the firm had been right-- the couple was crazy. Everyone had been right to throw their case out and ignore their insanity. I could handle a controlling parent or an abusive husband, but a haunting? No. I helped on a few pressing cases for the firm. No one heard from the Cadys. No one spoke of them. I had almost forgotten about their weird requests when, suddenly, they reappeared while I was out for lunch. I came back and the office secretary bustled over to tell me that “they” were in my office. I had no idea who “they” were, but assumed she meant the couple I was currently walking through their divorce-- a hardened pair of criminals who realized that a life of monogamy and dishes just wasn’t for them. I walked quickly to my office with every intention of telling them that showing up outside of scheduled meeting times would cost them extra-- and then there “they” were. The Cady’s. Craig was wearing a grimy long-sleeved shirt that had seen better days. Hell, it had seen better years, but apparently not a washer. Sidney had dark sunglasses on and what looked like a bright red rash or a burn creeping up under the collar of her turtleneck. The city was typically blustery, but I remember that day as being sunny and overly-warm. Too warm to be bundled up in a tiny corner office waiting to surprise your unsuspecting lawyer. “Mr. and Mrs. Cady, ” I greeted them cautiously. Sidney visibly flinched at the use of Mr. “We know we don’t have an appointment and that we skipped out on the last one. ” Craig started. He talked quickly, almost in a manic state. I noticed purple scars on his hands and face-- deep and raised and nasty. The shadows under his eyes were monstrous and his eyes themselves were… well, have you ever looked into the void and had it look back at you, begging for help while it fades into nothing? A noise echoed through the room and I realized that Sidney was grinding her teeth. Viciously, loudly. Dragging her jaw back and forth in a tight, rage-fueled motion. I was glad I couldn’t see her eyes. “How may I help you? ” I asked, again cautiously. I wish I would have turned them away. I wish I hadn’t gotten sucked in. “When we finalize the divorce we’ll be splitting the house. If we both sign off on it, can we have the house burned down? ” Craig asked. Right off the bat. Right out of nowhere. He pulled their organized “Divorce” folder out and plopped it down in front of me. I absently flipped it open to the first few pages; a section detailing their house and their property, pictures included. “Um, arson is arson no matter how you cut it, Craig. ” I said, completely unsure what he was proposing. And confused-- the pictures of the house, the pictures I hadn’t paid much attention to at first, were stunning. Why in the hell would they burn down a gorgeous three-story home sitting on a healthy stretch of isolated land? “No. We wouldn’t be burning it down, not like that. I mean…” Craig was visibly frustrated and struggling to find the right words. I’d had couple’s burn each other’s property and threaten arson aplenty in the field, but asking permission first? “I mean, if we both signed off on it and if we used like the fire department or something, could we burn the fucker down? ” “Burn it down. ” Sidney had stopped grinding her teeth long enough to chime in, her voice dead-flat and emotionless. “I--” I was stunned. Speechless. “I would have to look into city ordinances. There would have to be a good reason, and it doesn’t look like the property is crumbling or a hazard to anyone’s safety--” “It’s killing us! ” Sidney shrieked. She had jerked upright so suddenly that her sunglasses had fallen slightly askew. An unmistakable pair of bruised-black eyes glared out at me. There was fire in Sidney’s eyes, at least. The woman was enraged, and maybe a little unhinged. “If the property is a hazard we could arrange for demolition I believe, yes. ” I said. “Again, with good reason, and I’d have to double-check ordinances... Is this something you want done immediately, is the house a priority? ” “It has to be after our divorce. ” Craig said. His voice was shaking. “We won’t be around to watch it burn. We can never see each other again once the ink dries, but I want that house turned into kindling if it’s the last thing I do on Earth. ” “Instead of liquidating assets and splitting profits, you want to just… burn it? ” I whispered. They both agreed. *** Over the final weeks of the year the Cadys would periodically appear and disappear at the oddest times and hours. They slowly revealed their story to me as we discussed their assets and filled out various paperworks. I’ll admit, I was so astonished by their claims that half of the time I forgot to bill the couple. I was haunted by their tale and unable to sleep as it was; keeping up with the Cady’s case and my other workload was taking its toll on me. I would come into work and hope they wouldn’t appear so I could get a night’s rest and my work done on time. There they would be, with another piece of the puzzle, always looking worse than the last time. It wasn’t just Sidney who came in looking like a punching bag, either. Sometimes Craig would be sporting a black eye or infected claw-marks on his skin. Once they both came in with a broken nose. They blamed their shared abuse on their Being: Sidney and Craig dated through high school and college. They had few downs, but all the ups one couple could have. They started careers in fields of their choosing, saved diligently and ate plenty of. 50 cent Ramen dinners and eventually bought the house of their dreams: an abandoned property on an overgrown patch of acreage in their hometown, a little spot on the map just a city over. A house they had both obsessed over since they were little. A passion project for the ages. They achieved their goal and started renovating the house and the land. As quickly as they cleared out the dust and the dirt, pried up loose floorboards and scrubbed away the weird graffiti in the basement, so quickly did their joy start to crumble. Sidney said it started with her being pinched in her sleep. She would startle awake, crying out in surprise and a little bit of pain, expecting to see her prankster husband going about seducing her the wrong way. Craig was never in their marital bed, however. Craig started sleepwalking the night they officially moved into the house. The Cadys told me he hadn’t slept in their bedroom the entire time they had lived in the house. He would crawl into bed with his loving wife and pray that that night would be the night he could just hold her tight enough to stay. No dice. Craig would stumble down to the freezing basement where they had tirelessly scrubbed away markings and graffiti. He claimed he would stand there, bare-footed and nearly-naked, for hours. Until Sidney would be pinched awake and come looking for him. They tried sleep specialists; perhaps they were both suffering from some sort of sleep condition neither of them had heard of? Sleep specialists didn’t help-- the Cadys claimed that when they slept in the hospitals or study rooms there was no sleep-pinching or sleep-walking. They showed me receipts of their doctors’ bills, showed me the results of the multiple tests and statements from the specialists. A severe insomniac myself, I even recognized a couple of the doctors names. They told me that the sleep issues were just the start; the couple quickly spiraled into madness and violence. Sidney was hearing a voice of a man; she said He would whisper to her all night long, while Craig was standing stock-still in the basement, and He would describe the ways that they would die. Craig was hallucinating. He kept seeing a tall form in the corner of his eye. Craig swore several times he even saw the man clearly-- and he said that the man winked at Craig and drew his finger across his throat in a slashing motion. Back to specialists they went. They needed sleep. They were snapping at each other, falling asleep at their jobs, being reprimanded and taking that anger home. Sidney said she had never been so angry and exhausted in her life. Craig admitted to violent fantasies where he murdered Sidney horribly and then himself. Their assets were hard to separate and divide-- both of the Cady's parents were dead. Sidney’s family had left her a hefty fortune and Craig’s parents had left him far from bad-off, too. They talked about how hard it was with no support; they had no surviving family and very few friends. When their erratic and irrational behavior started, the few friends they had disappeared, leaving Sidney to Craig and Craig to Sidney. Their motivation to talk to doctors and get help dwindled quickly. Their hallucinations got worse. The anger and violence escalated. At one point Craig had ripped up his dirty shirt and showed me a 2-inch long scar on his abdomen. They had laughed and kissed one another after Craig told me Sidney had stabbed him less than two months after moving into the house. They had tried to kill each other, kill themselves, and kill the house. They shared burn scars and horror stories. They stopped laughing and stopped smiling and got older and older the more they came to see me. And I started to believe them. They had proof of visiting specialists and psychiatrists. They had receipts from hiring exterminators, in case it was some kind of pest they were allergic to driving them crazy. They had receipts from hiring home inspectors to check for mold or gas leaks. They had a video of a priest blessing their home, and a video of Sidney chanting in a different language, and a video of Craig sitting on the edge of the roof with an axe and a beer in his hand. The Cadys then told me that when they couldn’t kill themselves in their house they attempted to do it outside. They put together a picnic of food, wine, and rat poisoning. They split the bottle of doused wine and, after falling into convulsions and vomiting, woke up in their bed with nothing more than splitting headaches. “We hadn’t felt that free in a year. ” Sidney told me, referring to the relief that came with simply stepping outside of the house. “You see why no one would take our case now. ” Craig had said sadly, dejected. “What I don’t see is how divorcing will fix this issue. It was nearly 8pm and we were still talking in my office, eating takeout and rehashing details I’ll never forget. “Can’t you just leave? ” They had both laughed at me bitterly, a false sound that sounded inhuman. “Don’t you think we’ve tried? We’ve tried to die, we’ve tried to kill, we’ve tried to burn the fucking house down. ” Sidney told me, revealing the angry red burn scars on her neck. “He won’t let us leave. But he keeps separating us in the house and pitting us against each other, this is all we can think of. ” “We were going to just move apart and never speak of it again, but neither of us can afford to not go through all the proper steps and channels, not with all the money we sank into the house and those specialists. That’s how we ended up here. Getting a proper divorce. And then we’ll never see each other again, but maybe we’ll survive. He sounded like he might have the faintest glimmer of hope, deep, deep down. The two of them had seemed so defeated I was pleasantly surprised. “I have only a little paperwork left to push through and then we’ll be done. You both can have happy and successful lives after this. ” They had looked at each other with such love and such sadness that it nearly broke my heart. I thought how sad and unfair it was that the couple before me didn’t get to stay together. They had suffered a bout of bad luck, or psychosis, or hell maybe a true haunting, and they were destroyed by it. “He has told both of us we don’t have much time left. ” Sidney told me. “This has to be done by next week. ” I told them it would be, of course. I was good at my job and I liked them, I wanted to help. They left that night and with slight smiles on their haggard, scarred faces. We had hope. *** Of course, life gets in the way. I hadn’t slept properly in months and my work was stacking up. My bosses were taking notice and were no longer excusing my “slacking off”. They wanted me to prioritize several other cases, and drop the “Crazy Cady” case or lose my job. I had other couples to help and rent to pay. I was muddled up and exhausted and I did as I was told. The Cady paperwork slipped from my mind and, suddenly, it was January 1st. I hadn’t received any calls or urgent emails. The Cady’s hadn’t shown up at the office, worse for wear or better off, or whatever happens when an apparent year-long curse is lifted. I got my work back under control and closed out the cases that had needed closing for a long, long time. I finally finished the Cady case and, having secured their signatures already, finalized the divorce. I tried to call them to have them come back to the office, discuss the final steps. Their numbers had been disconnected. I tried to email them and received an error message. I wrote them a handwritten letter and never heard back. My concern grew. I obsessively checked the news for the surrounding areas. I was constantly looking out for any hint of a couple that went bonkers and slaughtered each other. I started losing sleep and losing track of my job again. Finally, I reached out to an acquaintance who worked for the local PD. The pause on the other end of the line after I explained that I was worried for the Cadys was the longest of my life. He finally told me I should come down to his office, that he had something to tell me. *** I drove a town over and pulled into the police department with a heavy heart. Something had already told me that the Cadys were dead. I just didn’t know how, or when, or why. I still didn’t know if I fully believed their insane claims of hauntings and His presence. My friend, Bob, hustled me into his office and closed the door. He braced me for the bad news and asked if I wanted to see the case file. It was thick; too thick for a young couple that hadn’t gotten police involved during their domestic “differences”. I swallowed the lump in my throat and rifled through the file, glancing with growing dread at the horrific pictures buried within. “It’s the worst case we’ve seen here in decades, the worst case I’ve seen myself. ” Bob told me. He looked pale as he walked me through the crime scene and the case. He advised that I skip the autopsy pictures and, finally, told me the PD still had no answers. “There were no notes. There weren’t other fingerprints or footprints, there wasn’t any sign of forced entry. But the way they were killed, slaughtered … It was like some sort of Satanic sacrifice sort of ancient ritual that just isn’t supposed to happen anymore. ” Bob was visibly shaken. I took his advice and closed the folder before I got to the autopsy pictures-- the hundreds of pictures of blood splatter, brain matter, severed organs and the mutilated faces of the Cadys had been enough for me. Thick dark smoke had been seen on the 1st of the year and when the fire department arrived they found a brushfire singing the side of the house. And the Cadys slaughtered in their basement. The autopsy results put their death right after midnight of the 31st. “I went to school with them. The whole town knew they were going somewhere. They were too young to die, and no one should die like that. No one. ” I thanked Bob for his time and his honesty. I walked to my car in a daze and stared blankly at the divorce paperwork I had brought with me; some naive part of me had foolishly thought Bob would tell me the Cadys were fine, that I could see them and give them the good news. I cried on my way home, completely distraught by everything I had just learned and seen. *** I was one of the only ones who attended the joint funeral of Sidney and Craig Cady. It poured rain and the priest had little to say-- I recognized him from the videos of the house cleansing and blessing that the Cadys had shared with me. The Cadys, always organized and sensible, had taken care of their final will and testaments just after purchasing their first home together. Their caskets were gorgeous and the plot they had picked out was in a good place. They rested side by side. I stood at their grave long after the funeral ended with my doubts and my guilt. I remembered how I rooted for them to somehow stay together. I remembered how I didn’t really believe their claims at all, at first. And now I would be the only one to know the whole story, the only one left who knew what went on in their house. I remembered their request to make sure the fucker burned. It took a lot of paperwork, a few favors, several weird conversations and a lot of exasperated firemen, but eventually I honored the Cady’s request. The city issued a controlled burn of their property and condemned it, permanently. The rubble and ashes of their horror house would never be disturbed or built on again. I check in on the wreckage, and in on the Cadys, every now and again. I pulled myself together enough to keep my job, fall back in love with divorce work, and move up in the firm. I still obsess over their case, though. When I fall asleep I suffer from nightmares where I watch their slaughter and sometimes… sometimes I think I see a tall man in the corner of the room, basking in the blood of the crazy Cady couple.

Free Watch Nocna rodzina. Early squad 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 Love you Audrey 👑👑👑👑👑👑👑. Free Watch Nocna rodzinka.

 

I just wanted to be famous. Just like anyone else... Especially when I could get paid good money for playing “myself. ” After marrying Darcey, I’d done my part for reality T. V. I’d sacrificed my dignity for a chance to be on the telly. 90 Day Fiancé: Before The 90 Days made me a household name to both desperate housewives and dutiful husbands everywhere. My Instagram was constantly flooded from thirsty women. My “fame” helped me get invited to so many parties and events. My life now a B-list celebrity’s wet dream. Just like I’d always wanted. Coming from England, I had no idea how far the fame game went in the States. I mean I had no acting experience. But of course, that didn’t matter on a show like 90 Day Fiancé. I liked to think I was tall, dark, and handsome but instead, I was more tall, pasty, and handsome. I did well with the ladies, sure. But I also had fashion sense and wit to spare. Combine those with the blue eyes and I had Darcey hooked from the start… not that it took much effort on my part. While neither of us catfished, upon meeting Darcey, I realized we both liked our filters… I was a little chubbier at the first meeting. Darcey in similarly rough shape… But she was still pretty. Darcey had a mad radiance about her, and sometimes, that craziness could be attractive. Then again, we were both drunks so I guess that helped. Finances were never an issue either. And neither was work. What can I say, both of us came from well-to-do families. English high class meets All-American sass. And those TLC checks certainly helped. Darcey and I were a match made in trash T. Heaven. Along with this beautiful if maddening heiress, I now had a chance to snag the spotlight I always wanted. A real shot at stardom. To my relief, I wouldn’t need much help to secure attention either... not with dear old Darcy leading the way. I must say the Silva twins had this shit figured out. Both Darcey and Stacey played up the cameras like two pretty court jesters. They claimed to have acting “experience, ” but I took that nonsense with a grain of salt. What these twins did have though was an insatiable drive for fame… The same drive pulsating through my veins. The sisters also shared a competitive spirit when it came to chasing guys and flaunting their outrageous behavior for all the world to see. Perfect for these TLC freakshows. And the Silvas were naturals at it… well about as natural as one can get behind the layers of make-up and surgeries. Or whatever other formulas they could find in their ever-increasing need to look younger. Recently, Stacey got married. And over time, I began to suspect I’d chosen the wrong Silva dollar… You see, when I met Darcey I was ready for a committed relationship. But little did I know that I was about to be committed to an asylum rather than a stable girlfriend. I guess I should’ve been careful what I wished for… Being followed by cameras and crew was one thing. Living with Darcey Silva was another. Beyond the platinum blonde hair and demented but somehow charming smile, Darcey’s pendulum of emotions swung everywhere. There were moments where she begged me to propose. Moments she’d latch on to my bottom or crotch in public. Moments where she’d make her hugs into a hangman’s noose I’d never escape. Then there were the other times... The times she’d grow jealous over a woman eyeballing me. The tantrums Darcey would throw when I just wanted to stay home. And don’t even get me started on her incessant crying… Darcey’s waterfall had long been perfected and patented for the cameras. She could even cry on cue. Not to mention Darcey loved displaying that obsessed gaze of hers… That look TLC so often exploited. To this day, Darcey’s desperation still a huge selling point for 90 Day ’s success. Through the good and bad, I could always count on my darling to be drunk by noon. To somehow fit herself into those skin-tight clothes. And to top it all off, Darcey was still hung up on her ex Jesse. Jesse was a younger man in his twenties. A blonde Dutch fellow who was nice enough from all the “chance” encounters TLC arranged between us and him. He certainly checked off all of Darcey’s superficial boxes: muscles, abs, ass, stylish… foreign. Only this cub ran away from his cougar once Darcey had him shipped over to the States. I knew Darcey still hadn’t moved on. And neither had the show’s producers judging by how much they’d force Jesse into our lives and your living rooms. Apparently, the thirstier viewers couldn’t get enough of his bodacious body or smug arrogance. That being said, I didn’t have a problem with the guy… The problem was Darcey still did. In our brief meetings, Jesse would tell me as much. Particularly how a drunk Darcey would leave him vampire voicemails well after midnight. Apparently, she saw Jesse as another escape to a sweet, promising youth that’d left her long ago. Honestly, I cringed too much to be jealous. Hell, at this point, Jesse could have her back for all I cared. Certainly would’ve made my life easy now that I’d already secured my fifteen minutes of fame, ahem, love. But much to both my horror and excitement, Darcey and I were still a hit. So much so I had to end up marrying the wannabe actress. I can’t say I was too happy… but there was more money and fame to be made. Then of course, the inevitable happened: TLC wanted a spin-off. And now that we were married, my darling wife agreed to it without even asking me. Darcey’s desperation had prevailed again… Just my fucking luck… With filming starting soon, Darcey and I retreated to Atlanta, Georgia. A brief break before the chaos began. But I had other plans... a little surprise for Darcey. On Friday night, we checked into the Hotel Non Dormiunt. Somehow, Darcey found this brick behemoth. There were no reviews on-line, no history of the hotel existing whatsoever. But I let Darcey pick. Even when she was beyond drunk. And even when we drove past the city limits to find this place, I didn’t complain. Especially since it’d be the last hotel Darcey Silva would ever choose. The Non Dormiunt was expensive but at least the interior was prettier than the towering mausoleum it resembled outside. The lobby was spacious, clean. Full of glowing lamps giving off a reddish tint everywhere. Surrounded by painted portraits of people I’d never heard of. Down to the phonographs and telephone booths, the hotel looked to have been forgotten over time... Gone with the wind. And to no one’s surprise, there was plenty of room. “Anywhere except the seventeenth floor, ” the middle-aged receptionist told us. She was a black lady dressed in a skimpy purple uniform. The type of uniform best used for selling cigars rather than premium hotel rooms. Adjusting my thin glasses, I glanced over at Darcy. The tight black dress fit her well tonight. For once. Then again, maybe my own drunk buzz was distracting me. “Seventeenth floor? ” I said in confusion. “Yes, ” the receptionist said. She leaned in closer. “It’s out of order. ” Taking control, Darcy grabbed my arm. “Well, we’ll take something on the first floor. ” The bellboy was quiet on the way to room 114. The purple suit covered his body, the purple cap his hair and age. His short body screamed high school but the craggy face screamed mid-sixties. Darcey kept trying to make small talk to no avail. Both with me and the bellhop. Finally, we reached the room. To our relief, there was a minibar. One that would need to be restocked before Darcey and I checked out. I put our bags by the queen-size bed. Took a quick shot of Scotch. And then another one. Then scanned our home for the night... The room fit the Non Dormiunt’s aesthetic to a tee: classy, elegant. The warm air cozy… But the whole scene felt a bit off with the times. Sure, we had the bare minimum in electronics. Dim lamps, an unreliable air conditioning unit. The tombstone radio. Even a bulky T. that likely promised us HBO and pay-per-view. The bland white walls contrasted our colorful rugs. We had a stone fireplace... And those red Victorian curtains surrounding the bed were a good touch. As if on cue, Darcey pulled the curtains apart. Over and over. “This’ll be good for later, Tom! ” cried her obnoxious rasp. I did my best not to grimace. Instead, I just stepped away. As much as I wanted to walk out the room, I turned the lock, entombing myself with Darcey’s manic madness. “Of course, ” I replied. The repetitive swoosh of those curtains felt like knives jabbing me deeper and deeper. I ran my hands along my arm. Over the blue suit jacket. I stole a glance at our wide windows. At the darkness hovering outside. “Ooh, I can’t wait! ” I heard Darcey exclaim. My restless eyes faced the fireplace. The mantle above it had several miniature statues. Wide sculptures portraying a lynx and goat. All of them realistic enough. Maybe too realistic... Their snarling faces unsettled me. But amidst my rising nerves, I felt relief to see there was room for one more item up there. “We’ll have some privacy! ” Darcey said. Compelled, I walked up to the fireplace. There was a spot in the middle of the mantle. Just perfect… “I just wanna look pretty enough, ” Darcey rambled on. “I don’t want to look bad for you, Tom. ” Forcing a smile, I stopped at the mantle. “Nonsense, dear. ” With slick speed, I reached into my jacket pocket. The small candlestick felt heavy in my hand. The handle so firm. “You look fantastic. ” I could hear Darcey stagger toward me. Her heavy, carnal footsteps. “But Tom! ” said that cry I’d recognize anywhere. The cry of a dying, sex-starved coyote. And then I knew I had to act quick. In a split second, I placed the golden stick right there on the mantle. Right in that perfect spot. “I wanna be sexy for you! ” Darcey continued. I turned to see the drama queen get closer. The man-made Barbie doll shook her ass in a most hideous fashion. Her drunken smile bigger than those overemotional eyes. “Is this hot, babe? ” she asked. A rhetorical question she didn’t want the answer to. Fueled by ferocity, Darcey’s eager hands gripped my shoulders. Her colorful claws fastened deep into my flesh. Now I was face-to-face with her pretty mask. “I wanna have fun tonight, ” she cooed. “Just me and you, Tom. ” Like a hungry animal, Darcey leaned in close. Ready for that wet kiss… Until I held her back. I stumbled on my words. “I thought you were gonna call the manager? ” Darcey flashed that wicked smile. “Nobody answered. ” I stole a look at the windows. Took note of their locks… All I needed to know for my perfect plan. “Figures, ” I muttered. “Goddamn Southerners. ” “I did order room service, ” Darcey said. I faced her. “Room service? ” “Well, yeah. ” She let out a drunk chuckle. “I got hungry. ” Nodding, I looked back at the candlestick. My future murder weapon. My key to freedom. “Again... ” “I’ll pay for it! ” Darcey said. She ran a hand along my chest. “You know that. ” Her other hand grabbed a hold of my ass. “I hope you don’t mind, ” she said in a soft voice... An attempt at a seduction no one asked for. Battling my disgust, I leaned back against the mantle. “Right…” I looked into her beaming eyes. “You did tell them room 114? ” Darcey giggled. “Duh! That was like thirty minutes ago! ” I looked on at her. Dreading her demands… Especially the ones in the sack. “They take their time, I see, ” I quipped. “Mmm-hmm. ” Unable to control herself, Darcey leaned in for another kiss. The sudden movement possessed by passion. Trying to delay the inevitable torture, I stole a glance at the red door. “I mean how long does it take for room service to get to the first floor... ” Just inches away from my lips, Darcey grabbed my chin, making me face her. Deliberating on her own “kill. ” “You okay, Tom? ” she teased. “Here, let mama cheer you up. ” I played along. Left with no other choice, I felt on Darcey’s juicy buttocks then moved along to those breasts. Her boobs were hard to miss, after all. All the while, my other hand strayed toward that candlestick. My escape. I held the brass handle in a tight grip… Forced myself to keep fondling Darcey’s warm boobs. Even if the touch sickened me. Much like her moans… “Keep going, Tom! ” Darcey yelled. Shutting her eyes, she snatched my wrist. Guiding me to those breasts. “Oh, yes! ” Caught between disturbed and intrigued, I watched Darcey sway before me. Her eyes closed, her tongue hanging out. Darcey a blonde dog in heat. Permanently for that matter... Staying silent, my grip tightened on the stick. Ready to transform this night from agonizing to euphoric… Then I felt a cold touch near Darcey’s boob. A sharp edge. Padding that was all too dangerous. Startled, both Darcey and I confronted one another. Nervous expressions conquered us. Darcey’s eyes in heightened shock. “Oh! ” I yelled. Drawing my hand back, I fell against the mantle. I struggled to stay smooth… especially with the candlestick still in my grasp. “I’m sorry! ” Darcey said. With trembling hands, she patted down her huge boobs. Her focus stuck on her chest. “I’m sorry, Jesse. ” I cracked up. Now I held on to the stick even tighter. Felt even more sadistic excitement rush through me. “Oh, Jesse? ” Shivering from stage fright, Darcey faced me. “Oh, Tom. I didn’t mean it like that-” “Where did Jesse come from? ” I interrupted with a smug smile. Man, I was going to enjoy killing Darcey… especially when she was this embarrassed. Darcey took a step back. Awkward beneath my drunk, unwavering stare. “I didn’t mean to, ” she said in a shaky, defensive tone. “I didn’t mean to, Tom! ” Pleading, she grabbed my arm. Teardrops already forming on her campy canvas. “I promise! ” Pushier than ever, Darcey lunged in closer. Literally cornering me. Now I felt those mammoth breasts. The suppressed beer gut… and the hard metal lodged somewhere in Darcey’s mysterious boobs. I wasn’t scared or unnerved. Such strange shit was typical for the Silva sisters. Particularly in their endless quests for perfect bodies by any means necessary. Self-loathing was one Hell of a drug… “Tom, tell me something, ” Darcey bellowed from the bottom of her insecure soul. Those claws caressed my shoulders in a death grip. Finally, I was forced to let go of the candlestick. Struggling to hide my agitation, I kept my gaze neutral. The death dream delayed for this agonizing “magic moment”... “Am I still pretty? ” Darcey continued. Thick tears ran down her face. Her make-up overflooded into puddles of foundation. Trapped in her clutches, I nodded. Prayed my glasses weren’t giving away the bored indifference in my eyes. “Darcey, you’re beautiful, ” I told her, playing up the elegant British accent for all it was worth. “You really are. ” “Jesse always said I needed to lose weight! ” Darcey continued on, ignoring my weak attempts at reassurance. “He said I wasn’t pretty enough! ” Code red. I knew now I had to start acting earlier than anticipated… Time to play lovey-dovey husband once more. I leaned in toward Darcey. Too close for comfort but I had no choice if I wanted to talk her off this anxiety ledge. I even forced myself to grab a hold of her wax hand. Darcey’s kaleidoscopic jewelry nearly blinding me. “You are pretty, darling, I promise. ” Salivating her downward spiral, Darcey turned away. The avalanche of tears still rolling on down. Now she trembled in my grip. Not from nerves but from excitement. The high she got anytime I held her hand and pointed this spotlight on her constant outbursts. “That’s why I go to the doctors, ” Darcey said. Still avoiding eye contact, she motioned toward her face and body. “That’s why I get all this, Tom! I wanna be young! ” “But you’re already pretty-” I started. Snapping into violence, Darcey pushed me back. Her strength sudden but never surprising. Especially when she got like this. I fell back. Felt the wooden mantle smash into my back. Heard the loud collapse of those statues… and candlestick. Darcey’s bulging glare ate me alive. “I wanna be prettier! ” she yelled. Uneasy, I stared on. Struggling to talk to my gargoyle wife. “Darcey, I think you’re beautiful, darling. ” I reached toward her face. “Jesse isn’t here, he doesn’t matter. ” Darcey snatched my hand. “Then fuck me then! ” Horror conquered me. I kept from cringing… or at least I hoped I did. “Darcey-” I started. Before I could finish, Darcey grabbed me and sent my shaky hands straight into her cleavage. A suicide mission for my soul. Our dignity died right there on the spot. Darcey forced my touch through those melons. On their firm, tough texture. All the while, my fingers kept brushing against that bizarre metal… I stood still, helpless. A husband held hostage. Her histrionics growing crazier, Darcey tilted her head back. Closed her eyes. The tears replaced by slobber. Her trembling became convulsing… As if Darcey was experiencing an orgasm out of this world.... “Fuck me, Tom! ” she screamed, her voice at a hysterical high pitch. “Prove to me I’m pretty! ” While guiding my journey through silicone Valley, Darcey gave my ass a tight squeeze. “Come on! Show me, Tom! ” Facing my darkest fears, I moved in toward those bloated lips. Talked myself into getting any sort of arousal. “I will, darling, ” I said. “Come on, Jesse! ” Darcey shouted. I stopped and glared at her. Ready to call her a complete bitch... Until a hard knock interrupted our “love. ” Startled, Darcey and I faced the door. Darcey’s thirst paused for the moment… giving me a much-needed intermission. Another knock erupted. “Room service! ” cried the beaming voice. Eager to leave, I maneuvered away from Darcey. God knows I needed the space. “I’ll get it! ” Darcey reached toward my arm. “Are you sure? ” I moved quicker. Just escaping her grasp. “Yeah! ” At the door, I stole a glance back at the mantle. The candlestick was still lying there. Still awaiting my bloody touch and even bloodier crime. Of course, Darcey’s mad smile stayed on me. Moving beyond her control, Darcey’s hands strayed back toward those boobs. All while she watched me… Yet another embarrassing attempt at seduction. No thanks, Darcey. Shaking my head in dismay, I opened the door. Sure enough there was a female bellhop. One with the same height and frame as Darcey. Probably just as annoying... The purple cap hid her hair, highlighting the lady’s make-up smorgasbord of a tan face. A familiar face... Smiling, she held up a long tray. The silver cloche ready to be pulled. “Room 114? ” she asked in a squeaky-clean tone. I shivered and stumbled back. The hallway’s cold air even affecting this Englishman. “Uh, yeah, that’s us. ” Without hesitation, the woman jumped inside, slamming the door behind her. She fixated those eager eyes on me. Her crazed Darcey look sent chills down my spine. My trembling arm waved at her. “What the Hell are you doing! Get out! ” In a vicious taunt, the bellhop looked me up and down. Like a starved creature studying its prey. “I’m here for you, Tom... ” She yanked the cloche off and dropped it to the ground. The clang shattered our tension. But didn’t stop the dread. Or my ever-growing fear... There on the silver platter was a pristine hatchet. The blade so shiny. The wooden handle so firm. An all natural weapon… Next to it, I saw a small camcorder. “What the fuck! ” I cried. Cackling, the bellhop scooped up the hatchet and camera. Threw the tray down by the cloche. The woman’s grin grew wider. “You don’t recognize me, Tom? ” said a voice reverting back to its natural rasp. I stumbled back by the mantle. Closer to my candlestick. My defense. The lady tore off the cap and shook her head in supermodel fashion. With a delusional supermodel’s flourish. Long flowing blonde hair exploded all around her. The extensions were obvious. Much like the full rack jammed beneath her uniform... Through the orange tan, the bellhop’s identity was illuminated: Stacey Silva. She had that pointed nose, one of the few differences between her and her twin. Both of them basically bloated Barbies. The psychotic smiles shared between them. “Stacey…” my uneasy voice muttered. “You got me! ” she beamed. Holding the camera steady, Stacey pointed it right at me. “You ready for the show, Tom? ” Playing a confident executioner, she then raised that sharp blade. Stacey was thirsty, alright. Thirsty for blood. “I’m afraid you’re only in one episode. ” She took a menacing step toward me. Fueled by adrenaline, I turned toward the mantle. My sights set on the stick. I lunged for it. A knife shot into my stomach. One quick plunge. The blade went in deep… held in place by a kaleidoscopic grip. Crying out, I looked down at Darcey’s army of rings. The gaudy bracelet… And the heavy kitchen knife she’d kept hidden in those heavier breasts. Following the blade’s reflection, I looked up at Darcey’s demented eyes. The crazy smile. “Sorry, babe, ” Darcey quipped. Both my hands latched on to Darcey’s wrist. Warm blood flowed through our fingertips. But Darcey refused to let go… I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. “It’s for the show, Tom, ” Darcey continued. She gave me a kiss on the lips. A farewell kiss so long and sloppy… Darcey pulled back. Her grin still locked in on me. She caressed my hands, her emotions too extreme to be insincere. Darcey never that good of an actress. “Now you’ll be famous like you always wanted. ” Darcey thrust the knife in further. I cringed… for once, not from sex and Darcey. But from pain. More blood sprayed across the rugs. More red to match the Non Dormiunt’s eerie decor. Satisfied, Darcey stepped beside Stacey. Breathing heavy, I stumbled down to one knee. Now my smiling wife stood up over me. My body was too weak, the knife too deep for me to pull it out. “I got it, sis, ” I heard Stacey tease. Straining, I turned to come face-to-face with the other Silva. Now it was her turn… The hatchet gave me a savage whack across the temple. Fresh crimson coated my glasses. And the war paint became the Silvas’ latest make-up. I hit the ground. Darcey’s kitchen knife sunk in deeper. My voice now joined my dignity in death. Helpless, I looked on at the twins’ grins. Felt my head turn into a sprinkler… The blood kept bursting out in intermittent sprays. A huge chunk of flayed forehead dwindled over my eyes... But I still saw it. Buried deep in the fireplace was a red light. A large studio camcorder tucked away in the very back… Right next to a couple of boom mics. Standard stuff for TLC’s productions… When we were filming, that is. “Can you help me carry him? ” I heard Stacey ask Darcey. My breaths slowed to an agonizing gasp. I looked toward the fallen tray. A white card lied just a few feet away from me. On it, there was a familiar number trapped in a familiar dark box: 90. And there was the familiar logo: 90 Day Fiancé The words added beneath it chilled me to the bone: New Series: Death After 90 Days Season 1, Episode 1 “Yeah, he’s gained weight, hasn’t he? ” Darcey replied. The candlestick caught my eye. The weapon well out of reach… And now I saw a pair of small camcorders resting beside it on the mantle. Each of them hidden by those ferocious statues. The lynx and goat now ominous observers for my funeral. “The producers will help get rid of the body though, I thought? ” Darcey continued. Through the mutilated migraine, I faced the Silvas. My head fell back on the floor, my eyes growing weaker. “That’s the plan, right? ” Darcey said to Stacey. Stacey stole a look over at me. “Oh, yeah! You’re right! ” With a mad chuckle, she pointed the hatchet at me. “He had no idea, did he? ” Darcey’s smirk confronted me. She never looked prettier. Then again, those blood stains certainly hid the blemishes better than her endless foundation. “He just knew we had our own show. That’s it. ” The literal headache further tormented me. Blood built up under my body… My hands stuck to the red glue. The crimson warming me from Death’s cold grip. Like a demented director, Stacey aimed the camera at me. Filming every second of my impending death. The cute carnage. “You think this’ll work? ” she asked Darcey. As I laid dying, I watched the sisters. This deathbed so uncomfortable. But within, I felt some relief. At least Jesse wasn’t involved. He wasn’t the one killing me… Darcey apparently knew my murder would be more tragic. A bigger draw for her fans. And so had TLC. Darcey gave Stacey a light hit on the arm. “Yes! ” she said, adamant. “Jesse said wearing human blood relieves your stress! It’ll free your anxiety! ” I fucking cringed. Intrigued, Stacey faced her. “So we just gotta wipe Tom’s blood all over our body? ” “Yes! ” Darcey replied. “Jesse told me! He knows all this weird shit! It’ll make us look younger, I promise! ” All around me, the cameras kept rolling. Kept filming my bloodbath. My depression. Finally, Tom Brooks closed his eyes. Well before Death could. Goddamn, Jesse... 14 GUEST BOOK.

Free watch nocna rodzinka pl. Amazing content. Me encantan sus voces. magico. This is what brothers do at home when their parents go away for a week. Watch Online Variety.