I Hate Fatigueee Its So Stupid. Ohh When Im Home I'll Do This Or That Nope. Replacing All Of Your Bones

1 Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy,

whose trust, ever childlike, no cares could destroy:

Be there at our waking, and give us, we pray,

your bliss in our hearts, Lord, at the break of the day.

2 Lord of all eagerness, Lord of all faith,

whose strong hands were skilled at the plane and the lathe:

Be there at our labors, and give us, we pray,

your strength in our hearts, Lord, at the noon of the day.

3 Lord of all kindliness, Lord of all grace,

your hands swift to welcome, your arms to embrace:

Be there at our homing, and give us, we pray,

your love in our hearts, Lord, at the eve of the day.

4 Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm,

whose voice is contentment, whose presence is balm:

Be there at our sleeping, and give us, we pray,

your peace in our hearts, Lord, at the end of the day.

- Jan Struther (1931)

No rizz just fear of abandonment

Hey did you know that you can’t escape fatphobia even after death? The article talks about how these donated bodies are used for first year anatomy students to study the body, and how the 'perfect' body for that should be 170-180 pounds.

Small town murder mystery where it eventually turns out that literally everyone in town is a member of some secret society or sinister cult – except it's not one big secret society, it's a bunch of little ones, ranging from as many as a couple dozen members to as few as three. Each secret society is aware of their own immediate allies and rivals, but none of them have the complete picture of how extensive the town's secret society problem is, nor do they know that every single resident is a member of at least one. Some residents are members of multiple secret societies. Some residents are unwittingly members of multiple secret societies, having mistakenly concluded that Secret Society A is Secret Society B's hidden inner circle, when in fact they're unrelated. There's at least one pair of secret societies whose leaders each believe that the other is a false front that they set up to distract their enemies. This goes on for five seasons.

Shortly before those mortal events in the Camber dooryard, Cujo's remains were cremated. The ashes went out with the trash and were disposed of at the Augusta waste-treatment plant.

It would perhaps not be amiss to point out that he had always tried to be a good dog.

He had tried to do all of the things his MAN and his WOMAN, and most of all his BOY, had asked or expected of him. He would have died for them, if that had been required.

He had never wanted to kill anybody.

He had been struck by something, possibly destiny, or fate, or only a degenerative nerve disease called rabies.

Free will was not a factor.

~ Cujo, Stephen King, 1981

A fawn curled up beside a fake deer which is used for target practice