(Might be worth noting this post is my first post on Reddit. I’ve commented using an old, long-lost account, but I’ve never made my own real life Reddit post. So, apologies for weirdness, or unspoken Reddit-rules I’ve broken! Formatting is also a little confusing...)
I recall recently seeing a post about how Isabelle and Elizabeth are the same name. Then, while looking for posts right here on namenerds about the name Lily, I was reminded Lily is sometimes a nickname for Elizabeth. I love etymology—name etymology, in particular—and I know there are loads of different variations for this one popular, classic, and quite beautiful name, so I thought I’d collect them all! Starting with the original Hebrew form and some silly, name-nerdy facts.
‘Elisheva’ • Elizabeth ultimately comes from Elisabet, the Greek form of ‘Elisheva’. ‘Elisheva’ is a Hebrew name meaning “my God is an oath”, derived from the roots ‘el referring to the Hebrew God (Ariel, Daniel, Elijah, Gabriel, Michael, Nathanael, Samuel...) and shava’ meaning “oath”. Obviously, this is the name (and its roots) written in the Latin/English alphabet; if you visit the page for Elizabeth on Behind the Name, you can see the name in its original Hebrew form.
Elisheba appears in the Old Testament, where she’s the wife of Aaron, making her the sister-in-law of Moses. Elizabeth appears in the New Testament, where she’s the mother of John the Baptist with her husband Zechariah; and, interestingly, the Gospel of Luke records that both Zechariah and Elizabeth are descendants of Aaron and Elisheba. There have been thirty-nine Queen Consort Elizabeths, ten Princess Elizabeths, seven Saint Elizabeths, six Empress Elizabeths, two Queen Regnant Elizabeths, two Countess Elizabeths, and a Duchess Elizabeth. The current Queen of the United Kingdom is Elizabeth II; a woman who is ninety-four years old and has been reigning for sixty-eight years. She’s the longest-lived and longest-reigning British monarch, the longest-serving female head of state in world history, and the world’s oldest living monarch, longest-reigning current monarch, and oldest and longest-serving current head of state.
In 1880, Elizabeth held the #4 spot on the United States popularity chart; in 2018, one-hundred and thirty-eight years later, Elizabeth held the #13 spot on the United States popularity chart. Since 1880 at the very least, Elizabeth has consistently been in the Top 100; in fact, it’s consistently been in the Top 30. It’s obviously had similar popularity in Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom. This isn’t accounting for variations of the name—like Isabella, which has been popular in the States lately—or diminutive forms that have become given names in their own rights.
Now, the many, many forms in many, many languages of Elizabeth! All of this information comes from Behind the Name’s page for Elizabeth as well as Wikipedia’s page for Elizabeth. Apologies in advance for any misspellings or weird formatting; there’s a lot of ways to say Elizabeth, apparently! (There were also Chinese, Japanese, and Korean, as well as Bengali, Hindi, Gujarati, Kannada, Marathi, Mongolian, Nepali, Persian, Punjabi, Tamil, Telugu, Thai, Urdu, and Yiddish forms on the Wikipedia page for Elizabeth; some of them didn’t have the name written in the Latin/English alphabet and others seemed more like... literal translations, rather than names in genuine use? I didn’t feel entirely comfortable listing them here without someone with a bit more knowledge confirming “Yup, accurate translations!” at the very least. So, if someone wants to confirm them, I’ll gladly add them in!) In the event any of these names are incorrect or misspelled, or you know of a Elizabeth-variant or an Elizabeth-nickname not listed in the right place or not listed at all, let me know and I’ll fix it or add it in!
Arabic: Ilīšaba, Ilīṣābāt.
Armenian: Elsabet, Yeghisabet. Diminutives: Zabel.
Basque: Elixabete.
Belarusian: Alžbieta.
Biblical: Elisabeth, Elisheba, Elizabeth.
Biblical Greek: Elisabet.
Biblical Hebrew: Elisheva.
Biblical Latin: Elisabeth.
Breton: Elesbed.
Bulgarian: Elisaveta, Elizabet.
Catalan: Elisabet.
Coptic: Ilisabek.
Croation: Elizabeta. Diminutives: Ela.
Czech: Alžběta, Eliška.
Danish: Elisabet, Elisabeth, Elsebet, Isabella. Diminutives: Eli, Elise, Ella, Else, Lilly, Lis, Lisa, Lisbet, Lise, Lissi.
Dutch: Elisabeth, Elsbeth, Elizabeth, Elzbeth, Isabeau, Isabella, Isabelle, Izabeau, Izabella, Izabelle, Liesbeth, Lijsbeth. Diminutives: Betje, Betsie, Bettie, Bettina, Elise, Elly, Els, Else, Elsje, Elske, Elze, Ilse, Isa, Lies, Liese, Liesje, Lisa, Liset, Lisette, Liza, Lize, Lizet.
English: Elesabeth, Elisabeth, Elisabetha, Elisebeta, Elizabella, Elizabeta, Elizabeth, Elizabetta, Elizaveta, Elsabeth, Elyzabeth, Elzbieta, Isabel, Isabella, Isabelle, Isbel, Isebella, Isobel, Izabelle, Lisabeth, Lisabetha, Lizabeth. Diminutives: Abet, Babette, Basil, Baz, Bella, Belle, Bert, Bess, Bessie, Beth, Betsy, Bette, Bettie, Betty, Bettye, Billie, Billy, Birdie, Bitsy, Biz, Bizzy, Buffy, Busy, Ebba, Effie, Effy, Eli, Elisa, Elise, Elissa, Eliza, Ella, Elle, Ellie, Elly, Elsa, Elsie, Elyse, Etta, Ibbie, Issy, Izzie, Izzy, Leanna, Leesa, Leta, Lettie, Liana, Liba, Libba, Libbeth, Libbie, Libby, Liddy, Lilian, Liliana, Lilianna, Lilibet, Lilibit, Lilibeth, Lillabet, Lillia, Lillian, Lilliana, Lillibut, Lilly, Lily, Lisa, Lise, Lisette, Liz, Liza, Lizard, Lizbeth, Lizette, Lizzie, Lizzy, Lolly, Lollie, Lysette, Sabella, Sissy, Tess, Tetty, Thea, Tibby, Zab, Zea, Zel, Zellie, Zibby, Zizi.
Esperanto: Elizabeto.
Estonian: Eliisabet. Diminutives: Eliisa, Ell, Ella, Liis, Liisa, Liisbet, Liisi, Liisu.
Finnish: Elisabet. Diminutives: Eliisa Elisa, Ella, Elsa, Iisa, Liisa, Liisi.
French: Élisabeth, Isabeau, Isabel, Isabelle. Diminutives: Babette, Élise, Lili, Liliane, Lilianne, Lise, Lisette.
Frisian: Diminutives: Bet, Lys.
Galician: Diminutives: Sabela.
Georgian: Elisabed. Diminutives: Eliso.
German: Elisabeth, Isabel, Isabell, Isabella, Isabelle. Diminutives: Babette, Bettina, Elisa, Elise, Elli, Elsa, Else, Ilsa, Ilse, Isa, Lies, Liesa, Liese, Liesel, Liesl, Lili, Lilli, Lisa, Lisbeth.
Greek: Elisavet.
Hawaiian: Elikapeka.
Hebrew: Elisheva.
Hungarian: Elizabet, Erzsébet, Izabella. Diminutives: Bettina, Bözsi, Erzsi, Lili, Liliána, Lilien, Zsóka.
Icelandic: Elísabet, Elsebet. Diminutives: Elsa.
Irish: Eilís, Eilish, Isibéal. Diminutives: Sibéal.
Italian: Elisabetta, Isabella. Diminutives: Bettina, Elisa, Elsa, Isa, Liana, Liliana, Lisa.
Latvian: Elizabete. Diminutives: Elīza.
Limburgish: Diminutives: Bet, Betje.
Lithuanian: Elžbieta, Elzbute. Diminutives: Elzė.
Macedonian: Elisaveta. Diminutives: Beti, Veta.
Malayalam: Diminutives: Aleyamma, Eliamma.
Manx: Ealisaid.
Māori: Irihāpeti.
Medieval English: Diminutives: Ibb.
Medieval French: Isabeau.
Medieval Occitan: Isabel.
Norwegian: Elisabet, Elisabeth, Elsebet, Isabella. Diminutives: Eli, Elise, Ella, Else, Lilly, Lis, Lisa, Lisbet, Lise, Liss.
Occitan: Isabèl.
Old Church Slavic: Elisabeti.
Polish: Elżbieta, Halżbieta, Izabela, Izabella. Diminutives: Bietka, Ela, Elcia, Eliza, Elka, Elusia, Elunia, Elżunia, Halszka, Iza, Liliana, Lilianna.
Portuguese: Elisabete, Elizabete, Isabel, Isabela. Diminutives: Bé, Bebel, Becas, Belinha, Belita, Betina, Elisa, Isa, Isabelinha, Liana, Lilía, Liliana, Lisete, Marisa, Mariza.
Portuguese (Brazilian): Izabel. Diminutives: Bebel, Bete, Beti, Beth, Eliza, Lílian, Lisa, Liza.
Romanian: Elisabeta, Isabela, Isabella. Diminutives: Liana, Liliana.
Russian: Elizaveta, Yelizaveta, Yelyzaveta. Diminutives: Liza, Lizaveta.
Scots: Elsbeth, Elspeth, Ishbel, Isobel.
Scottish: Ealasaid, Iseabail. Diminutives: Beileag, Lileas, Lilias, Lillias.
Serbian: Jelisaveta. Diminutives: Ela, Jela, Jelica.
Slovak: Alžbeta. Diminutives: Eliška.
Slovene: Elizabeta. Diminutives: Ela, Špela.
Spanish: Elisabet, Isabel, Isabela, Ysabel. Diminutives: Chabela, Eli, Elisa, Isa, Liliana.
Swedish: Elisabet, Elisabeth, Elsebet, Isabella. Diminutives: Elise, Ella, Elsa, Lilly, Lis, Lisa, Lisbet, Lise.
Ukrainian: Yelysaveta, Yelyzaveta.
Vietnamese: Êlizabét.
Welsh: Diminutives: Bethan.
So, what’s your favorite way to say Elizabeth?
EDIT 1: formatting on Reddit is so confusing...
EDIT 2: added some missing names! And, thanks for the silver! :)
EDIT 3: added some, removed one!
EDIT 4: added some, removed some, you know the deal. Thanks to everyone whose corrected me and added more names to the list! This has been fun. :)
EDIT 5: I goofed and combined Scots and Scottish. I’ve corrected that to the best of my ability (there’s no Scots that I could find on Behind the Name, so I based the changes on Wikipedia’s page for Elizabeth, and left all diminutives except Ishbel under Scottish since I could only confirm Beileag’s proper placement) but I’m not certain it’s 100%!
EDIT 6: I added even more! There almost definitely tons of variants not listed here, not to mention the many nicknames possibilities. I think I should also add that some of these forms might be archaic/uncommon, but if even one person mention seeing it in use in their respective language/culture, I think it’s worthwhile to add. Don’t take this as a 100% authority on the “right” or even most common way to say Elizabeth in any particular culture/language/country!
EDIT 7: so... many...
EDIT 8: added some more. Now, I would be more surprised to hear I hadn’t missed any, but I’m going to let this be the last edit. So, to anyone just now finding this post whenever, check the comments! Might be some more variants and nicknames hiding down in there.

What if Tanishq ad Showed a Muslim girl getting married in Hindu family & why Tanishq rolled back the ad so swiftly

OBLIGATORY FILLER MATERIAL – Breaking Bad, Part 2

Continuing
The flight continued along as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Nary a bump or jostle. Hours later, I was playing with the in-flight entertainment system when Major Nak awoke.
I toasted him with a fresh drink and asked if he felt fully functional.
“Doctor?”, he asked, “Have you slept at all?”
“On the flight? Nah.”, I replied, “I slept well last night. Besides, this flight’s been fascinating.”
“Do you always drink like that?” he asks.
“Of course not!”, I replied, indignantly, “Sometimes, I really twist off and tie one on.”
“Seriously?” he asks, shocked.
“Major, I’ll let you I on a little secret.”, I said in confidence, “I’m a member of a certain class of unusual creatures; I’m an ethanol-fueled carbon-based organism. Many other geologists are as well. We tend to be drawn to that particular science.”
He stares at me with a look that is a cross between incredulity and “you fuckin’ with me?”
“You’re not normal…”, was his only reply as he shook his head.
“Not by a long shot!”, I laugh, drain my drink, and signal for another.
After one arrives, Major Nak stumbles to the head. A few minutes later, the annunciator notes that we are on the flight path to Bhavnagar Airport and should be landing in 20 minutes.
Another drink and beer chaser later, we’re buckled into our seats and on final approach. We land light as a feather without a crosswind, a perfect three-point touchdown. We taxi for a bit and stop out on the tarmac, next to a large non-descript gray-colored four-door sedan.
We begin to deplane and I see my luggage being loaded into the sedan already. Before I get off the plane, I am asked for my passport. The steward of the flight stamps it and welcomes me to India.
Off to the sedan and I see it’s larger than most usual 4-door types. It’s a minor limo of sorts, with rear and front-facing seats, like an old London taxi, except one wall is taken up with a fold-out bar.
Oh, I’m going to like this job.
I am instructed to sit in the back. Major Nak is sitting up front, working on papers of some sort.
I am told the travel time to Alang, the place where I’ll be staying, is approximately one to one and a half hours. I am asked to please make myself comfortable and if I desire, there is a humidor on the back forward-facing seat. I am to help myself to that and the bar, and enjoy the ride.
Which I did. The scenery was your bog-standard usual coastal highway sort of stuff, moderately interesting for the first 5 minutes, then it just sort of blurs together.
I sampled the humidor and most of the bottles in the bar while we wound our way south to Alang. It was getting late in the afternoon, so it was decided that I would be taken to the “Raj”, the company’s corporate house for when high-ranking business types, visitors, and guests arrive for more than a single overnight.
Alang is a company town, and that company is the Ship Breaker’s. It’s a fairly common sort of one-industry town; kind of shabby, kind of old, kind of desperate. It’s not horrible like some oil towns in West Siberia, Venezuela, or West Africa; but it’s no Paris, Texas either. There are some green areas, quite a slew of shops selling sea-sailing ship-sourced stuff, and a few residences.
We travel along and I can smell the diesel, dejection, and desperation in the air. This place is an area of low wages, hard work, little to no environmental or HSE controls, and throngs of men wanting to work. This is going to be some kind of experience.
We wheel around a well-planted and manicured corner and arrive at the “Raj”. It is a colonial-era, how can I put it? It’s a fucking mansion. Situated behind security fences on grounds of approximately 4 acres, at least. It’s an Edwardian or Georgian pile some four stories thick. There is a security shack out front and even Major Nak has to show his ID in order to enter.
They take my photo, particulars, and have me sign-in. Looks like I’ll be the only VIP staying here for the duration of my contract. However, I certainly won’t be alone.
There are butlers, cooks, chauffeurs, maids, and other forms of domestic help. And they are all there just to make my stay as pleasant as possible.
We drive into the compound, for the lack of a better term, come to a thick security door where the driver punches in a code and we are allowed to enter the underground parking facility. There are several security vehicles parked down here, a couple of motorcycles that I intend to ask to borrow. Before we went underground, I saw at least two teams of security forces patrolling the grounds with huge Alsatian dogs.
“Is all this security really necessary?” I asked Major Nak.
“Better safe than sorry”, he bewilderingly replies.
“OK”, I reply, “Thanks for the clear-cut answer.”
He smiles and confides that they’ve never had any trouble here, but since it’s where VIPs and corporate shills stay, they make a brave noise to dissuade anyone with evil on their mind. Shipbreaking is big business, with receipts measured annually in the billions of rupees. Yes, I agree, better safe than sorry.
We exit the sedan as two worker bees attend to my luggage. We are lead to an elevator and get in, take a quick ride due up, and exit on the main floor.
“Holy shit!”, I exclaim lowly. “This place is incredible.”
Full late 1800’s glory expressed in dark, thick hand-carved wood, leather, and dripping in opulence. It’s quite the sight, and it takes me a minute to realize that all this pomp and circumstance is being laid out for me. Now it’s Major Nak’s time to smile on my bewilderment. He asks me to walk with him as he needs to ‘introduce me to the staff’.
But first, a young lady appears, in a traditional maid’s outfit, and asks if I require anything.
“Loaded question”, I smile, “But I am a bit dry. If you could rustle me up a drink, I’d be beholden to you.”
She smiles and looks to Major Nak for a translation. He speaks in Hindi and she smiles wider and scurries off.
“What did you tell her?” I ask.
“That you’re American and can’t be expected to speak normal English”, he laughs, “Plus I told her of your favorite drink.”
“Why, thanks Major.”, I smile.
“Anytime, Doctor.”, he replies.
We walk along and the cute maid reappears with my drink. Major Nak is holding off and abstaining for the time being.
We walk along and meet the head of the household, the Majordomo, one Mr. Kanada. We exchange greetings.
“If you require anything, Doctor”, he tells me, “Please let me know. I have read your contract so when I say ‘anything’, that is precisely what is meant.”
“I will do that”, I reply and give him a hearty handshake in return.
Suddenly, a young male individual type appears. He looks very intent and earnest.
“Doctor Rocknocker?” He asks.
“Yes. And you are?”, I reply.
“I am Sanjay. I am your personal assistant while you are here in India.” He smiles back.
“Nice to meet you, Sanjay”, I reply, “What are your qualifications?”
I’m not messing around. I’m going to have a full tour on this job. He appears quite young but does have a good handle on English. At least English that I can understand.
“I hold a Bachelor’s Degree in Geology. I am going for my Master’s next semester, once this virus business is over with. I speak Hindi, Urdu, English, and some Russian. I carry a light, the time, and your favorite vodka. I am 100% at your disposal.” He smiles and hands me an airline-sized miniature of Blest Vodka; a local favorite.
I look at Major Nak, “Oh, I like him. Good choice.”
Sanjay beams. Major Nak smiles as well.
Major Nak continues, “Sanjay here can show you the rest of the house. If you’ll excuse me, I must be off to camp”.
“Most certainly, Major Nak. It’s been a pleasure.” I reply as we shake hands in a very manly fashion.
“I hope to see you before you leave, Doctor. Perhaps at the yards to see your progress. “ he notes.
“I look forward to that, Major.” I smile
He smiles to Sanjay, and does a briskly military about-face and disappears.
“Doctor Rocknocker”, Sanjay continues…
“Sanjay.”, I interrupt, “Call me ‘Rock’, it’ll save everyone a lot of time.”
“Oh, OK. Sure. Doct…um, Rock”, he says, as I smile back. “You must have made a big impression on Major Nak. He hardly talks to anyone he oversees.”
“Oversees?”, I smile, “OK, he seemed harmless enough. Affable chap. Can’t hold his liquor worth a shit though. But you’re not to say I said so. ..”
“Understood, Doc…Rock”, Sanjay smiles, “Let me show you the rest of the house. Let’s go to the basement first. “
“OK, fine. You lead and I’ll follow.” I replied.
The basement was one of wonders. A large heated and chilled pool, a sauna, fairly well kitted out gym, and a game room. The game room held a snooker table, a billiards table, a ping-pong table, and a Ms. PacMan table video game and a Galaga upright game. Vintage. Sweet.
There were cupboards full of ping-pong paddles, ping-pong balls, pool, and snooker cues, as well as the remotes for the sound system and large, flat-screen TV, with uncensored 7-satellite feed, hanging on one wall. There were several comfy chairs strewn around. This would be a nice place to relax after a long day of blowing the living shit out of old rusty boats.
“Nice”, I noted, “But no beer cooler or bar in the rec room?”
Sanjay smiled and motioned me to the elevator.
“Moment.” was all he said. He did speak a bit of Russian.
We go up two floors and exit the elevator. One side of this floor was taken up with a huge library, complete with a huge antique harp, a very shiny black Steinway grand piano, hundreds if not thousands of books, and several large leather chairs and a couple of leather couches and ashtrays strewn about.
Another place to waste a modicum of time.
Then Sanjay points me north to the other side of the floor.
There was a huge bar, fully stocked, with about a dozen barstools in front. There were at least a dozen taps of Indian, British, and Indonesian beer. There were hundreds of bottles of non-repeating liquor. There was a large ice machine humming away in the corner, full bar glass set-up, wash station, and dishwasher under one corner of the bar. There were several under-bar coolers full of carbonated drinks, juices, and other potential mixers.
“We have two dedicated barmen at your disposal”, Sanjay smiled, “Or you can go ahead and use it self-serve if you desire.”
I look at the empty glass in my hand and decide we’ll go ahead and inaugurate it now and not bother to call the barmen.
Sanjay, eager to please, runs behind the bar and asks what I’d like.
“Well, since we’re in India”, I say, rubbing my chin, “Let’s start out with a nice IPA.”
“Certainly”, he replies, “Light or dark?” as they had two on tap.
“Oh, dark, I think.”, I said, “And since you’re back there, why not grab yourself one and get me 100 milliliters of the finest chilled house vodka.”
“Yes, Doctor!”, he smiled and fetched our drinks.
Sanjay and I spent an hour or two at the bar getting to know each other. Several times, house employees rolled through to see if I needed any dinner or a cigar or…
“Good lord”, I say to Sanjay after the fourth one in an hour was dismissed, “They keep this up and I might take them up on something off the menu.”
“I can arrange that”, Sanjay smirked.
“Thank you, no. That was a joke.”, I told him, “I’ve been married 39 years to the finest partner and deadliest crack shot this side of Annie Oakley. Besides, I have no desire for any of that sort of extracurricular shenanigans. It was a joke. Seriously.”
“Understood, Rock”, Sanjay said. “I’m not married, but I am engaged. I understand fully.”
“Good and congratulations”, I replied, “No need to get off on the wrong foot or anything.”
“Or anything?” Sanjay smirks and raises an eyebrow.
“Keep that up and I might just keep you on as my assistant.” I said, “You will need a good sense of humor before this all over.”
Sanjay quaffed his beer and smiled broadly.
After I had him get me another beer and asked for my room as I was needing a cigar. He pulled out a phone, dialed a few numbers, and Hindi’ed directly into the device for a minute.
“No worries, Rock”, he said, “One will be here directly.”
“Fine”, I replied, “Now Sanjay, this job is not all skittles and beer, if you take my meaning.”
“Oh, look. Your cigars have arrived.” He says, totally distracting me.
An ancient butler pushing a silver tea cart appears. On the cart is a very large humidor full of many different shades, shapes, and sizes of cigars.
I went to grab one when the butler stops me and tells me to make a selection.
“Oh, oh, oh! Very nice.” I say and point to a likely looking Oscuro Churchill.
He takes the cigar, carefully wipes it with fine cheesecloth, and asks what type of cut I like; V-cut, punch, or slant.
“Oh, V-cut, if you please,” I reply.
He V-cuts my cigar and with his with gloved hands, holds it out for me to inspect.
“Lovely,” I reply. I jam the cigar in my yap and start digging around the pockets of my field vest for my lighter.
He taps me on the shoulder and extends a lit piece of cedar bark. The ‘traditional’ British way of lighting a cigar.
After all that, he tells me his direct number is 214 and that if I need anything more to have one of the staff ring him. With that, he turns heel and exits without another word.
“Well”, I smirk, “That was weird.”
Sanjay just smiles and tells me to get used to it. They will do everything here for you if you allow them.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”, I say, get up and pour myself a new beer. A ‘Tiger’ this time. I ask Sanjay if he’s ready for a refill and he tells me he’s good.
I grab another 100 milliliters of chilled Old Fornicator Vodka and sit back down at the bar.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Can you be a hard ass, Sanjay? Can you tell your peers ‘no’?” I ask.
“Will I have to?” he asks.
“Yep.” I say, “Damn, this is a really fine cigar. But working with me, you best develop a thick skin and a hard head.”
“Oh, OK”, he says, obviously confused.
“Right.” I say, “Serious talk time. I’m the boss on this project. What I says, goes. No questions. Period. You’re my de facto second in command. We are here to teach 24 of your comrades how to blast boats to smithereens and how to train the next set of like-minded individuals. This is a step up for them, every one. It means more money, more security, more prestige. I need only 24 and from what I hear, there’s what, up to 30,000 workers here? Guess what? That means a lot that are going to go home disappointed. They might hold that against me and you, Me? I don’t give the tiniest shit. But I’m going to leave after a couple of weeks. You’re here for the duration and going to take over my spot. Some of these characters might get shirty and decide to tap dance on your head if you tell them no. You have to be ready for that. Can you deal with that situation?”
Sanjay just sits there and looks intently at the finely polished hardwood floor.
“This is old hat for me,” I tell him. “I’ve had to tell some good friends that they weren’t picked for the job or contract. It’s business. And some have been less than adult about how they handled the rejection. There have been threats, usually hollow and empty. There have been altercations, usually unimportant. There have been fights with bloodied noses, broken arms, and police reports. But in the end, I had to stick to my guns. You ready for that, young Mr. Sanjay?”
“Thank you, Doctor Rock…”, he replies, “I never thought about it that way. But, yes, I think I can handle that situation if it arises. It’s business like you say and I am able to defend myself.”
“That’s good”, I reply, “At least physically. What about mentally? You might have to tell a good friend to get stuffed; in a nice manner, of course.”
“I think so.”, he replied, “I’ll follow your lead over the next couple of weeks. Call it ‘on the job training’.”
“Mr. Sanjay”, I say, “I do think you’ll do.”
We talk a bit more and I decide that after one more round of drinks, I’ll call 214, grab a couple of cigars and have Sanjay show me my room.
On the way down the long hall, Sanjay is smiling in a weird sort of way.
“OK, give,” I say.
“No, no yet. Wait until you see your room.” He snickers.
Now I’m worried.
We come to a large, polished, and engraved oak door. He produces a key from out of the depths of a Stephan King novel, twists it in the lock, and the door silently swings open.
“Holy shit!”, I exhale.
The room is enormous.
En suite bathroom where one could hold an Olympics meet in the Jacuzzi. American Standard bog, flanked on either side by bidets. Twin sinks, a shower with tropical, right out of the ceiling rainfall, or the new waterfall shower design. Or both. With steam function. Not boiling water, but live steam like any sauna.
“I could get to like this”, I mutter.
The room is fully carpeted with tapestries on the walls. A large, Victorian oak desk is over on one side, with a very nice dual-screen computer work station at my disposal. There is a note with my login and password in the leather-bound legal pad on the ergonomic computer chair before it. There is a huge flat-screen TV over on the other wall with the same 7-satellite feed as in the rec room.
“Whoa!” I say, “Data overload.”
My luggage is next to the built-in wardrobes. One houses a bespoke mini-bar.
“The maids would have put your clothes away”, Sanjay explains, “But they were locked. I can call them if you’d like.”
“Sure”, I reply, “Why not?” I see two of the aluminum cases that I marked “Careful: Scientific Instruments” are next to the computer workstation.
Two maids presently arrive and I unlock my luggage. They set to putting it away and are tsking that it needs to be pressed first.
“Perhaps later”, I said, “It’s been a day and I’m a bit knackered.”
“I will turn down your bed then”, one of the nubiles remarks.
Sanjay is now smiling way, way too broadly. I go through the door to the master bedroom.
“Holy shit squared,” I say.
There is a huge four-poster Edwardian? Georgian? bed. The carved wooden uprights are the diameter of telephone poles. I’m a pretty large person, but on this bed, I’ll need a personal transponder as its large enough for me to get lost. Easily 3x4 meters and the mattress is nice and firm, just the way I like it.
On top of the bed are blankets, a comforter, a quilt, an afghan, and more feather-stuffed keep-warms than I ever saw outside of Siberia. Under those, I’d sweat away to nothingness; but it looks so damned comfy.
The bed properly turned back, I thank the maid and make the noises like I want her to get the fuck out so I can get horizontal.
Sanjay notes that and has her and the other maid exit. All my clothes are put away, even my field vest I discarded when we walked into the room is tutted over and hung up.
“So, Rock?” he laughs, “What do you think?”
“I think if I didn’t have a serious job to do, I’d come down with some damned virus that would require me to stay home and socially distance myself.” I laugh.
“Sorry, but work begins tomorrow. What time would you like for me to ring you?” he asks.
“Right”, I said, “About that. I want to be on the job at 0600. Not leaving here at 0600, not wheels up at 0600. I want to be ready to select my 24 candidates beginning at 0600 tomorrow. I leave that to you. When do we need to leave, so when do I need to be rung up?”
“I’ll call you at… 0430…?” he cautiously says.
“Fine.” I reply, “Make certain that the notices I sent were posted. I want my 100 applicants ready and on-site spot-on 0600. I’ll need a large black coffee in a travel mug. Green?”
“Green?” he asks.
“My shorthand for ‘are we in agreement?’” I say.
“Oh, yes. Rock. Very green. See you in the morning.” He says, shakes my hand and departs; but not before leaving me the room key.
I lock the door and strip down. A steamy shower and a couple of very well-appointed in-room mini-bar bourbons later, I’m going over Email. Seeing nothing that can’t wait until the next day or two, I flop into bed and immediately become a missing person.
The phone cheerily chirps at me at precisely 0430. If I had my Casull, that phone would be in another dimension. As it is, I drag my carcass to vertical, grab the phone, say “Thanks” and hang up.
A quick shower, a couple of shower sunrisers, and I’m feeling much better. Damn near human. I gather the day’s necessities, don my vest, and Stetson over my usual field outfit and toddle downstairs. I’m not 5 steps out of the room when the maids arrive with the intent of committing premeditated neatness in my room.
I wave to them, and gargle an obligatory “Morning”, and head down to the main floor.
I am greeted by Sanjay, who is holding a large metal thermal coffee travel mug for me.
“You are a gentleman, scholar, and life-saver”, I say to him.
He beams in the way-too-early morning light.
“Breakfast, Doctor?” he asks.
“Just coffee. I don’t want to eat too much these first few days. ‘Delhi belly’ and all that. Too much work to do.” I remonstrate.
“Understood.” Sanjay complies, “Cigar?”
“Yes, it is,” I say.
“I have brought along a box of them for you today,” he adds, smiling.
“Outstanding”, I say and sip my coffee. Surprisingly, it is of the Greenland variety.
“The driver is waiting. Anytime you are ready, Rock”, Sanjay informs me.
“Give me a few minutes,” I say as I review the morning edition of the Times of India. I was actually waiting for the fine coffee to take effect.
A few minutes later, we’re headed down the coast to the beach; right where the rubber hits the road. Or rather, the ships scrape the sand.
Alang is the biggest ship breaking facility in the world. There are more than 400 ship breaking platforms here. They break about 1,500 ships every year. At any time about 300 people can be working on a single ship. The total workforce here is 40,000 plus. There are complaints about the treatment of workers and their service conditions. Ships are broken down crudely by hand using the minimum machinery; typically oxygen lances and welding torches.
It’s a horror show. Huge, rusty, jagged pieces of ships everywhere. Puddles of every color, containing noxious chemicals of every description. Lead, organotins such as tributyltin in anti-fouling paints, polychlorinated organic compounds, by-products of combustion such as polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, dioxins, and furans are found in ships and pose a great danger to the environment and personnel.
There is a singular lack of PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) here. Thatched, woven palm-frond ‘hardhats’. Steel-toed sandals; if you grasp the irony. No coveralls, gloves nor much else. Ragged shorts, torn shirts, and car-tire soled sandals are the uniforms here.
Well, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s change this.
We wheel into an area containing a huge tent-like structure, a couple of Quonset huts, and a smattering of non-descript outbuildings. The place is swarming with workers. All male, all young, and all looking to be part of the chosen 24 today.
We park and I’m shown into the large tent-like structure. At the head of the tent are a table, a PA system microphone, and a desk where we can sit down and tally the day’s take.
“OK, Sanjay”, I say, “Time to work. Remember I sent ahead the qualifications I’m looking for in trainees?”
I had cabled ahead for them to pre-select 50 candidates, 175-225 pounds, 5’ 9” to 6’ 3”, preferably unmarried bachelors, which tend to be the best kind. They must be English reading and speaking. I need the larger guys to handle the physical demands of the job. They need to be within the height requirements as those are the heights my pre-ordered coveralls will fit. They must be fluent in spoken and written English as I don’t have time to learn Hindi.
There were easily 5 times that number milling about just outside.
“OK, here’s the deal”, I said, “Here are 100 numbered chits. You will pass them out to the first 100 gents outside that pass initial muster. That is their ticket inside. Pucker time. Think you can handle the throng?”
“I’ve got this, Rock”, he says, with a stalwart look.
“OK, but if you need help, you know where I am,” I reply.
I busy myself constructing a 10x10 grid on a sheet of paper. I number it 1 to 100. This will keep tabs on our candidates.
Behind me, on the wall, are 24 brass tokens, ‘chits’, about the size of a US$1 Silver Bullion coin, about 1.5 inches in diameter, numbered 1 to 24. They have a flat space for a name to be engraved upon. These are the coveted chits that enable a person to graduate out of the swill and into the ranks of blasterdom and eventual teaching.
Right now, they are the most coveted possession within hundreds of miles.
One by one, pre-selected individuals are filtering in and finding seats. Sanjay is doing quite the job, as so far, they all fill the bill nicely. Whether they pass or fail muster will be determined in the next couple of hours.
I sip my coffee and smoke my cigars. The room swells by the numbers. Soon, all the seats are taken and Sanjay rejoins me at the head podium.
“Good job, Mr. Sanjay”, I say, shaking his hand. “Let’s take a couple of minutes and then we shall begin, OK?”
He agrees. I head to the loo and he takes my coffee for a refill. We reappear a few minutes later and I grab the microphone for the PA system.
I key the mike, “Hello! Please, everyone, quiet down and pay attention!”
Very few replies much less capitulation.
Sanjay stands and shouts something in Hindi.
The room goes deathly silent.
“Remind me to ask you to teach me that,” I say and return to the job at hand.
“Gentlemen. Welcome to the selection board for Blaster’s Assistants. If you are not here for that particular position, the exit’s to the rear.”
No one moves, except to shift to pay me more attention.
“OK. Great. I am Dr. Rocknocker, the headmaster of this special education class. I am the boss. The hookin’ bull. The head cheese. I am the Maharaja of this project. What I says, goes. I am an American, I am a geologist, and I don’t tolerate tomfoolery or bullshit from anyone. I say jump, you say ‘how high’? I say shit and you ask ‘what color’? You will follow my instructions implicitly, without question. Are we in agreement?” I ask.
There are a few feeble “Yeah’s”, and “OK’s” that drift up out of the crowd.
“Gentlemen. I am an American, as I said, and I’m old, weary, and slightly hard of hearing. I don’t expect you to use your indoor voice around me. You answer so I can hear you, loud and clear. Understand?”
“Yes.” Comes a few half-hearted attempts.
“GOD DAMN IT! I’m the fuckin’ deaf one. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?”
“Yes, Doctor!” came the reply.
“What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”
“YES, DOCTOR!” came the thunderous response.
“Outstanding,” I reply.
There were some snickers and chuckles in the crowd. It was time to toughen up the crowd and see if I can thin the ranks early.
“Gentlemen! Your attention.” I roar.
I had their attention.
I hold up my gloved left hand. I rip off the glove and show everyone my physical deformity. There were gasps, groans, and a couple of less hearty souls bolting for the door.
“I received this in a Russian rig accident years ago. It was not from a blasting accident. I’ve never had one and don’t intend on starting now. If this bothers you, leave. This is me and I’m the instructor.” I announced. “That fact will not change.”
Physical deformities here really scare some folks. I figured I’d get this out of the way straight off, and that would be one less thing to worry about. We lost three with that revelation.
“Groovy,” I said as I replace my glove.
“Now, we will begin the final selection. You all have your numbered tokens, one through a hundred. If you thought because you had a low number, you’d be first, forget it. I have a random number generator application on my phone, set from one to one hundred. And the first number is number…Lucky 13! Lucky 13. Come forward, front and center, and be recognized.” I say.
Sanjay is seated next to me with our book of the job. He’ll be handling secretarial duties whilst I do the interviewing.
“Your token?” I ask.
The young gent hands me lucky number 13.
“Fine.” I say, “Name?”
Name go in book.
“Age? Company number? Years with the company? Married? If so, children?”
All data goes into the book in the proper zones.
I ask a few questions about the job, to make sure they know what they’re in for.
“How’s your English?” I ask.
“I speaks it very goodly”, was the reply.
“Marvelous.”
I pick up this month’s Journal of Explosives Engineering monthly and hand it to him.
“Page 22. Read the first paragraph, please.” I instruct him.
He fumbles with the magazine, counts singly to page 22, and tries to read some random, but not first, paragraph.
I retrieve the magazine, thank him, and tell him we’ll be in touch.
Everyone and I mean everyone, chosen or not, will be personally told of their results.
I mean, it’s only right and fair. It’s the way I’ve done business for 40 years and it’s worked pretty well so far.
Candidates number 9, 57, and 42 results in much the same way.
“Number 77!” I call.
He lopes up to the podium.
“Your token, please,” I say
He hands it over.
We gather the information and he’s unmarried and without children.
How refreshing.
I hand him the journal and ask him to read the last paragraph on page 52.
“iRing has announced, “a breakthrough technology in ring design for underground mines” that uses a completely new blast design model. The development of this innovative blasting technique uses a unit charge and stress reflection methodology in conjunction with electronic detonators to design ring patterns with the objective of transforming underground blasting operations into primary crushing operations.”
“Your name again?” I ask
“I am Waazir Naidu.” He replies.
“Mr. Naidu, welcome aboard,” I say as I hand him his brass token. “You are trainee number one. Do not lose your token. It is your key up out of the swill.”
He smiles broadly and turns to the crowd to display his brass letter of acceptance. There are growls from the crowd, as well as a smattering of applause.
“We will reconvene in Outbuilding #2 at 1300 hours. See you there.” I say and shake his hand.
He’s all beaming smiles as he almost literally floats out the door.
We spent the rest of the morning thinning the herd. There were some judgment calls, but by 1130 hours, we were down to two candidates and one last brass token.
“Number 79!” I call.
He approaches, we do the usual and get his information.
“Please read paragraph three on page…oh, I don’t know, 31.”
He fumbles with the magazine a while and stutters and stammers somewhat.
“OK, thanks.” I say, “We’ll let you know.”
“OK, number 5! The best and last number 5!”
“About time!’ He scowls.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You really are deaf, Yankee benchod.” He sneers quietly; but loud enough for me to hear.
He figures he’s a shoo-in; last number called, last chit on the board.
“Sanjay, a moment,” I ask.
“This “benchod”? Not a term of endearment, I take it?”
“Ah, no”, he stammers.
“And it means?” I ask.
“You don’t want to know.” Sanjay hopefully replies.
“But, yes, I do. I insist.” I reply.
“It means colloquially ‘motherfucker’. ‘Sister fucker’ literally.” He splutters.
“Hmmm. OK. A new term for my dictionary. Fine. Let us continue.”
Name, age, etc. all go in book.
I hand him the magazine. He almost rips it from my hands.
“OK, please read the ad on page 55. All of it.” I instruct.
He flips the magazine to page 55. There’ a half-page ad in Russian for a new form of blasting cap super-boosters.
“I can’t read that.” He complains.
“Well, then me ol’ mucker; looks like you’re just shit out of luck. Good day.” I say.
“Sanjay”, I say, “Go outside and find number 79. He’s our last candidate trainee.”
“You said you wanted good English readers.” The rejected complains.
“Yes”, I agreed, “But I also need people that can follow instructions and not have a Gibraltar size chip on their shoulder. I’m the boss, and what I say goes. And I say you go, dick cheese. Ta-ta.”
He realizes his mistake and beings to entreat me with tales of woe.
“If that was a loose blasting wire, we’d all be dead. I don’t need an attitude. I need people with brains enough to listen. Now, piss off. We’re done here.” I say.
“Benchod fucker”, he snarls. “I keel you.”
Luckily my coffee mug was nearly half empty. Otherwise, it could have really left a mark across his face where I slammed him with it.
He’s down on the ground, wondering what hit him. I’m standing over him, towering and glowering. It was that kind of day. I don’t have time for monks resisting the carnival.
“You get the fuck out of my sight, you sawed-off little prick. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and don’t give you a fucking C-4 enema. Or kick your scrawny ass to death. You might still have your shit job here in the yard, but I hear from anyone one more foul oath or unkind word out of you and you’re going to be Alsatian chow back at the Raj. You diggin’ me, Beaumont”
He just looked at me with eyes as wide as cheap paper plates at a windy Sunday picnic.
“Get out of here, you asshole.” I snarled and puffed mightily on my cigar.
He got up and scarpered. He didn’t even take the time to dust off.
Sanjay arrived with number 79 just as he hit the exit.
I hand number 79, one Mr. Yudhishthira Bahaiti, brass token number 24.
“Welcome aboard. Sorry about the foul-up. It’s been handled. See you in building #2 at 1300 hours.” I say.
“Sanjay? Lunch?” I suggest. “I could really use a fresh coffee.”
After lunch, Sanjay and I are smoking away in Outbuilding #2. It’s about 1245 hours or so and already a couple of new recruits have appeared. They are sitting in one of the 24 seats which look for all the world like elementary school desks way back in the day.
There are 24 locker boxes stacked along one wall. These are the new locker boxes for my recruits.
These contain a number of specialty items which they will now need in the execution of their new jobs.
Some of it could be considered quite pricey and there are needs for security, especially since this bunch will be dealing with high, low, and medium explosives. I’m getting that teaching vibe again. I love geology, I love blowing shit up, but I really love to teach. Especially a new crop of fresh recruits.
I’ve watched Full Metal Jacket far too many times.
It’s 1300 hours on the nose. All 24 recruits are assembled and in their proper numbered chair. Sanjay has made up a seating plan for me so I can get to match a name to face and locker box number.
It’s showtime.
To be continued…

"Captain Currie's War" Part 2

AMBALA, PUNJAB. 6TH MOTORIZED DIVISION HQ OF THE NEW ENGLAND EXPEDITIONARY FORCES - APRIL 27 1942
The faraway guns thundered again. Currie's heart sank even deeper into the pit of despair. Those had to be close to Delhi. The darkest hour since the Great War was at hand, the very future of the shattered Empire hanging in the balance. Yet Currie was trapped, ensconced in a bland little bungalow office behind rings of barbed wire. Locked in with the one group of Americans who had done their jolly best to avoid any fighting in one of the most turbulent times of modern history. He took a long, pained drag of his cigarette. All the other officers wanted to talk about was the situation in Europe. Every bragging tongue was sure that's where the real fight was, and that if only they were there, why the war would be over in six weeks. Big talk from small men who seemed more excited to fight the enemy thousands of miles away than the one three day's march from camp. It's no challenge, they'd say, stomping down starving scrawny Indians, when they could be in the 'actual' war, toe to toe against fanatical Communards showing Jerry how it's properly done. There were, however, a sizeable contingent of New Englanders who were real fighting men: former Feds from Mac's army, and thank goodness for them. They never said anything to Currie because they were out trudging, killing, and dying. Maybe it would be his turn to see some action soon. Why had he endured such an arduous and painful journey just to be stopped short only 200 kilometers from the front? He felt like the unluckiest man in India.
A commotion rose in the hallway outside. He recognized the voices of Corporal Howe and Sergeant Baker, but there was a new voice: one speaking the Queen's Public School English. Finally, another civilized person and these Americans were giving them the runaround. Inexcusable. The confrontation grew increasingly intense and shrill until the door burst open. An angry young Indian, slickly dressed in an expensive suit and tie stormed into the Captain's office. In one hand, a brown briefcase packed to the gills. In the other, a large map.
"There you are, Captain. A dubious honor to meet the commander of the most infamous and lawless unit in the entire Allied Army. The corporal outside tells me I need an appointment, yet it's abundantly clear I've caught you at an opportune lull," said the young Indian in the crisp and confident tone of a barrister with a bulletproof case.
"I don't know anything about that, I'm new here, Mr.-" stammered Currie, taken aback by the forcefulness of the intrusion.
"Deputy Minister Khan. Of course. Very convenient, sir. Our letters, telegrams, and telephone calls and every other missive have fallen on deaf ears, and our established channels have been deadly silent as your pack of villains pillage and plunder the Punjab!"
The Indian slammed the map down on the table and jabbed his finger into the center.
"Every one of these X's marks a village that suffered a 'patrol' from your men in the past three months. Here, the soldiers were yesterday morning. They stole the livestock of every single household at bayonet point, and then opened fire when the farmers tried to protest. Seventeen men and boys, gunned down in commission of a felony! We are at risk of a police munity and strike in the cities and a total revolt of the peasantry in the countryside thanks to your brilliant tactics. The Revolutionists couldn't have done a finer job rallying the masses to their cause."
"Now just a moment, those are very serious accusations, Mr. Khan."
"Deputy Minister Khan, Captain. If you deigned to leave the security of your office, you would see very clearly for yourself."
Currie stood up.
"Look here, sir. The armies of the Entente do not engage in such harsh measures, I can assure you of that. We are not Prussians or Totalists. And even if they did, on my honor as an officer, I would punish the guilty to the fullest extent."
"Splendid, Captain. Please take me to your men, and I will gladly point out the perpetrators and let the innocent go."
Khan now placed the briefcase on the desk and opened it to reveal reams of files, most of them with photographs attached. Khan took out a particularly fat manila folder and offered it to Currie. The Captain took one look at the photos it contained and turned ghostly pale. He picked up his phone.
"Operator, get me Colonel Amrose. It's of high urgency."
Khan glared at him as the connection was made. Currie drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently.
"This had better be good."
"Good afternoon, sir. This is Captain Currie, Charlie Company. Deputy Minister Khan is here, and he is alleging that our boys have been acting with severely mistreating the natives er, I mean the local civilians. Livestock thefts, destruction of property and even m... more serious offenses. He mentioned a Lieutenant Corte by name. We've a bit of a revolutionary situation on our hands. Please advise."
The other end of the line was silent before the gruff voice crackled over the line.
"Who the hell is this?"
"Captain Currie, sir. I'm new. We were introduced-"
"Is this some sort of joke?! Listen and listen good, whoever. I don't give a hoot in hell about goddamn natives or any native ministers or any of that nonsense. Don't you ever clog up my line with this foolishness again. Our boys are out there getting shot up by partisans and you call to bitch at me that they're blowing off steam?! I will skin you alive if I hear from this minster or priest or swami whatever again. Handle it, and don't you dare ring up my office unless I've ordered you to. Do you understand me, Captain?"
"Y-yes sir. Of course."
Amrose unleashed a torrent of vulgar epithets as he slammed the receiver down. Currie could have sworn he heard Moyers' sharp laughter in the background. The Captain gracefully hung up, took out a cigarette and lit it, then returned his full attention to Deputy Minister Khan.
"The Colonel assures me that the situation will be addressed. Now if you please, Mr. Khan, I have other pressing matters to attend to."
"Very well. In that case, I'll go to the colonel's office directly and I shall be sure to inform him of how helpful you were. And if he is too busy, I'll include in my report to the governor-general-"
Currie reached for the telephone so fast he almost knocked it off the desk.
"Get me Corte! Now! I don't care what he's doing, that's an order! Of course it's an emergency!
---
Captain Currie was appalled by the barbaric appearance of Lieutenant Geronimo Corte. His uniform was heavily soiled and abused, the blouse open and the sleeves torn off. His wide face was covered in crude warpaint made to resemble a grinning death's head. His whole squad were done up in similar fashion, with feathers sticking out of helmets and awful trophies of all kinds hung around necks. Khan took one look, then began writing notes on his pad, with a burning focus and intensity. He said nothing.
As dreadful as the visual effect was, the enlisted men whispered to each other in awed, hushed tones. Here he was in the flesh, the god of war, the Philly Killing Machine. The man who once marched with MacArthur and ate reds for breakfast on three continents. A one man counter-revolution. Only soldier's soldiers were even considered for his legendary "Suicide Squad". Most officers would claim they'd sacrifice themselves for their boys. Corte boasted of how willing his boys were to sacrifice themselves for him. To fight with him was to fight for a higher cause, even if he was technically a mercenary. No one dared approach him lest they be burned by the aura of his fame.
The arrival of their trucks had kicked up great clouds of dust, which mixed with the smoke of battle and and clouds that promised rain but refused to deliver. The sun was blotted out of the sky, leaving the world in an eerie, supernaturally red haze.
Corte saluted crisply.
"At ease, Lieutenant. Explain the disarray of your unit," Currie blurted out, still scandalized.
Geronimo Corte sized up the new guy. Clean uniform, clean fingernails. Hair neatly trimmed. Clean shaved. Silver cigarette case and fancy Egyptian tobacco. His boots were polished into mirrors. No chance this Limey swell had ever seen a lick of combat. How did this fancy lad ever make Captain? Some corrupt backroom politicking, no doubt. A waste of skin, useless in the field. It was a sure bet that this chappie was busy sucking down gimlets at the officers' club while real men cleared basements in St. Louis. They must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel.
"Fighting partisans is a dirty business, sir. With all due respect."
"I've heard stories about your exploits, Corte. I wish this meeting could have been under better circumstances, but I'm hearing serious complaints about the conduct of your unit. Care to explain yourself?"
"Permission to speak sir?"
"By all means."
"I'd just like to know, did you enjoy your steak dinner?"
Currie felt his face flush. Corte grinned.
"Seein' as how tight things are around here, my boys are doin' our best. Major said we oughta rustle up something nice for our new company CO, seein' as he's a swell fella. And rustle we did, even if the Reds put up a hell of fight."
"I well... It was... certainly. Thank you, Lieutenant."
Khan scribbled furiously.
"Now Corte, Mr. uh, Deputy Minister Khan here alleges your boys have taken a few liberties with the local civilians. I don't want to believe it, but he's got... documents. Explain yourself."
Corte's glance had drifted over to Khan. He was still smiling, but the veins in his neck bulged grotesquely. His eyes moved up and down rapidly like he was scouting a good place to stick a knife.
"Sir. With all due respect. Who are you gonna believe? Your own men out sweatin' and bleedin' fightin' to save civilization, or some upjumped native?"
"You shameless man!" thundered Khan.
Corte chuckled.
"Mr. Swami has time to write all kinds of documents about this province, but he hasn't seen it with his own eyes. I have. Our business is destroyin' enemy bases and huntin' partisans wherever we find 'em, and sir, business is boomin'. Sir, unfortunately I see firsthand what happens when Syndie sets up shop. And unlike our cousins across the pond, me and my brothers knew we couldn't run, but had to crush that red serpent wherever it reared up its head. With all due respect. And sir, we may have lost our dear old USA but we stomped that snake. But you know India, sir. Full of snakes. And snake charmers. With all due respect, callin' us back from patrol is a show of weakness. Hear those big guns? Those guns are awfully close, sir. If we don't stick a fork in the rebels now, they'll stick a knife in us when the RA shows up."
Corte's passionate impromptu oration had drawn a great deal of attention to their little tribunal. All work had stopped, and every set of eyes was focused on the two officers. Currie leaned in to the Lieutenant's personal space to prevent any more of this sensitive matter from being broadcast.
"Whatever your methods, clean it up. Just clean it up. And clean up your men. That's the first and last time I'm going to get chewed out on your account, especially by a damned civil servant have you got that, Lieutenant?"
"Excuse me for sayin sir, but are you sure he's a civil servant? Has he showed any bona fides?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sir. You know the Reds do all kinds of dirty tricks. Can't trust these Indians. Assassination, sneak theifin'... impersonatin' officials to spy on us. Undermine morale. With all due respect, it's pretty convenient he shows up out of the blue to buffalo a naïve new officer fresh off the boat."
Currie swallowed hard.
"You watch yourself, Corte. Wait here."
The Captain stomped back over to Khan.
"Do you think you're going to make me look like a fool in front of my men, Mr. Khan?"
"What are you saying, Captain? What did he tell you? I promise you, I will not leave here until we get to the bottom of this."
"You are correct, you will not leave until we get to the bottom of this. Sergeant, please escort Mr. Khan to a very secure location."
The soldiers grabbed Khan and seized his files. His eyes were wide with shock.
"Currie! Have you taken leave of your senses? Who do you think you are?! This is a crown dominion, the military is subordinate to civil authorities! You are making a grave mistake! Currie! You- you son of a whore!"
As Khan was dragged away, kicking and struggling he ceased speaking English and began shouting and cursing in Urdu. The man swears like a poet, thought Currie as his new prisoner was hauled off.
Corte was very pleased by the turn of events.
"You did the right thing, sir. Can't take any chances when someone's tryna sell a bill of goods."
"That's absolutely correct, Lieutenant. That's why I will be accompanying your next patrol. And for your sake, I had better like what I see."

MASTER MANIPULATOR CONNIVING DESI MIL FAINTS LIKE IN DESI SHOWS

TL;DR: BIL2 starts fist fight with DH. MIL fakes fainting ruining DH and I plan of going away for the weekend (which is initially did not want us to go on). MIL has been feeding FIL utter lies about me and now I'm not talking to MIL. Don't know to deal with her anymore.
Hey everyone!! In my previous post updates I wrote that it was a hell of a weekend at the house (I live with very traditional Muslim PAKISTANI in laws).
I have to mention that we live in the basement (in law suite), which is a separate entrance from the house. Btw, this is also why I thought living with in laws wasn't going to be bad initially. Because of the separate entrance. MIL wanted us to break the wall so that there would not be a separate entrance. She def lost that battle. Anyways, because I am pregnant, I was sleeping in one of the upstairs for a few days with DH just because it's gets so stuffy downstairs in the basement and there's no sunlight and I just feel like I'm suffocating especially at night.
I also mentioned in my first post that about the tension building between in laws and DH+I due to unrealistic expectations of MIL. But it was just tension building like my BILs stopped talking to us, giving us the cold shoulder, etc.. No arguments/fights yet.
But it changed previous weekend when my MIL BARGED into the bedroom upstairs while DH and I were sleeping and started yelling at him - all kinds of insults about all kinds of things. This included something about MY brother when SIL came over one of the days when I was over at my parents' house. What happened at my parents' house was that SIL and I were talking and my brother (who works from home) came out of the room and told ME to keep it down. He said so in my language. NOT in English. Therefore SIL would not have understood a word but I did tell her "oh he's just saying be quiet cuz he's working right now."
(BTW i am not desi - My ancestors are but I am from one of those islands where South Asians migrated to because they were told there would be gold under rocks there so I am aware about the culture but my family is not as traditional).
So SIL went and told MIL this and when she barged into our bedroom that day, she basically said that DH is turning into my family because "your sister went to their house and she had to GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE!!!" because apparently my brother was fighting with SIL so much. Clearly MIL watches too much desi shows because that never happen.
Here are a few other things she said:

You are like a little puppy who follows his wife everywhere she goes.
You need to become a man like your father, stop RUNNING BEHIND YOUR WIFE! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!
Get the fuck out of bed and go shovel the snow outside!

I also mentioned in my last post that when these desi moms shits on you, you don't really talk back to them cuz "your elders are always right" (ESPECIALLY MOM. MOM is always right) and you just have to take it all with a smile. So DH was just like "what mamajee? okay mamajee" during this whole thing. So anyways, after shovelling the snow, I told DH to drop me off to my parents'. On our way there, he asked me if my brother yelled at his sister. I told him what *ACTUALLY* happened. He told me he will talk to SIL about this. Several days later, DH did talk to SIL. She did not deny that she told MIL the story about what ACTUALLY happened but she does recognize that MIL exaggerated the story (as per usual). Later, I also talked to SIL about it and she said the same thing to me. I 10000% believe that MIL manipulated the story to make it sound worse to start a fight between DH and I.
I stayed at my parents for 4 days which is not usual for me. I usually go away for 2 days MAX.
Upon coming back home, I told DH that he needs to talk to MIL about this because her behaviour and shit she said about me and my family were unacceptable. He initially tried to tell me to "let it go she's mad at me so she exaggerated a little." A LITTLE??
DH told me he will talk to MIL about this when "the time is right" because there was something else way bigger that this happening at the time (another story for another post). I agreed to this but I told him that I WILL NOT let this go. How much bet that he will ignore this until I bring it up again? Anyways, because of this other thing that was happening, I decided to talk to MIL as normally as I could without being angry/upset at her or without saying anything to her.
We also told her that this weekend, DH and I were going to a cottage and we would be leaving Friday (the next day) afternoon. She obviously does not like this idea "you should not be travelling when pregnant blablabla."
So it's now Friday, BIL2 comes downstairs to the basement to ask DH for his car keys to go to "pray" Friday prayer. Let me point out that BIL2 does this every day where he takes the car and does not actually return home until about 1 AM. Today is no different but today's excuse is that he's going to go "pray." Let me also point out that BIL2 is in his early twenties and does not do anything. No job. No high school diploma. Barely goes to school now. Just smokes weed and go to the gym for 5 hours daily and his parents enable this behaviour. TBH despite him being utterly useless, I didn't have any issues with BIL2 prior to the incident that follows below.
So anyways, DH offers to drive him instead and pick him up/figure out a ride back/take the bus back because well we need the car. Of course this POS refuses cuz the boy wants to go out and chill until 1 AM. DH says no I'm not giving you the car then. BIL2 starts yelling at DH - "let me see you take the car." Tries to raise his hands at DH.
I'm there thinking WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?
DH tells him to get out. BIL2 is full out swearing and yelling at DH and DH is like "GTFO." BIL2 goes running to MIL and DH follows him like what are you doing? BTW, it's 3 something pm aka past Friday prayer time. At this point, BIL2 has his hands on DH and attempting to choke DH while BIL2 is yelling/swearing at DH. MIL gets involved telling me and DH to GTFO. BIL2 comes back and tries to choke DH again. DH is actually rather calm telling BIL2 to chill out.
Here comes the best part y'all.
MIL FAINTS
Everyone stops. She's on the floor, her eyes are closed. She's not talking anymore. Not responding to us. She did not lose consciousness. She *clearly* holding her breath (DID I MENTION I'M A NURSE??). I check her pulse, totally normal. I do the sternal rub LOL and this shit hurts! She not holding her breath anymore cuz well she has to breathe after the sternal rub. Then goes back to holding her breath.
I mean she probably does not know that even if she's trying to hold her breath she will start involuntarily breathing. She tries to hold her breath again (like closes her lips so she won't breathe).
BIL2 is now apparently SUPPPERRRR concerned. He calls 911 for an ambulance. Was that really necessary? During this whole scene, she's intermittently screaming "I WANT TO DIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" I mean is this not a scene from a Pakistani drama/Bollywood movie???
Umm if you're screaming like this, you're clearly breathing just fine so I'm not concerned.
Finally ambulance arrived, they take MIL's dramatic ass to the hospital. DH and I stay back and said we will come later. BIL2 went out God knows where.
BTW cottage plans are postponed.DH says let's leave later.
Finally about 2 hours later, after I have talked to DH about what just happened, etc we get to the hospital. I mean I was definitely not trying to rush to the hospital (10 mins away). SIL is there with MIL. Now that we're there and MIL has a ride back home, she decided she does not want to stay and leave the hospital AMA. I'm like okay whatever you want, I'm not one to stop your dramatic ass.
We're on our way home, MIL's not talking. We see BIL2 walking back home on foot as we get close to the house. It looks like he got dropped off by a car but not in front of the house. MIL goes to her bedroom starts bawling her eyes out and shrieking. BIL2 goes to MIL's room, starts apologizing profusely. Goes beside her to pray. Basically manipulates the shit out of her the same way MIL manipulates the shit out of her kids. She does not want to talk to SIL or DH or me.
At this point, it was kinda too late to leave for the cottage because it was already dark outside and this is Canada the weather was bad and we did not want to leave at night with shitty road conditions. DH is waiting for FIL to come back home from work to tell FIL what happened with BIL2 and his behaviour etc. MIL tells SIL to tell DH not to say anything to FIL. DH is like whatever, let's go to bed.
(we're still upstairs sleeping, not in the basement)
We're watching some Netflix. I am half naked.
MIL BARGED IN THE ROOM. BRUH. PRIVACY?
You guessed it. She's here to yell at DH again. This is the same woman who fucking fainted a few hours ago BTW!
Asking for his keys to give to BIL2 so he can go to the "gym." DH says no. She turns me to "you give me your car keys then." I'm like no. DH is like NO don't ask my wife for her keys. At this point, I am dressed, my clothes are inside out. I'm a mess. She kicks me out the room because she wants to talk to DH. I'm like kayyyy. So I go downstairs to the basement. Guess who's there??? BIL2.
GOING THRU MY SHIT. TRYING TO FIND THE CAR KEY. LIKE ARE YOU FUCKED? He sees me. He kisses his teeth and leaves, while banging the door behind him. Like are you fucked? this is the kind of behaviour that my MIL is okay with. Also I want to point out prior to this BIL2 has NEVER been disrespectful towards me either until now. Thanks MIL.
Later on, I go upstairs and DH tells me that MIL is mad at him because BIL2 apologized but DH didn't. I'm like ummm BIL2 "apologized" because he wanted to get what he wanted. THE CAR KEYS cuz well it is Friday night. Somebody needs to get high. DH is not having it cuz I'm talking shit about his family now. He's like okay whatever man let it go.
I must admit, I have never seen BIL2 like this. Despite him being a piece of shit, he has never been disrespectful towards DH (eldest son). If anything, DH is one person who can get through to him. Goes to show how much BS/lies MIL has been feeding BIL2 and the type of shit she has started between her kids.
Anyways, the next day, we're like fuck it, we'll go away another time. (((REGRET THIS BTW. WE SHOULD HAVE JUST FUCKING LEFT for the cottage). DH and I decide to go back to the basement to spend the day there because we're kinda done with MIL barging in the bedroom. Later on, I had to go get some groceries to make dinner. DH tells me to take SIL with me because she needs some fresh air (I will tell you this story about this in my next post).
So as soon as we leave the house, MIL starts blowing up SIL's phone asking her to come back home RIGHT AWAY. SIL is like no, we're literally going down the street to get some groceries like chill. She did not stop calling OMG. We get the groceries. We come back home. I go to the basement. SIL calls DH - MIL is telling her off. FIL has joined in. DH is like okay i'm coming to talk to them. He goes to talk to his parents.
OMG - this is when I realized how much of an actual EVIL person this woman who is superficially nice to me actually is -
She has been feeding FIL utter LIES about me. This started because FIL was like "you're being a terrible MIL, leave her alone, she's pregnant" (this is what SIL told me - and then MIL decided let me just feed him all these lies. So that FIL hates me or FIL takes her side)
1) I treat her like a servant. I FORCE her to do everything for me and I don't do anything for myself. She spends the day attending to my needs.
2) I eat breakfast and she goes the whole day without eating/I tell her not to eat it cuz I wanna eat it or I just don't care whether she has eaten or not. DA FUQ? LOL shit I must be evil.
3) In front of FIL - she's always like "oh no no don't move, the baby this the baby that. Don't worry . I will do it." Then tells FIL - you see this is how I treat her, in return she treats me like crap.
4) MIL also mentions *AGAIN* that DH spends way too much time with me. He needs to "balance" his time between her and me. DH is literally up at like 430-5 am daily. Gets back home at like 8 PM. So no. He's at work. The rest of the time, the man is just trying to relax instead of listening to you insult him all the time.
5) FIL reminded DH that he is financially responsible for everyone in the house. Like wtf?
6) Remember how MIL told us not to tell FIL about what happened (BIL2 fighting with DH, MIL fake fainting) - she went and told FIL her side of the story ... so that FIL will side with BIL2 and not DH. so MIL just wanted FIL to hear her side of the story, not DH's. LOL master manipulator.
and the list goes on. Full of petty shit.
I was SHOCKED and stressed out. I'm like boy was I naive. I mean I've heard of desi MILs my whole life but I did not think my MIL was this conniving.
DH is trying to stand up for me during this whole thing- like first of she does not eat our food because I actually 1) get heartburn from MIL's food especially now that I am pregnant 2) My mom makes me food and we go pick it up literally weekly 3) I make food myself. But of course FIL does not believe him.
The best part tho - DH actually told MIL during this "Mom you watch too many Pakistani shows. You start to act like them."
BTW - I am overhearing all this shit. I understand their language (Urdu) but I can't speak it. It's not like DH is gonna come here and start talking about his parents to me tbh.
Anyways all this shit go down - I am furious because I can't stand up for myself. We're both back in the basement now. I wanted to go upstairs to the bedroom (where we were sleeping) to go get my shit and clean it up because there is no way I am talking to MIL anytime soon. DH told me to leave it, we'll go get it in the morning.
DH tells me not to let MIL do A N Y T H I N G for me ever again even if I am on my death bed. I'm telling DH. This is it! I am done. We are moving out!! I cannot live like this or I'm going to have a miscarriage. Yup still not getting through to him. The next morning, I wake up and I'm like okay I'm going upstairs to the bedroom to go get my stuff. I had some clothes there and a few things. I go up to the room. Guess what???
SOMEONE HAD ALREADY BARGED IN THE ROOM. Are you surprised? OUR CLOTHES AND THINGS are all over the floor. As if someone came in and just started fucking throwing our shit around. I go back downstairs right away. I tell DH. At this point, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH.
What the fuck have I done to MIL or anyone else to deserve this BS?
DH tells me nope leave it, whoever did it will have to pick it up themselves. DO NOT GO UPSTAIRS AND PICK UP ANYTHING. I'm like kay.
I am crying. I am stressed. I'm telling DH that I don't want to live in this house anymore. I want to move out. I cannot live like this. He is comforting me. But does not talk about moving out. "We'll talk about that later. Come here."
I'm like you know what? I have already dealt with a lot this week, I don't want DH to go back and start arguing with MIL and FIL again (which is basically him trying talk to his parents and them just yelling at him and telling him he's worthless which really hurts me cuz DH is truly a great person). If I hear MIL yell at DH again, I will 100% tell her off or I'm gonna get so stressed out that I miscarry. I just went and picked up the clothes. Cleaned the room. Came back downstairs and told DH I'm not going back upstairs again. After all this, I get that DH is stressed because his parents dump everything on him since he's the first son also - I can tell that part of him wants to move out but there is something holding him back like he feels guilty about it. I don't know.
We spent the past few days downstairs. Did not go upstairs even once. MIL is cheeeeeesed. I don't give a fuck. She called DH a few times and asked him to come up "I have to talk to you." He's like "yaya I'm coming" but does not actually go upstairs. What do you think I should do about MIL? Fight fire with fire? Manipulate the manipulator? I def don't want to talk to her unless there's a third person there EVER AGAIN. Like never wanna be alone with her.
Btw, I'm at my parents' house again. I don't think I will be going back anytime soon but DH has told literally told me not to leave him alone with his parents. Also don't want to cuz I don't know what MIL will feed him in my absence.

Ontitokaaha - This week's language of the week: Alabama!

Alabama (also known as Alibamu, Albaamo innaaɬiilka in the language itself) is a Muskogean language spoken by the Alabama-Coushatta Tribe of Texas. It was spoken at the Alabama-Quassarte Tribal Town in Oklahoma, but has since died out there. There are approximately 250 speakers of the language left.

Linguistics

As a Muskogean language, Alabama is distantly related to other, more widely known, languages such as Chickasaw and Chocktaw. Among its closer relatives are the Koasati and Apalachee languages, and it is believed to have been closely related to the now-extinct Muklasa and Tuskegee languages.
Various subdivisions of these languages have been proposed, but no clear consensus has been reached outside of closely related languages and the family as a whole to provide a firm basis for positing a tree. Because of that, the possible intermediate forms will not be listed below.
Classification
Alabama's full classification is as follows:
Muskogean > Alabama
Phonology and Lexicon
Alabama distinguishes three vowels -- /i a o/ -- phonemically (though there is a fourth one that could possibly have a phonemic distribution). These vowels are, however, contrasted in all positions for length, thus giving Alabama six phonemic vowel choices. While length is contrasted in all positions, in word-final position it is limited to specific syntactic functions. Likewise, there is a lot of variation in how the vowels are actually realized. Vowels can be nasal, but, in all but one case, nasal vowels alternate with a vowel + nasal combination and should not be considered independent phonemes. Diphthongs can result when a vowel is followed by a glide in a closed syllable; out of the six possible diphthongs, only three (/ay/, /oy/, /aw/) can be considered as phonemic, with two (/ow/ and /iw/) not known to occur at all.
Alabama has 14 consonants (5 stops, 4 fricatives, 3 resonants and 2 glides). No stops occur at the end of words in native Alabama words in isolation and thus only appear word initially or medially between vowels. Apart from the voiced bilabial stop /b/, voicing is redundant with all obstruents being voiceless while resonants and glides are voiced.
All consonants except for /b/ can form geminates, with /bb/ and /b/ being in free variation. Likewise all consonants except /b/ and /c/ (the voiced bilabial stop and the alveopalatal stop) can occur as the initial member of a two member consonant cluster, while all consonants can be the second member. Clusters do not occur in word-final position. Likewise, clusters of three consonants do not occur morpheme-internally; when they do occur due to other processes, such as affixation or compounding, they are reduced to two-consonant clusters. (Ex: ist- (instrumental prefix) + coopa ('buy') = iscoopa ('sell')). Borrowed words, however, may avoid the cluster reduction, as in katska 'blue catfish' from *kats 'cats' + -ka 'derivational affix'.
Alabama has a pitch accent, though it is not lexically significant but rather grammatically conditioned. There are two pitches, high and low, with low only being contrastive with it is immediately preceded by a high pitch sound. This often occurs within the same syllable, resulting in a falling pitch. While pitch isn't lexically contrastive, words in isolation are generally pronounced with the final syllable higher than the preceeding one, regardless of structure or word class, unless the word has an inherent falling pitch.
While it is not currently contrastive leixcally, pitch is necessary for grammatical contrasts. The interrogative mood, for instance, is marked by a change in pitch as well as nasalization of the final vowel. However, for some speakers the nasalization is so slight that the pitch pattern alone determines the indication of the interrogative mood.
Alabama syllables are divided into two types -- restricted and unrestricted. Unrestricted syllables can appear in any position, initial, medial or final, and are of the form (C)V(V). Restricted syllables are of two types -- those that end in a consonant and those that end in a cluster. They can appear as VC, VCC, CVC, CVVC, CCV, CCVV and VCC. Consonant-final syllables are restricted word-fianlly, where the consonant must be /k/, /n/, /t/ or /s/. Elsewhere /c/ adn /b/ cannot appear finally unless followed by /c/ and /b/ respectively. Syllable boundaries occur between two unlike vowels or two consonants in a cluster, even geminate consonants.
Grammar
The basic word order of Alabama is Subject-Object-Verb, though the object can be shifted to the front of the sentence. Likewise, the subject can be positioned after the verb, giving an "afterthought" intonation to the postposed subject of object. A complete sentence may often consist of no more than the inflected verb.
There are two morphologically distinct cases on Alabama nouns -- nominative and oblique. With active verbs, the fully specified noun phrases which functions as the agent is nominative, while all other noun phrases appear in the oblique. With passive verbs, it is the patient that appears in the nominative with all others in the oblique. While other inflections can occur (see below), one of these two always will.
Nouns can inflect for plural, though the uninflected noun can also serve as the plural. They also inflect for possession, taking either inalienably possessed prefixes or alienably possessed ones, depending on the noun itself. Significant semantic categories include animate/inanimate, individual/collective, alienable/inalienable and shape-position, used to reflect human postures of standing, squatting, lying and others.
Nouns are classified according to which prefix the take for possession -- the inalienable possession prefix (patient) or the alienable possession prefix (dative). Kin terms and body parts often take the patient prefixes, as they are inalienably possessed. However, there are some kin terms and body parts that do not take the inalienable prefix, see imapatayyi ('his/her granddaughter or his/her maternal uncle's daughter') as well as imalokha ('brain').
Nouns, as mentioned, mark for case. The nominative case marking is -k, while the oblique is -n. There is a marking for a locative -fa, which is always followed by the -n of the oblique, thus the oblique and the nominative are marked on every noun, coexisting with other inflections. When nouns inflect for the plural, -há is used. Some examplesa re ati ('person') versus atihá ('people'). Along with the locative suffix, which denotes what has the locative relationship (where the thing is at, or on, etc.), there are several locative prefixes that are marked directly on the root of the verb or the noun. These are a-/ay 'at', pa- 'on', on- 'upon' (mostly replaced with pa-, ita- 'down', iba- 'with', o- 'in/into water'.
And example of how these come together with the locative is: takkolcobak ayolimpafan *pa*anááhobi ('There is an apple on the table/There are some apples...'). Here, fa is the locative suffix relating the the bale is the thing they're on, where as pa- expresses the meaning 'on' and appears on the verb. Other ways can appear, such as pa- appearing on the noun itself, or it can appear on the noun or verb, or just the verb (without the locative on the noun; generally for a stative meaning). Another example is the verb for 'to drown', which was derived from ilit, 'to die', by prefixing the o- meaning 'in/into water', giving oyelit.
Nouns can also be derived. Some of the affixes used for this are -osi, a diminutive as in taata 'father', but taatasi 'paternal uncle' (lit. 'little father'); ifa 'dog', ifasi 'puppy' ; -ka, a 'derivational affix' for borrowed words when used in a syntactic construction -- the borrowed bil ('Bill', borrowed name as term of address), but bilka coopati 'Bill bought it'; compounds (formed as adjective-noun as in ocabaski 'pecan', from oca 'nut' + baski 'long'; noun-noun, ittobihi 'bow' from itto 'wood' + bihi 'gun'; as well as noun-verb hasissobayka 'clock' from hasi 'sun' + ist-sobayka 'instrumental-known').
Alabama pronouns have three persons: first, second and third. The third person has zero representation in the agentive and patient, but has overt representations in the dative. First and second persons distinguish singular and plural forms, while the third person does not. These independent pronouns are generally used disambiguation and emphasis. The chart of independent pronouns can be seen below.

Person	Singular	Plural
First	ana	posna ~ kosna
Second	isna	hasna
Third	ibisna	ibisna

There are a total of four sets of agentive pronomial affixes -- two affirmative and two negative (allomorphs of each other, and clearly historically related). The third person doesn't mark on the verb, and thus will not be represented on the table below. The positive agentive affixes are:

Person	is-set	ci-set
First singular	-as, -li	-aa, -li
Second singular	is-	-ci
First plural	(h)il-	-(hi)li
Second plural	has-	-haci

The negative affixes are seen below (accent marks represent pitch)

Person	Negative affixes
First singular	(t)ák, ká
Second singular	cík, cikí
Third singular	ík, kí
First plural	kíl, kilí
Second plural	hacík, (h)acikí
Third plural	ík, kí

Likewise, there are patient prefixes, used when the pronomial form is the object of a transitive verb. Some examples of these being used are 'cahallo' (Do you hear me?) and 'cilhiicati' (We saw you). Furthermore, pronomials also have dative prefixes, for all persons and numbers. These can be seen below

Person	Singular	Plural
First	am-	pom-, kom-
Second	cim-	hacim-
Third	im-	(aatim-)

The Alabama verb is inflected for person, number tense/aspect, negation and mood. There are two types of verbs -- active and stative. Active verbs may be either transitive or intransitive. The pronomial affixes (mentioned above) can be prefixed, infixed or suffixed, with verbs being classified to the type and position of the affix. Some examples of inflected verbs can be seen below, with the affix bolded (ho used in the final example should be analyzed as a 'distributive' instead of a general pronomial prefix):

Alabama	English
haaloliti	'I heard it'
haalaalo	'I will hear it'
isnooco	'You slept'
coispo	'You bought it'
hopooncilo	'You will cook it'
nooco	'He slept'
ilhaaloti	'We heard it'
coilpati	'We bought it'
hohaaloti	'They bought it'.

Alabama verbs can have several derivational affixes. Among these, the ones of most interest are -li 'active', -ka 'mediopassive' and -ci 'causative'. The majority of verbs are derived with either -li or -ka and many verb roots contain both, with -li being hte active verb stem and the -ka form representing the stative stem. This is not a hard rule, however, and there are many active verbs that terminate in -ka, take agentive affixes and lack a corresponding -li form.
The passive can be marked on the verb with infixation, -l- or -il- often being a common way to do this, as in ilbi 'is killed' from ibi 'to kill'. There is also an 'intensive infix' -h-, which can be seen in hahlo 'to hear anything easily' from halo 'to hear' (this infix can also be used with adjectives to derive nouns and verbs: nahni 'a hero, a brave man' from nani 'male'; kahya 'to overeat' from haiya 'full).
The order in which affixes apply to the verbs is variable depending on the verb class (which set of agentive pronomials it takes) as well as the type of conjugation (basic, infixed, auxiliary, etc.). The most basic order, however, is agent - verb stem - TNS. An example of this paradigm is included below (the vowel in the parentheses, the prothetic one, does not appear when the stem is preceded by the agentive prefix; notice it appears after ho-, showing that it is not a pronomial prefix):

Person	Alabama	English	Affix markings
1sg	ipalo	I eat it	ipa-li-o
2sg	ispo	You eat it	is-(i)pa-o
3sg	ipo	He eats it	ipa-o
1pl	ilpo	We eat it	il-(i)pa-o
2pl	haspo	Y'all eat it	has-(i)pa-o
3pl	hoipo	They eat it	ho-ipa-o

Negatives are indicated by the presence of the negative agentive affix as well as the presence of -ki, a negative auxiliary, and/or the particle -o, a 'negative' marker. See below for the three third person constructions of hiica 'see' ('he sees' and 'he doesn't see')

Positive	Negative 1	Negative 2
hiico	ikhíícobi	hicatíkkobi

The distinction between tense and aspect is difficult to make in Alabama, and so the two are generally grouped together (this has led some historical linguists to believe that Proto-Muskogean lacked a tense category, and used aspect and modals to convey temporal information). These affixes can be split into two groups, with some leaning more towards tense while others towards aspect, but these are not rigorous groupings and I will merge them when listing them in the table below. As can be seen, Alabama distinguishes two future times, two present ones and three past tenses, while the rest lean towards aspectual use.

Affix	Gloss
-lo	(definite) future
-la	indefinite future
-ci	continuous
-o/-bi	perfect
-ti	proximate time
-kha	remote time
-to(ha)	narrative past
-ahi	intentional
-aapi/mpa	durational
-co(li)	credential
-colikha	remote habitual ('used to do')
-coti	proximate habitual ('used to doing')
-moli	evidential
-alpiisa	obligational
aaba	censurial

The final suffix included on the verb in Alabama is one for indicating the mood. Three moods are given: declarative, interrogative and imperative. The declarative is the unmarked form, while interrogatives are formed by nasalizing the final vowel and changing the intonation (see above; sometimes the vowel is so weak that intonation is the only indicator). The imperative, which exists in a positive and negative form, is conveyed by changing intonation and placing either the distributive -ho between the root and -li/-ka (positive imperative) or by adding the verbal suffix -mna (negative imperative). Simultaenous actions can be expressed with the affix fóóka-, a 'temporal locative' affix often best translated as 'while', 'when', at the time of', etc. An example of this is akaakan ipat feelilifóókok ifakon ibiliti ('having finished eating the chicken, I killed the dog'), with the affix appearing on the verb for 'finish'.
Finally, Alabama has several 'syntactic suffixes'. Some of these, such as the case endings, have already been mentioned. But two more are -yá, which is used to topicalize nouns, as well as -t, labeled 'verb conjunction', which appears at the end of an uninflected verb that is followed by yet another verb, usually the finite one. This can have several meanings, such as 'X and X' (cokoolit compalici 'I am sitting and eating', -t is on the verb 'sit') and in combining two such as the English 'Bill finished building the table' (bilkak ayolimpan taliboo(li)t anooliti, where the verb witht he 't' represents 'build').

Miscellany

The origin of the name Alabama is obscure; the most posited theory is that it is a corruption of a Chocktaw expression meaning 'cleared thicket'.
The Alabama were first contacted in 1541 by De Soto along the banks of the Alabama River, a few miles north of modern-day Montgomery; they were there until the 18th century, when they were relocated.
Only one of the groups kept their language alive, that which had settled in eastern Texas; the rest slowly assimilated into the more dominant tribes of the area (the ones who stayed in Alabama, for instance, assimilated with the Creek and, by 1910 in Oklahoma, their language had almost been completely supplanted by Creek).

Samples

Spoken sample:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_UMZ_Qnhq8 (Biblical video)
Written sample:
Note: I am transcribing a story below. Please note that I will not indicate tone and that it will be in a modified IPA (I can't recreate some of the characters on my keyboard, for instance) due to the fact the language has rarely been written.
wahkan likonlon ittimmayeesbannatoha. "cimmayaalatolo" lakonlakok mankan wahkakok "ammaciyaabokolo" katoha. mahmimok "sancohatkaci maatalahkafayon ostokoohililolo" katoha. mahmosin "ina" katoha. mahmosin ittiilahot coffitomaali likonlakok wakaikat nakaalã wahkakaalok wakaikat obaalima atakaakatoha. tankacooton nihtoton allatok analtoha. sancohatkafakon osthacaatoha. istobaalon likonlakok wakaikat olatoha. "cimmayalo" wahkakok katoha. "immayasbannayok". hayoyahiya hikãmõca hikamõlapitcaii wawa.
(The crane and the hummingbird wanted to bet with each other. "It seems I will beat you," the hummingbird said, and (new subject) the crane responded "You're not going to beat me!" And then (same subject) "You and I will go stand yonder where there's white sand," he said. And then (different subject, i.e. hummingbird) "It's OK to me," he responded. And then (different subject, i.e. crane) coming together, even as they jumped off, that there hummingbird flew off and disappeared and (different subject) that there crane along flying behind just hung in there. Night and day he went on and on. Where there was white sand, he stood. Coming behind, that hummingbird, flying, arrived there. "I have beaten you," the crane said. "So he wants to beat him!" (the crane sang) (last line is a song, indeterminate meaning).

Sources

Previous LotWs

I was advised to post this in JUSTNOFAMILY. DESI MIL FAINTS LIKE IN DESI SHOWS.

TL;DR: BIL2 starts fist fight with DH. MIL fakes fainting ruining DH and I plan of going away for the weekend (which is initially did not want us to go on). MIL has been feeding FIL utter lies about me and now I'm not talking to MIL. Don't know to deal with her anymore.
Hey everyone!! In my previous post updates I wrote that it was a hell of a weekend at the house (I live with my very traditional Muslim Pakistani in laws).
I have to mention that we live in the basement (in law suite), which is a separate entrance from the house. Btw, this is also why I thought living with in laws wasn't going to be bad initially. Because of the separate entrance. MIL wanted us to break the wall so that there would not be a separate entrance. She def lost that battle. Anyways, because I am pregnant, I was sleeping in one of the upstairs for a few days with DH just because it's gets so stuffy downstairs in the basement and there's no sunlight and I just feel like I'm suffocating especially at night.
I also mentioned in my first post that about the tension building between in laws and DH+I due to unrealistic expectations of MIL. But it was just tension building like my BILs stopped talking to us, giving us the cold shoulder, etc.. No arguments/fights yet.
But it changed previous weekend when my MIL BARGED into the bedroom upstairs while DH and I were sleeping and started yelling at him - all kinds of insults about all kinds of things. This included something about MY brother when SIL came over one of the days when I was over at my parents' house. What happened at my parents' house was that SIL and I were talking and my brother (who works from home) came out of the room and told ME to keep it down. He said so in my language. NOT in English. Therefore SIL would not have understood a word but I did tell her "oh he's just saying be quiet cuz he's working right now."
(BTW i am not desi - My ancestors are but I am from one of those islands where South Asians migrated to because they were told there would be gold under rocks there so I am aware about the culture but my family is not as traditional).
So SIL went and told MIL this and when she barged into our bedroom that day, she basically said that DH is turning into my family because "your sister went to their house and she had to GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE!!!" because apparently my brother was fighting with SIL so much. Clearly MIL watches too much desi shows because that never happen.
Here are a few other things she said:

You are like a little puppy who follows his wife everywhere she goes.
You need to become a man like your father, stop RUNNING BEHIND YOUR WIFE! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!
Get the fuck out of bed and go shovel the snow outside!

I also mentioned in my last post that when these desi moms shits on you, you don't really talk back to them cuz "your elders are always right" (ESPECIALLY MOM. MOM is always right) and you just have to take it all with a smile. So DH was just like "what mamajee? okay mamajee" during thing whole time. So anyways, after shovelling the snow, I told DH to drop me off to my parents'. On our way there, he asked me if my brother yelled at his sister. I told him what *ACTUALLY* happened. He told me he will talk to SIL about this. Several days later, DH did talk to SIL. She did not deny that she told MIL the story about what ACTUALLY happened but she does recognize that MIL exaggerated the story (as per usual). Later, I also talked to SIL about it and she said the same thing to me. I 10000% believe that MIL manipulated the story to make it sound worse to start a fight between DH and I.
I stayed at my parents for 4 days which is not usual for me. I usually go away for 2 days MAX.
Upon coming back home, I told DH that he needs to talk to MIL about this because her behaviour and shit she said about me and my family were unacceptable. He initially tried to tell me to "let it go she's mad at me so she exaggerated a little." A LITTLE??
DH told me he will talk to MIL about this when "the time is right" because there was something else way bigger that this happening at the time (another story for another post). I agreed to this but I told him that I WILL NOT let this go. How much bet that he will ignore this until I bring it up again? Anyways, because of this other thing that was happening, I decided to talk to MIL as normally as I could without being angry/upset at her or without saying anything to her.
We also told her that this weekend, DH and I were going to a cottage and we would be leaving Friday (the next day) afternoon. She obviously does not like this idea "you should not be travelling when pregnant blablabla."
So it's now Friday, BIL2 comes downstairs to the basement to ask DH for his car keys to go to "pray" Friday prayer. Let me point out that BIL2 does this every day where he takes the car and does not actually return home until about 1 AM. Today is no different but today's excuse is that he's going to go "pray." Let me also point out that BIL2 is in his early twenties and does not do anything. No job. No high school diploma. Barely goes to school now. Just smokes weed and go to the gym for 5 hours daily and his parents enable this behaviour. TBH despite him being utterly useless, I didn't have any issues with BIL2 prior to the incident that follows below.
So anyways, DH offers to drive him instead and pick him up/figure out a ride back/take the bus back because well we need the car. Of course this POS refuses cuz the boy wants to go out and chill until 1 AM. DH says no I'm not giving you the car then. BIL2 starts yelling at DH - "let me see you take the car." Tries to raise his hands at DH.
I'm there thinking WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?
DH tells him to get out. BIL2 is full out swearing and yelling at DH and DH is like "GTFO." BIL2 goes running to MIL and DH follows him like what are you doing? BTW, it's 3 something pm aka past Friday prayer time. At this point, BIL2 has his hands on DH and attempting to choke DH while BIL2 is yelling/swearing at DH. MIL gets involved telling me and DH to GTFO. BIL2 comes back and tries to choke DH again. DH is actually rather calm telling BIL2 to chill out.
Here comes the best part y'all.
MIL FAINTS
Everyone stops. She's on the floor, her eyes are closed. She's not talking anymore. Not responding to us. She did not lose consciousness. She *clearly* holding her breath (DID I MENTION I'M A NURSE??). I check her pulse, totally normal. I do the sternal rub LOL and this shit hurts! She not holding her breath anymore cuz well she has to breathe after the sternal rub. Then goes back to holding her breath.
I mean she probably does not know that even if she's trying to hold her breath she will start involuntarily breathing. She tries to hold her breath again (like closes her lips so she won't breathe).
BIL2 is now apparently SUPPPERRRR concerned. He calls 911 for an ambulance. Was that really necessary? During this whole scene, she's intermittently screaming "I WANT TO DIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" I mean is this not a scene from a Pakistani drama/Bollywood movie???
Umm if you're screaming like this, you're clearly breathing just fine so I'm not concerned.
Finally ambulance arrived, they take MIL's dramatic ass to the hospital. DH and I stay back and said we will come later. BIL2 went out God knows where.
BTW cottage plans are postponed.DH says let's leave later.
Finally about 2 hours later, after I have talked to DH about what just happened, etc we get to the hospital. I mean I was definitely not trying to rush to the hospital (10 mins away). SIL is there with MIL. Now that we're there and MIL has a ride back home, she decided she does not want to stay and leave the hospital AMA. I'm like okay whatever you want, I'm not one to stop your dramatic ass.
We're on our way home, MIL's not talking. We see BIL2 walking back home on foot as we get close to the house. It looks like he got dropped off by a car but not in front of the house. MIL goes to her bedroom starts bawling her eyes out and shrieking. BIL2 goes to MIL's room, starts apologizing profusely. Goes beside her to pray. Basically manipulates the shit out of her the same way MIL manipulates the shit out of her kids. She does not want to talk to SIL or DH or me.
At this point, it was kinda too late to leave for the cottage because it was already dark outside and this is Canada the weather was bad and we did not want to leave at night with shitty road conditions. DH is waiting for FIL to come back home from work to tell FIL what happened with BIL2 and his behaviour etc. MIL tells SIL to tell DH not to say anything to FIL. DH is like whatever, let's go to bed.
(we're still upstairs sleeping, not in the basement)
We're watching some Netflix. I am half naked.
MIL BARGED IN THE ROOM. BRUH. PRIVACY?
You guessed it. She's here to yell at DH again. This is the same woman who fucking fainted a few hours ago BTW!
Asking for his keys to give to BIL2 so he can go to the "gym." DH says no. She turns me to "you give me your car keys then." I'm like no. DH is like NO don't ask my wife for her keys. At this point, I am dressed, my clothes are inside out. I'm a mess. She kicks me out the room because she wants to talk to DH. I'm like kayyyy. So I go downstairs to the basement. Guess who's there??? BIL2.
GOING THRU MY SHIT. TRYING TO FIND THE CAR KEY. LIKE ARE YOU FUCKED? He sees me. He kisses his teeth and leaves, while banging the door behind him. Like are you fucked? this is the kind of behaviour that my MIL is okay with. Also I want to point out prior to this BIL2 has NEVER been disrespectful towards me either until now. Thanks MIL.
Later on, I go upstairs and DH tells me that MIL is mad at him because BIL2 apologized but DH didn't. I'm like ummm BIL2 "apologized" because he wanted to get what he wanted. THE CAR KEYS cuz well it is Friday night. Somebody needs to get high. DH is not having it cuz I'm talking shit about his family now. He's like okay whatever man let it go.
I must admit, I have never seen BIL2 like this. Despite him being a piece of shit, he has never been disrespectful towards DH (eldest son). If anything, DH is one person who can get through to him. Goes to show how much BS/lies MIL has been feeding BIL2 and the type of shit she has started between her kids.
Anyways, the next day, we're like fuck it, we'll go away another time. (((REGRET THIS BTW. WE SHOULD HAVE JUST FUCKING LEFT for the cottage). DH and I decide to go back to the basement to spend the day there because we're kinda done with MIL barging in the bedroom. Later on, I had to go get some groceries to make dinner. DH tells me to take SIL with me because she needs some fresh air (I will tell you this story about this in my next post).
So as soon as we leave the house, MIL starts blowing up SIL's phone asking her to come back home RIGHT AWAY. SIL is like no, we're literally going down the street to get some groceries like chill. She did not stop calling OMG. We get the groceries. We come back home. I go to the basement. SIL calls DH - MIL is telling her off. FIL has joined in. DH is like okay i'm coming to talk to them. He goes to talk to his parents.
OMG - this is when I realized how much of an actual EVIL person this woman who is superficially nice to me actually is -
She has been feeding FIL utter LIES about me. This started because FIL was like "you're being a terrible MIL, leave her alone, she's pregnant" (this is what SIL told me - and then MIL decided let me just feed him all these lies. So that FIL hates me or FIL takes her side)
1) I treat her like a servant. I FORCE her to do everything for me and I don't do anything for myself. She spends the day attending to my needs.
2) I eat breakfast and she goes the whole day without eating/I tell her not to eat it cuz I wanna eat it or I just don't care whether she has eaten or not. DA FUQ? LOL shit I must be evil.
3) In front of FIL - she's always like "oh no no don't move, the baby this the baby that. Don't worry . I will do it." Then tells FIL - you see this is how I treat her, in return she treats me like crap.
4) MIL also mentions *AGAIN* that DH spends way too much time with me. He needs to "balance" his time between her and me. DH is literally up at like 430-5 am daily. Gets back home at like 8 PM. So no. He's at work. The rest of the time, the man is just trying to relax instead of listening to you insult him all the time.
5) FIL reminded DH that he is financially responsible for everyone in the house. Like wtf?
6) Remember how MIL told us not to tell FIL about what happened (BIL2 fighting with DH, MIL fake fainting) - she went and told FIL her side of the story ... so that FIL will side with BIL2 and not DH. so MIL just wanted FIL to hear her side of the story, not DH's. LOL master manipulator.
and the list goes on. Full of petty shit.
I was SHOCKED and stressed out. I'm like boy was I naive. I mean I've heard of desi MILs my whole life but I did not think my MIL was this conniving.
DH is trying to stand up for me during this whole thing- like first of she does not eat our food because I actually 1) get heartburn from MIL's food especially now that I am pregnant 2) My mom makes me food and we go pick it up literally weekly 3) I make food myself. But of course FIL does not believe him.
The best part tho - DH actually told MIL during this "Mom you watch too many Pakistani shows. You start to act like them."
BTW - I am overhearing all this shit. I understand their language (Urdu) but I can't speak it. It's not like DH is gonna come here and start talking about his parents to me tbh.
Anyways all this shit go down - I am furious because I can't stand up for myself. We're both back in the basement now. I wanted to go upstairs to the bedroom (where we were sleeping) to go get my shit and clean it up because there is no way I am talking to MIL anytime soon. DH told me to leave it, we'll go get it in the morning.
DH tells me not to let MIL do A N Y T H I N G for me ever again even if I am on my death bed. I'm telling DH. This is it! I am done. We are moving out!! I cannot live like this or I'm going to have a miscarriage. Yup still not getting through to him. The next morning, I wake up and I'm like okay I'm going upstairs to the bedroom to go get my stuff. I had some clothes there and a few things. I go up to the room. Guess what???
SOMEONE HAD ALREADY BARGED IN THE ROOM. Are you surprised? OUR CLOTHES AND THINGS are all over the floor. As if someone came in and just started fucking throwing our shit around. I go back downstairs right away. I tell DH. At this point, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH.
What the fuck have I done to MIL or anyone else to deserve this BS?
DH tells me nope leave it, whoever did it will have to pick it up themselves. DO NOT GO UPSTAIRS AND PICK UP ANYTHING. I'm like kay.
I am crying. I am stressed. I'm telling DH that I don't want to live in this house anymore. I want to move out. I cannot live like this. He is comforting me. But does not talk about moving out. "We'll talk about that later. Come here."
I'm like you know what? I have already dealt with a lot this week, I don't want DH to go back and start arguing with MIL and FIL again (which is basically him trying talk to his parents and them just yelling at him and telling him he's worthless which really hurts me cuz DH is truly a great person). If I hear MIL yell at DH again, I will 100% tell her off or I'm gonna get so stressed out that I miscarry. I just went and picked up the clothes. Cleaned the room. Came back downstairs and told DH I'm not going back upstairs again. After all this, I get that DH is stressed because his parents dump everything on him since he's the first son also - I can tell that part of him wants to move out but there is something holding him back like he feels guilty about it. I don't know.
We spent the past few days downstairs. Did not go upstairs even once. MIL is cheeeeeesed. I don't give a fuck. She called DH a few times and asked him to come up "I have to talk to you." He's like "yaya I'm coming" but does not actually go upstairs. What do you think I should do about MIL? Fight fire with fire? Manipulate the manipulator? I def don't want to talk to her unless there's a third person there EVER AGAIN. Like never wanna be alone with her.
Btw, I'm at my parents' house again. I don't think I will be going back anytime soon but DH has told literally told me not to leave him alone with his parents. Also don't want to cuz I don't know what MIL will feed him in my absence.

My time as a stripper

*funny thing right? I was looking through this subreddit thinking "hmm what stories do I have?" Then I laughed and realised I'd just spent six months as a stripper (that's more of a reflection on how surreal it is to be a stripper a. your drunk all the time b. you hardly get any sleep therefore it feels like a huge dream) So yeah Ill post a few stories
warning this post is looooong so get your popcorn!
Back story (feel free to skip)
I live in a big city in Australia and at the end of my time in university I was desperate for money and just out of an extremely abusive relationship. Now I am pretty impulsive and decided to start dancing as I'd actually been thinking about it since I was 14 to get myself through university it took me a while to find a club I liked the look of but finally settled on one. I made a ton of friends a fuck ton of money and still had time to get good grades.
As far as I was concerned life was great! Nothing creepy ever happened at the first club I was at. Any way one day I get toxic shock syndrome and show up to work crying and throwing up and I was still forced to work. I was so pissed off that I left that club and started dancing at a club that one of my friends worked in (we'll call her jess) and this is where things started getting sketch *note all stories come from the second club
STORY 1 followed by a gang Me and Jess would always hang out after work. (me 19, her 18) we'd go walk across the huge bridge in the city to a smaller part of the city and either play on the kids playground (epic playground tho) or smoke weed under the bridge. Keep in mind this is about 3am in a huge city
One night I noticed we were being followed by a group of men of middle eastern decent me and my friend are both very confrontational and aggressive we both enjoy fighting. Im probably the more paranoid but we are both equally aggressive so I turn around and give them the most chilling death stare I can manage and they look genuinely surprised that we're putting up a fight. Then one of the group comes up to us and up until this point they'd been talking in Urdu (I think)
Me: Fuck do you want (all the while holding intense eye contact)
Him: me and my friends have made a bet that I, can get a kiss from one of you
He was using one of those tones that you commonly hear in the PUA community
Me: Stop watching shitty pick up videos they don't work
Him: I'm not talking to you!
He turns toward my friend Jess who gives him a belittling stare
Him: Can I have a kiss from you
Jess: no you rude ass son of a bitch you (a gang of men) guys were following us fuck off!
We are both getting equally agitated at this moment as the group is getting closer The guy keeps on insisting that they were not following us and and rattling on about random shit trying to distract Jess notices it to and we both start getting louder and louder causing a commotion which causes the men to stop advancing. If you've ever been alone in this particular city at 3am its quiet, theres lots of homeless people and a fair few cops around too so this tactic aimed to provide witnesses in case anything happened
Eventually they left and me and Jess laughed at how scarred we made them.
STORY 2 (scariest one in my opinion) *note that in stripper culture we all take care of eachother
One girl in the club we'll call her Maddy had gotten one of her guy friends to come into the club and chill for a bit (note that this is actually illegal, we'll call the guy dave) Maddy is married with two kids and is wealthy as she owns property when I asked her why she dances she said for fun, and granted it is pretty fun.
Immediately I dont like the guy but Maddy said he wanted to buy a dance from me. I didnt end up dancing for him because I ended up booking a two hour VIP lapdance so Maddy took him for a dance instead. Anyway after work me and maddy go to the 7 eleven where we get coffee and sober up a little Maddy says that she is feeling a little dizzy and she hadn't drank much that night.
This immediately sets off alarm bells (because Im paranoid) But then alarm bells really stared going off when we witnessed some men out on the town for a night of fun just minding their own business being assaulted by a homeless woman normally Maddy would laugh at this kind of thing as it was pretty common.
Plus the homeless lady had assaulted me and Jess previously (story 3). But Maddy just looked at them sunken eyed and asked in a weak voice if everything was ok
Maddy isnt wearing clothes that are warm enough so I walk her across the bridge and we settle down in a well lit hidden spot of mine that is warm and very well hidden from view I always go to this spot after work as it’s the warmest place.
I test her motor skills and determine that she's been drugged as she is becoming more out of it by the second. I message her husband who is not in Australia and on a military training exercise. I informed him of the situation and promised to take care of her At this point I want to call an ambulance but Maddy is determined to stay put.
She gives me her phone and tells me to answer any messages that come through. Sure enough the first message I see is on snapchat from dave.
I should have fucking known! "where are you? your not bailing on me are you? ;)" I know for a fact that Maddy would not cheat on her husband as they were somewhat of a super couple
So I reply: "haha what do you mean?"
"I can see that you're in [insert suburb here] you want me to pick you up?"
I look over at Maddy and by now she is sleeping I check her every few minutes to make sure she is okay I look down at the text
"how do you know where I am?"
"I just saw you and Athena (my stripper name) walking that way are you near [insert building name here] I'll be there soon don't worry"
Did that mother fucker follow us?
Maddy chose that moment to wake up and projectile vomit all over the floor My head! There were voices from each side telling me what to do! "grab maddy and run, use the knife you have and scare the shit out of this fucker, call 000, hide"
No! My first concern should be the safety of Maddy (a mum) and my own safety second (not a mum) I try to convince Maddy that we need to go the police but she chooses that moment to tell me that she can't because she is dealing.
"oh well" I thought I prefer handling thing my way anyway but still, way to fucking tell me. So we are basically cornered in a large outside restaurant underneath a theatre and I can hear footsteps coming closer. I am in no position to defend both me and Maddy at the same time I drag Maddy up the stairs and though the outside part of the theatre. Its a fucking maze in this complex.
So I am dragging Maddy who is barely conscious at this point through the theatre maze until we get out to the other side.
I demand that maddy hand me any drugs she has as I am going to dump them and call and ambulance
She's barely cognitive so I search her and turn up nothing. Then I call an ambulance and long story short the guy Dave was up for several charges of sexual assualt on sex workers.
Maddy has since denied any part in dealing and doesn't remember pretty much anything. I however cut contact with her as I believe that she was dealing, not that strippers don’t deal but its generally a code of honour to tell the other girls for one we wont rat on you and for two we know who has extra baggage and where to get weed
STORY 3 assaulted by homeless woman (or at least attempted xD)
*strippers can spot other strippers instantly out of a crowd *if you are on the "sweetie list" every stripper in the vicinity knows who you are and is extra nice to you
So I don't know the name of the homeless woman but me and Jess went to the seven eleven for coffee and talked to the owner for a little bit The owner a Sikh that we'll call Ra is on the sweetie list and gives all the strippers free tampons as he "doesn't believe women should have to pay for them" and also routinely warns us about new sketchy characters in the area. I was talking and laughing with Ra as he was working security that night as Jess got our coffee when she comes out Ra warns us about a homeless woman that's been harassing people (I wont include her description).
I thank Ra, and me and jess head off to begin our nightly shenanigans (metal detecting for valuables on the man made beach, smoking weed, exploring, scarring tourists etc.).
I tell jess that I really need to poop so we head over to the public bathroom and who fucking knew! The homeless woman is in the womans bathroom. She looks at us once screams "YOU AUSTRALIAN DOGS" (bitch hello? your white!) the backs up a few paces and no joke (though i was laughing my ass off) and gets a syringe and injects herself with.
I still really need to poop so I start heading to the mens stalls Jess following and laughing behind me. I try to poop but anyone with a history in biology will know your anal sphicter closes up if youve had a fright! So I tell jess in the next stall that I cant poop so we start walking out. The woman runs up and pulls both our hair (I suppose she was done doing heroine?) and was screaming in gibberish she's short, skinny and no match for us so we just push her off and laugh hysterically.
We leave and bitch about her for the rest of the night. However this isnt the last time that we encounter her. A few days later its a bout ten or eleven so there are still a few people around. I see this woman looking at herself in a store reflection. She is making the facial expression of someone that is screaming but shes making no sounds just staring feign screaming. She sees me walking by and immediately comes over to me asking for money. I accuse her of assaulting me and she spits on me and tells me I was hallucinating. ok whatever I wouldnt beat up a homeless woman I saw her several times after this and even asked Ra about it again who said that he's had to call the cops on her multiple times for assaulting people.
STORY 4 annoying american tourists *the stripper gods are a popular part of stripper culture
Let me start by saying that if you are an American male you are in demand! Australian women love American men and that goes for strippers too. Because you've grown up in a tipping culture and a culture in which stripping is more acceptable you will be very popular with the ladies stripper or not ;) (same goes for american women strippers love y'all)
To preface this story not to brag but in that club I was the best damn dancer there. My pole, flexibility and floor skills are insane I could usually book at least one dance with my stage skills I don't know what happened this night! (THE STRIPPER GODS IN HEAVEN BLESSED ME FOR SOME REASON)
But everyone and I mean everyone that night wanted me. As soon as I got off stage I was approached by at least five guys. For a dance who were fighting over me. "Nina" a lovely russian and an older stripper who was a veteran stripper of 18 years told me to pick the American as it was nearly closing time and I wouldn't be able to dance for all of them. One rule in that club. If Nina tells you to do something you do it not even management stood up to her So I take her advice and escort the American to the lap room.
In Australia at least in my state you are allowed to touch everywhere on the stripper except in the g-string area and no mouth to skin contact (anything else is considered prostitution). So this guy is touching me and everything seems normal I grinding around on his lap trying to see the reflection of the TV in the mirror I go through all my usual moves grind on right leg, left leg floor routine, bend over, spread eagle, keep in time with the music when he randomly says "I wish I could cut off your breasts and take them home with me" without a hint of sarcasm or humour. I brush it off as this is only mild compared to the things you usually hear.
He then starts rattling off about how he hates his girlfriend that I'd make a much better girlfriend and he'd take me back to America with him and I'd never have to work again. I ignore it bored and soon the lap dance ends. So after we come out of the lap room the club is dead. He starts trying to get me to leave with him I cant remember most of the conversation but I remember was pulling some really emotional bullshit.
I remember a few specific things:
I cant even have coffee with you!?!
Do you pull this bull shit on everyone?
I was nice to you I bought a dance
Im going to wait for you outside
I was tired and pretty drunk so I payed literally no attention as I've dealt with this many times and know how to handle it. I told my manager about him waiting outside and she called the police to escort him on.
I do my usual routine, walk around the corner to the Pie face then go to 7/11 for coffee and a chat with Ra. So Im talking to Ra when he asks me if I know that guy outside, sure enough its desparado watching me. I quickly explain to Ra and he call the cops (who give me a ride home!!)
Let me know if you guys want a part two I have many more stories like this some funny some creepy. Any dancers out there share your stories

best bet meaning in urdu video

CNET recommends the best VPN service after reviewing and testing the top VPN providers like ExpressVPN, NordVPN, Surfshark, CyberGhost, IPVanish, Hotspot Shield, Private Internet Access and others. Anyone who doesn’t know Arabic faces many obstacles reading the Qur’an. The last thing they need is an archaic translation. Though cheap and popular, Marmaduke Pickthall’s The Meaning of the Glorious Koran: An Explanatory Translation is very archaic, making it hard for modern readers to grasp. Yusuf Ali’s The Meaning of the Holy Qur’an suffers from archaic speech also, though its Meaning of Best Bet. Best Bet is an idiom. It is one of the most commonly used expressions in English writings. Best Bet stands for (idiomatic) The best proposal or plan.. Explore Urdupoint to find out more popular Idioms and Idiom Meanings, to amplify your writings Urdu meanings, examples and pronunciation of yet. yet meaning in Urdu (Pronunciation -تلفظ سنیۓ ) US: 1) yet. Adverb. Up to the present time. I have yet to see the results. Details are yet to be worked out. Urdu Alphabet. Learning the Urdu alphabet is very important because its structure is used in every day conversation. Without it, you will not be able to say words properly even if you know how to write those words. The better you pronounce a letter in a word, the more understood you will be in speaking the Urdu language. Google's free service instantly translates words, phrases, and web pages between English and over 100 other languages. Urdu poems, shayari, nazm, qaul, qawwalis, naat, ghazals – everything is so beautiful that picking the best one is a herculean task. Meer Taqui Meer, Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib, and Allama You can get more than one meaning for one word in Urdu. You have searched the English word "Bets" which means “شرط لگانا” shart lagana in Urdu. Bets meaning in Urdu has been searched 388 (three hundred and eighty-eight) times till Oct 16, 2020. You can find translation in Urdu and Roman Urdu that is shart lagana for the word Bets. Next of Bestow. Bestowal: the act of conferring an honor or presenting a gift.. Previous of Bestow. Best-Selling: selling in great numbers.. Download Now. Download Wordinn Dictionary for PC. How this page explains Bestow ? It helps you understand the word Bestow with comprehensive detail, no other web page in our knowledge can explain Bestow better than this page. Better Urdu Meaning - Find the correct meaning of Better in Urdu, it is important to understand the word properly when we translate it from English to Urdu. There are always several meanings of each word in Urdu, the correct meaning of Better in Urdu is عمدہ, and in roman we write it Umdah. The other meanings are Iss Say Acha, Umdah and Behtar.

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best bet meaning in urdu

best bet meaning in urdu - win

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What if Tanishq ad Showed a Muslim girl getting married in Hindu family & why Tanishq rolled back the ad so swiftly

What if Tanishq ad Showed a Muslim girl getting married in Hindu family

And why did Tanishq roll back the ad so quickly

What if Tanishq ad Showed a Muslim girl getting married in Hindu family & why Tanishq rolled back the ad so swiftly

What if Tanishq ad Showed a Muslim girl getting married in Hindu family

And why did Tanishq roll back the ad so quickly

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best bet meaning in urdu video

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One of THE BEST NASHEED IN THE WORLD. - YouTube