Well, let’s break it down.

First, he’s been through the whole diagnostic process multiple times, with multiple doctors. This includes psychiatry and psychology, as well as neurology. No diagnoses of anything that would excuse petty thievery as something outside of his control.

Second, the first time I beat his ass was after roughly thirty years of bullshit. A little longer tbh, but still. We aren’t talking a recent change here. We’re talking a pretty damn full lifetime of fuckery. Support was shown through all of that. The dude would pilfer some shit in an obvious way, and I’d just take it back, tell him to cut his shit, and try and figure out what the living fuck had him doing it. Every time, over decades.

Seriously, support has a limit. Even if it was something like schizophrenia (and I don’t know how that many damn doctors would miss something like that), it reaches a point of absurdity.

And, once someone tells you they’re going to beat your ass if you come to their house again, and you go back, that’s on you. The first one, if you choose to ignore the decades of fuckery, you can blame on me if you like. I could have just removed him from my home using less intense force, but it’s still force, and he was going to gtfo one way or another. But that second one, nope, dude needed his ass beat.

Then, no injuries beyond bruising. I trained in martial arts for pretty much all of the nineties and into the naughties. No broken bones, no internal injuries, no joints damaged. Minimum amount of force to get the job done and make sure he knew I wasn’t joking or fucking around. I didn’t explicitly say that in the original comment, but the dude was saying he’d walk back to his car. And his mom picked him up, and he drove her car. Obviously, a very limited use of force if you’re whacking someone’s ass with a stick and they can still drive.

I mean, ffs, I can’t even count the number of times I tried to talk to the dude and figure put wtf was in his head. Nothing but outright denial, the same as when he’s standing there with a fucking hamburger in his pocket saying he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

Disowned may not be the right word.

But Fucking Ryan is kind of the one member of the family that everyone dreads to some degree or another.

Notice I called him Fucking Ryan. This is what he is called by everyone that curses. Which, since the last person that didn’t call him that died years ago, that’s essentially nobody.

And both of his parents are alive. They don’t call him that all the time, but they slip up sometimes.

So, we’re not talking about him being totally cut off from everyone. He lives with his parents, and some of the family as a whole will put up with him. However, he is fully, strictly banned from my home on pain of having his ass beat again. That’s again because when I told him that if he ever darkened my door again, I would beat his ass down the road, he didn’t believe it and got his ass beat down the road.

So, going backwards from there.

He shows up after being warned never to come back or I would beat his ass down the road. He pulls into the driveway, gets out, and is coming up the steps when I make it out the door and start beating his ass. Now, I’m not speaking figuratively. I took my damn cane and was beating his actual ass with it, down the steps, down the walkway, and then down the road. Once he was down there and fell into the ditch, I told him to gtfo. He said he’d go back to his car in a minute, and I said “the fuck you will. Step in my yard and see if I don’t beat your ass right back here.”

He believed me. Asked me to call his mom to come get him. She drove his car, he drove hers. When I called her, she said something to the effect of “jesus, he didn’t show up did he? How bad is he?” Not shocked I beat his ass, not upset I beat his ass, just disappointed she was going to have to pick him up, and wondering if he would need a doctor.

So, backtrack to why he was banned from my house. The straw that broke the camel’s ass was him standing in my living room, doing a southern goodbye that was one sided. He picks up DVD I had sitting on the entertainment center and slides it into his pants. Right in front of me. I told him to put it back and gtfo. He asked what I was talking about. I pointed and said that fucking dvd you just put in your pants. He said he did no such thing.

I grabbed him by the arm and pulled the DVD that was still visibly poking out of his pants out and told him I was done with his bullshit, to leave and never come back.

He starts trying to talk his way out of it and picks the DVD up again. I tell him to put it down, or I was going to beat his ass.

He says “what DVD”.

So I beat his ass. Popped him in the nose and then literally kicked his ass out the front door and down the steps. I told him if he ever came back, I would beat his ass down the road. I meant it more figurative, in that I would just whup him again until he left, but once he came back, I kinda wanted to make a point.

So, why did that merit assault and battery?

Wellllll, pull back to a long history of shit disappearing into his pants, pockets, or coat. Never anything huge or super valuable. Like, a fork. Or a post-it note pad. That kind of shit.

One time, we’re having dinner. Hamburgers. My wife had never seen him go full fucktard before, she thought I was exaggerating.

He gets up, says he needs to use the bathroom. He picks up his burger and takes it with him.

He comes back out, and there’s fucking ketchup and mustard on his left pocket. He starts making another burger. Now, I know Fucking Ryan. I know damn good and well he didn’t eat the burger in the bathroom. He put it in his pocket. But I tell him, “dude, if you wanted a burger to take home, you didn’t have to pocket it.” Dude straight faced asks me what I’m talking about. I point at the juicy bulge in his jeans, and I’m not talking about his cock. I’m talking about the hamburger that’s now dripping juice through the denim.

He then spends fifteen minutes playing dumb until I tell him to go the fuck home.

That’s Fucking Ryan in a nutshell.

Like, years and years of that kind of thing.

Back in the late nineties, I go over to his place. Well, his parent’s place. His bed is gone. There’s just a mattress on the floor. I ask him what happened. He just says he ordered a new one. Knowing Fucking Ryan, on my way out after we fuck around gaming for a while, I ask his parents what the deal is. His dad starts saying they took the damn thing before Ryan’s mom shushes him and says the posts were in the way and refusing to elaborate.

Just one of those Fucking Ryan things, right?

Well, a few weeks later, I’m at the hospital pulling a shift as a fill-in down in the er. Talking to some of the folks there, swapping war stories, I hear that some guy came in with anal injuries from having gotten stuck on the post of a bed.

Again, I know Fucking Ryan, so I know damn good and well it was him. Years later, his dad tells me the story of Fucking Ryan yelling for help and him having to figure out how to pull his adult kid off of a bedpost

So, you may be thinking that Fucking Ryan at that time must have been some teenage idiot. No. He’s only a year younger than me, and I was creeping up on thirty. The hamburger thing? We were in our forties.

You may also be thinking, “Gee, this sounds like someone with some kind of serious neurological issue, maybe something like autism combined with other things.” Nope. His parents spent a good bit of his teenage years and early twenties schlepping him for various tests and exams because he’s always been a fucking twat. His IQ is well above normal, no autism, no obscure disorders, no brain abnormalities.

Nor is there any hint of abuse from his parents or anything like that.

Dude pulls down mid to high six figures, does freelance computer shit, like security, cryptography, that kind of thing, not just tech support.

He’s just Fucking Ryan.

Oh! Back in the eighties! So, his mom is my grandmother’s niece. My grandparents did really well for themselves overall. Had a decent sized house, a few acres of land, that kind of thing. One section, where my grandfather built us kids a treehouse, is basically a half acre of trees we called “the jungle”. So, this was when I was maybe 14 or 15, during the summer.

All us kids were out running around and playing and such one Sunday. Ryan has disappeared. I go looking for him because I was the oldest kid, so it was in my head that I had to take care of everyone. I head towards the back of the jungle and there’s Fucking Ryan fucking a tree. Not humping, not grinding. He’s got his pants around his ankles, and his dick shoved into a hole in the tree, fucking it.

He later on, maybe a year or two after that, dug a hole in the ground and fucked that. How do I know? Because I’m the one he asked to put bandaids on his dick. I told him if he didn’t tell me how it happened, I was telling his mom because I was worried someone had done it to him. I didn’t believe him, because even though I had seen him fucking a tree, I didn’t think anyone would fuck a hole in the ground.

Nope. He took me to the hole and there was jizz in it.

So, allll of that is what justified beating his ass twice.

Oh! And I fucking forgot!

After beating his ass the second time, dude calls me maybe six months later, asks if maybe we can go shooting over at our uncle’s farm. I’m kinda dubious, but a bunch of us had been talking about a family get together and shooting session. So I call around see if he’s welcome. Strangely, nobody objects.

So, we’re all out there and he comes walking around the old barn. No gun, no ammo. Of course he wants to borrow something, and be provided ammo. But, hey, it’s whatever, wouldn’t be the first time his dad wouldn’t let him borrow one of his guns for a family shoot.

I loan him my 22 rifle (ruger 10-22 for anyone that cares), load him up a few magazines, and fun is going to be had.

And it was, for a while. He’s actually got a great sense of humor usually, and he’s a good listener. However, he’s also Fucking Ryan.

He pops off a few rounds at a target, misses, then swings around to crack a joke, while the rifle ends up pointing at multiple people, including me. And, as luck would have it, guess when his finger hit the trigger. If you guessed it was right as it was pointing at my leg, you win the prize.

Luckily, it just barely creased my leg. No damage to muscle at all. Hurt like a motherfucker, and I thought for a few minutes I was going to put a bullet in him, but my family includes a few smart folks, and they secured all the firearms well away from the angry, cursing dude with a bleeding leg and a ruined pair of pants. They were also smart enough to bustle him away and into his car and send him the fuck home, because shot leg or not I would have beat the fuck out of him if I’d seen him again.

So, yeah, Fucking Ryan.

Hello friends! happy t-rex arm wiggle

Fwiw, and I don’t know if it was intentional or not, it’s embarrassed and wielder, not imbarrest or wilder.

Well, I can say this much: never discuss your philosophy on life and death with your doctor, because you’ll need to find another doctor after they flip their shit and assume you’re going to off yourself.

Hmmm, if you’re asking if the external flow of what we perceive as time would shift according to an observer’s state of mind, that’s doubtful.

But our perception of time isn’t the same thing as the flow of time. Our temporal sense is definitely subjective, and there’s been some research into that (though damned if I can recall the details without looking it up, and I’m getting a bit brain fried tired, so not up to doing so).

Anticipation, be it fearful or happy, definitely shifts how we perceive time.

No idea about anyone else, but I tend to only chime in if the question spurs some kind of thought, or I have a story that matches, or some other kind of quasi useful input.

So it can be weeks before I jump in, or multiples in the same day.

I’m not sure if it would be better or worse, but even in places where organized crime is stable and relatively low key, there’s not much in the way of cooperation.

Like, in the city I used to work in, the drug trade was pretty much owned by one group, gambling by another, moonshine by a third, and if you wanted guns, you tended to deal with the drug guys, but that was because they had outside deals with one or another of the cartels (I have no clue which) where they could get more than just the same stuff you could buy on your own legally (but would probably buy a stolen one if you were looking for something for a reason). This meant that they ran the trade de facto, despite it not being something they cared about if someone else sold guns here and there.

Now, the cartels did have people that were killers. But not hired guns, so to speak.

But those groups didn’t really communicate. There weren’t regular meetings to divvy up the city’s vices or anything. They just didn’t fuck with each other because they weren’t set up to handle other trades.

There were some Russians that tried to move in at one point, running heroin, but they went away. Went away being a euphemism for eating a bunch of lead salad, which is bad for one’s longevity. Supposedly, and I was not involved in the shit at all, it was handled in house, nobody asked the cartel for any help. The cartel wouldn’t have been willing to send their men up, fight some group anyway. They’d just wait and make deals in other ways. Not worth it in terms of risk/reward. They’d sell guns to the gang, but not manpower.

Again, supposedly, there was an Armenian gang that ran gambling at one point, and they got busted which opened up room for the mixed group to pick up the pieces. But that was before I paid any attention to any of it. Only reason I paid enough attention to pick that kind of stuff up was bouncing and doing security. The guys running shine liked to swing dick around bars sometimes, trying to play a protection bullshit, and the titty bars I bounced sometimes were fairly popular with them in that regard and because they could get free attention.

Also have a friend that made high interest personal loans for a few years, and he had to pay a cut to the guys running the gambling. I mean, didn’t have to, it was just easier and safer. One of his uncles was a moonshiner, so he knew some of those guys as well.

From what I gathered, that’s the way most cities operate. There may have been a time when there was more broad organization, but afaik, that was dying out in the eighties.

However, pretty much any city of any decent size has some kind of organized crime. It’s just a matter of how big the group is, and how much they control. Some places, you’ll have one of the national level gangs running things, others it might be all small groups running territories within a city. Shit, it isn’t just cities. The drug trade is like that out here in the boonies. Only difference is that you run into specific types of drugs being handled by a group. Locally, there’s a bike “club” that more or less runs the meth and pills, but weed is a free for all, and coke is really only for making crack, which is spread all over.

Anyway, that’s going way off topic. The point is that there’s rarely any kind of cooperation at all, much less enough to have some kind of justice system in place.

Eh, the kind of thing you’re asking about is essentially fiction. Not that murder for hire isn’t a thing, it’s just that it doesn’t work like anything you’ve read or seen in movies. It’s one of those things where if you aren’t part of a criminal enterprise, you aren’t going to be able to hire someone, and you’ll be hiring them from someone else in the same network.

So, in any semi realistic situation, there won’t be any arbitration or argument. You fail, you fuck up, you die. Or, I guess, turn state’s evidence, which is where what little about actual “contract” killing that’s known comes from. It isn’t like an actual contract.

Now, in fiction? Tons of options. Likely, you’d have whatever head of the crime network making the decision, maybe with other heads, maybe solo.

But, again, the term contract killing isn’t exactly about a contract. There’s not a formal arrangement involved. It’s contract in the meaning of hired.

It’s easy when you use the same password for encoding everything.

I rarely worked the window, and it was only when someone was on break, or we were under staffed and the other people on shift weren’t exactly capable of running a register.

But we had a few regulars.

My personal favorite was “farmer man”. Homie would ride through with his animals. Usually it was one of those pot belly pigs, named Harvey. But he had a goat named Bill, a rooster named Charlie, and sometimes a nanny goat called Maria.

Why those names? No idea, it was drive through, so no time for long chats. But he’d order for them by using their names, as in, “I’ll have a whopper, and Harvey here’ll have a cheeseburger.”

The awesome visits from him were when the cab of his truck was essentially full of critters. One day, the rooster was with him, along with a bunch of hens just chilling on the passenger side.

Really good customer, he would roll through a few times a week, always polite and had his shit ready. He was literally a farmer, there’s plenty of them out here in the sticks. One of the normal window staff asked him if she could bring her kids to see a farm, and he was happy as hell to say yes. His critters were essentially pets, though the chickens were an egg source. Dude was a one man petting zoo lol.

Then there was “coffee”. He’d roll up, and order “coffee”. That’s it, nothing else. And I mean that’s all me would say. You’d ask what size, and he’d just repeat “coffee”. At first, people just got mad, assuming he was fucking with them. But he kept coming back. Eventually the manager just said “fuck it, tell him he’s getting a large”. He got told that, and to drive forward. He’d take the large coffee, hand over his money, and that was it. But he never said anything. If you told him to have a nice day, he’d nod and smile a little.

There was also “naked lady”. As the name might indicate, she would come through naked. There would be a visible pile of clothes in the passenger seat of her car, sometimes just a robe, but usually what looked like jeans and a t-shirt. Her order varied. But she’d been coming there for years by the time I ran into her at the window.

It was usually only night time, fairly late, but every now and then she’d come through during breakfast rush. Story was that she had called in one day to ask if it was okay to come through the drive through naked, and the manager at the time thirty it was a joke and said she didn’t care as long as the money didn’t get pulled out of her twat, before hanging up. No idea if it was true or not. If you worked the window at her usual times and were new, you’d get warned amd asked if you were okay serving her. We were also warned not to be creeps about it.

She was probably in her early forties, attractive, and friendly. Knew the window workers by name and would chat while waiting, when it was night. Didn’t really flash anyone, didn’t try and get any extra attention, but didn’t make effort to hide anything either.

One guy asked for a better look one night, and she said that he could look all he wanted, but she wasn’t putting on a show. Manager gave him hell over it, though the lady didn’t complain about it.

There was one lady that was usually on nights that wouldn’t deal with her, and that’s how I first encountered naked lady. Got called up from the kitchen and asked if I was okay taking care of a naked customer. I was in training to be a nurse’s assistant at the time, so I didn’t have an issue with nudity. It had already become just kinda unimportant to me. So I just shrugged and said sure. The manager warned me to be chill and that was that.

Nice lady.

What was weird was seeing her elsewhere in clothes. She was just as friendly if you ran into her at the grocery store or whatever. But it was always a little jarring, like she should be naked everywhere lol.

Beyond that, it was just the usual drunks, potheads, and occasional crack or meth head that were weird enough to stand out.

Die? It’s not going to die any time soon, on a corporate level.

It’s already dead in the ways that made it worth using.

Ehhh, it’s not entirely off, more of a mischaracterization.

Most of poop is water, even when someone is constipated.

The non water part is a mix of food waste, dead bacteria, live bacteria, and undigestible matter (like microplastics).

The exact percentages of all that varies. Water, for example, ranges from about 60-75% in healthy feces. But with extreme constipation or diarrhea, it can go higher or lower.

The remaining matter is going to be roughly 25% bacterial, viral, or fungal. Of which, roughly half is going to be alive still.

The rest is stuff that we swallowed, and either can’t be digested, or wasn’t completely digested. Carbohydrates tend to be the lowest presence, as they digest the easiest. Then proteins, then fats. Fats are the hardest to digest of the three, and tend to be the majority of partially digested substances.

Fiber makes up the majority of the indigestible matter, with various man-made substances making up the rest of that category.

No two poops are the exact same though. Our gut is a living, active biome. Our digestive enzymes and acids break down food into component parts very effectively, but microbes, bacteria in particular, help along the way, breaking things down more, and that makes the components we need better able to be taken up by the intestines.

Research into the gut biome and how it can affect the rest of the body is in its infancy, even compared to research on the brain, which is a big mystery despite much longer efforts to understand it. Gut flora really wasn’t considered as a factor in overall health until widely until the last twenty years or so. But, it turns out to have influence on everything about our bodies. So, poop science is strangely cutting edge work right now.

Sorry mate, there is no current way to eat without eventually needing to poop and remain healthy.

Best case scenario, you can figure out an IV nutrition regimen and end up not pooping poop, while your intestines are damaged through non use. You’ll likely suffer immensely if you ever decide to eat again.

Even then, things will still come out of you. Patients with extreme starvation, regardless of cause, still produce some intestinal mucosa. That stuff can and will eventually come out in small amounts.

See, the gut atrophies when it isn’t being used. It takes a while to reach that point, but it’s inevitable, no matter how well you keep up with IV feeding

In terms of smoothies, there’s ways to feed people through a tube when they can no longer eat. The products that are used for that minimize waste, but there’s still poop of some kind. So any smoothie you make yourself is also going to contain enough content that’s indigestible that you’ll poop eventually unless you take care to balance the soluble and insoluble fiber in the smoothie, you’ll end up with smoothie poop. In other words, it comes out in a very similar state of fluidity as it went in. It takes some effort to build a smoothie recipe that doesn’t have skewed proportions of fiber.

And if you want to have a healthy body, you can’t just let the intestines atrophy at all. The inflammation and other secondary issues that come with gut atrophy can’t be called healthy by any stretching of the term. So even IV feeding isn’t healthy, no matter how well done it is.

I’m trying to remember exactly how far into IV feeding you run into atrophy issues though. There was a fairly famous case of a man that was on an IV feeding plan to lose weight, but with the recent discovery of wegovy and related drugs for weight loss, there’s too damn many hits to sort through to find any of that info. But his case did include intake of low/no calorie intake orally to prevent that atrophy, I just can’t remember the details of what did happen to his gut health. I know he had at least a few months where he had trouble after resuming eating, but I’m damned if I can remember any details.

I’m fairly certain you could minimize pooping with oral nutrition that lacks any products that would form waste in the digestive tract though. It wouldn’t be a smoothie, since that’s pureed food; and it wouldn’t be healthy long term for all of the above reasons regarding the gut. But you might be able to work with specialists and figure out how to keep things from becoming so detrimental as to be inherently harmful. You’d definitely need a team though, I don’t think any single specialty in medicine would cover all of the knowledge necessary to make it work long term.

Im just kinda hoping it’ll be partially effective, even that tiny fraction.

I dress fairly distinctly anyway, so I’m not worried about standing out more, just sick of the idea of my face being recorded every fucking where.

I’m looking into some of the anti camera clothing tbh. But it isn’t fully effective, and it’s expensive as hell for something that shouldn’t be necessary in the firat place

Yeah, this one is too nebulous to answer one way or another. There’s too many possibilities involved to get to a point of certainty.

It is definitely possible for sure. But so is a simple desire for human contact, friendship, or just being bored while waking. Could be looking for friends for his dog.

It’s even possible that the guy read your smile as nervousness and is trying to alleviate that so neither of you has to change when/where you walk the dogs. Could be similar, but wanting to help your dog not feel nervous around him and his dog.

Me too. It sucks.

Wouldn’t exactly want to be taking in a lot of caffeine and sugar, if that’s ibs-d for sure. Ibs-c, it can actually help.

Assuming no underlying health conditions, damn near anything you can buy that’s labelled for human ingestion is fine occasionally. Even stuff like caffeine that’s somewhat addictive, if you actually make it an occasional thing, it isn’t a big deal. Hell, if you have the sense to keep it to very rare occasions, tobacco isn’t anything to worry about, even when smoked. It isn’t good for you, but if it’s a thing where you only have a cigar on your birthday, it’s not doing anything your body can’t handle.

A monthly dose of energy drink? Well, it means your tastebuds are shot already, but that’s different issue lol. It won’t mess up your heart, digestion, or anything else as long as you don’t have an issue that would indicate otherwise.

That’s irrelevant.

None of the other options do what Google voice does. There’s no direct equivalent. Not that I’ve ever run across, and I’ve looked.

Jmp is the closest, and it still doesn’t have feature parity all the way.