dual audio The Roads Not Taken Watch Stream
Release Date 2020
I love this - listen to it again and again. very inspirational. 0:55 Look, it's Winston Churchill. The teaser trailer is far more interesting than this one. Awesome.
0:25 more like Threat Level: MIDNIGHT
It should be called Slower and Less Aggressive, The got old chapter. Damn, when did Jim leave the office for the military, also i didn't know ex cobs like roy could join the military. The roads not english… Watch The Roads Not Taken Online Download Subtitle [Watch The Roads Not Online Hollywoodtake. The Roads Not Taken Watch. Continuing He still came around making trouble, but oddly enough, our little cul-de-sac corner was more-or-less Batshit Crazy-free for the next 34 months. After that, things sort of calmed down. Well, one of his older boys thought it would be fun to attack Khris, push her off her bike, and try and steal the Uzbek sapphire amulet I had gotten her years earlier. Khris is not a small girl; she is a corn-fed daughter of the vast cow-pocked hills and rolling pastures of Baja Canada. She didn’t take lightly to some weasely little Arab probably future pole-smokers trying to steal from and assaulting her. It took more than one punch, but Khris coldcocked the elder of the Guano Insano clan and laid him out so an undertaker could have taken easy measurements. Oh, he was still breathing, but I nevertheless think he was shammin’, playin’ possum until Daddy Dearest could come and rescue him from the rage of wrathful Wisconsinians. Liam and I were sitting in the porch area of his villa, smoking cigars, drinking our sunrisers, watching the tableau unfold. We both thought Khris handled the situation well, particularly the outcome. The miscreant was out cold’n a foundered mackerel and Khris didn’t heel-stamp him in the chuckle-bits nor curb-stomp his head even though he had initially, and without provocation, punched Khris in the head. Major stylistic points, Khris. After 6 or 7 of his offspring rant to alert him, Señor Srībaśita Inasēna came over to shovel his insensible frogspawn up off the tarmac. He was ranting and raving, screaming and splitting the air with threats, dark oaths and other forms of bad noise. He headed straight for Khris to administer a smackdown, as Khris resolutely held her ground. I merely stood up and asked Khris if she needed some help. She replied in the negative, stating that this fool wasn’t going to be much more of a challenge than ‘his idiot kid’ I swear, he went, even more, batshit crazy. However, something clicked and Señor Srībaśita Inasēna looked over his shoulder to see not one, but two near-identical way-more-crazy than he extra-large people standing there, both with cigars and icy cold drinks. He suddenly seemed to experience a spate of total recall how one of the large apparitions said he’d begin him on his journey toward room temperature if he so much as sneered in our direction. He scooped up his unconscious spawn, muttered something none of us could make out, and scurried back to his loathsome piece of home real estate. That was more or less the end of our run-ins with Señor Srībaśita Inasēna and his extended tribe. Swing forward to the late summer. The weather calmed a bit and one’s skin didn’t immediately bubble every time one went out to collect the local morning news-rag. Things were going well for the cul-de-sac; jobs were advancing apace, children were doing well in their various studies, people were, oh what was that word? Ah, yes, happy. Happy people do fun things. So, it was decided it was time we have a block party. Of course, Liam came up with the brilliant idea that we should have a pig roast. “Umm, Liam”, I ahemed, “In case you forgot, we live in an Arabic Muslim country in the Middle East. Pigs and pork and porcine parts are sort of verboten around here. “ “Ok, Rock”, Liam laughed, “I know that, you know that, my hat knows that. But we Brits must have our bacon, sausage, and chops. It’s in our DNA. Besides, I can get one flown in through my company; under the wire. I could sneak him over here easily. We’d just have to keep him under wraps until bar-be-que time rolls around. You’re from Texas, so…” “Adopted native son” I corrected. “Right”, Liam continued, “But you were from Baja Canada first, so you must know how to cook a whole pig…” “That right, I do, but…, I said, “…you want to bring a live pig in here, and keep him for a while until we can sort out the cooking necessities. We can’t use the industrial-sized stoves in the rec center at the pool. That’d raise a few eyebrows…” Es and Cassandra wander over, listen for a bit and exclaim “Are you both out of your tiny, little minds? ” I had to admit, as I poured Liam and myself a refill, that the idea did have a certain ‘Up Yours! ’ mouthwatering bacon-scented charm. So, all four of us sat outside and over beer, vodka, and white wine for the ladies, we brewed up a perhaps passable project for our pig party. The thing was, I’d be gone offshore for a couple of weeks and the pig would have to live at someone’s villa, under wraps, for that time; which actually escalated to 3 months. Esme, surprising as always, volunteered to take on the task. Might have been the white wine talking, but she admitted to missing bacon as well. “OK, but we’re going to need a bar-be-cue pit. Where and when? ” Liam asked. “I’ll talk to Shiehk Gungan and secure permission for a Hawaiian-style pit bar-be-cue for someone or other’s fake birthday. If we can get Vonn and Honey Bee on board, their villa’s backyard backs up to a tall brick wall bordering the alley behind the City Centre. I could put in a pit there easily, and it would be out of the purview of prying eyes. ” I said. “Good”, Casandra said, “Let me get the gin and tonic makin’s and get Vonn and Honey over here as well as Dane and Dyad. Gonna have a block party, make sure you invite the entire block. ” Over the term of the afternoon, we had our plans. Liam would secure a pig for us; approximately 200-300 pounds, on the hoof. It’d stay in our backyard under both our sun tarp and Esme Srs. ’ care until Pig Killin’ Time. Liam, Vonn, and I would handle that little chore. I’d get permission to ‘dig’ a pit and install the bar-be-cue pit in Honey and Vonn’s back yard. Liam and I would handle the actual roast, and we’d all chip in for charcoal and wood smokin’ chunks, and whatever else we could find. Dyad said she knew many, many farmers it the area and many had fruit trees, in various stages of repair. Certainly, some of that would smoke up a treat. Persimmon, pomegranate, fig, mango, durian, banana…all the earmarks of a weird pig roast. So we had a date, a plan and the ingredients for a complete fiasco. Since Sr. Guano Insano was no longer part of the picture, and as we had few interlopers, this might actually work without all of us being tossed into the hoosegow. I’d liberate a bit of pit diggin’ materials from work, just a small amount of dynamite, C-4, and Primacord; I already had the blasting machines. Vonn and Liam would lay in the charcoal and wood for the actual pig roast and well, Bob’s your uncle. I went offshore to complete the 12th well on the platform and had to deal with all the logistics, bureaucracy and other sanctioned horseshit that comes with the territory. It took almost exactly 3 weeks, and at that time, Esme’s initial negative reaction to pig-sitting had changed considerably. She had named the critter and found it to be a rather clever, and even sociable, beast. She even allowed it free reign of our house. The name she chose was one from an old, endearing structural professor: Prof Pinkus (Prof. Pink-ass). Ahem. This was an unforeseen complication. “Es, remember, “ I said over the phone, “That pig is not a pet. It’s not your buddy. It’s not going shopping with you. It’s going to be the guest of honor at a block party. Perspective, please. ” “Oh, Rock”, Es gushed, “I know that. It just makes it easier to keep up with Prof. Pinkus if you treat him like a pet rather than livestock. ” “Es! ”, I yell, “He IS livestock. Soon to be deadstock. Soon to be crisply pit barbequed to a crackly crunch. He’s not your friend, he’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner! ” “OK, love you too. ” Es says, ignoring me, “See you soon. Safe flights. Keep the shiny side up. ” I hang up. “Oh, shit. This does not bode well. ” I mused on the flight shoreward. I have to admit, pigs can be personable animals. Canny, inquisitive, seemingly intelligent. But even so, that does not trump them being delicious, appetizing, and delectable generators of bacon. Prof. Pinkus is going to be ham, bacon, and sausage soon. Not a boon companion. The next day I ‘dig’ the pit for the barbeque. I used a shovel for exactly 2 minutes and dynamite, C-4, and primacord for a few more. Vonn was astonished that I not only dug a 6’x6’x4’ wide hole in less than an afternoon, but that I did it while smoking a cigar, drinking an, ok, several icy adult beverages, and never even breaking a sweat in the hellish late summer heat. The Bobcat with the mounted backhoe, which I had ‘borrowed’ from work, helped a little. Liam wandered over after the pyrotechnics were done. He didn’t care for them as the noise ‘offended his ears’. Truth be told, he had seen enough pyro jobs go south in his line of work and wanted nothing to do with them. I assured him I was a licensed Master Blaster as well as the one and only Motherfucking Pro from Dover, but it took some time to get him up to speed on the use of explosives for fun and profit. We let the pit settle, as it was in mostly in desert sand held together with a bit of aeolian clay, or loess. We kept it wet and covered with sheets of canvas. It’d be fine for our pit barbeque in the days hence. Vonn, Liam and I fabricobbled a cover for the pit which was made of thatched palm fronds supported by ½” pine furring-strips frame along the outer surface. Dane found a hunk of tin stove pipe and we fashioned a nicely workable chimney for the cover. Once the fire was going, and the pig in its new home, we could set the cover over the pit, shovel earth over it to seal it off and use the iris-valve in the chimney to regulate airflow. One looks at it now, it would almost appear that we knew what we were doing. Probably nothing was further from the truth. We needed to ‘season’ the pit, but first, we needed to line the pit with rocks. This serves to hold the heat, and will even out its distribution. But, all we have to use is limestone around here and if limestone ever gets wet, there might be water in the fractures of the rocks. Heat that up to over 100 0C and you’ve got yourself a nifty little bomb. Of course, this will not do… So, I get on the phone with several ‘exotic’ marble companies in the big city of Duhu. I call around asking if they might have some scrap sheets of granite, quartzite, granodiorite or marble. Sure, for a price. However, there was this one place where I knew this guy… He took in huge, and I mean 4m x 5m x 5m blocks of exotic rock from the subcontinent; black granite, “Reaping Equinox’ black and white ‘granite’; most all these ‘granites’ were granodiorites, Inferno Granite, Black Sunset granite sliced thin into façade facing dimension stone, it was absolutely gorgeous in cross-section. However, the best stuff was igneous-metamorphic, tougher than a $2 steak, and just laughed at diamond carbide saw blades. “Oh, sure now Mr., Dr. Rock”, Mr. Prakash Dongerkerry, the owner/operator of one particular lot I scavenge for Esme’s continuing lapidary hobby, “I’ve got some beauty stuff here for you. But I need some help with these couple of blocks I received from Kerala. Great rock, very pretty, but too tough. Burn out many saws, boss. You can help maybe? ” “Sure, Prak”, I replied, “I can help, no sweat. ” So, next Friday Liam and me, we eased over to the granite factory, C-4, blasting caps and Primacord in hand. Prak was a little apprehensive about using high explosives in a densely populated area, but after Vonn reminded him that he was working with the Motherfucking Pro from Dover, he relaxed some. I crawled all over those blocks, marking with orange spray paint the nature fractures, flaws, and features of each block. Asked Prak how he’d like them split, and he indicated parallel to the major axis. It couldn’t be easier. There was a main body-fracture system normal to the σ 1 stress direction. The one’s parallel to the σ 2 and σ 3 were minor and nowhere near as clearly developed. I smooshed some C-4 into a test fracture, primed it and shot it without much ado. It was surprisingly quiet for a detonation. A cute little C-4 POP. A large slab of rock fell off the main block, severed as nicely as a hunk of cold butter from a hot knife. Prak was thrilled. I only had another 12 or so shots to go. They all more or less came off as planned. One or two busted when they bounced, even after the addition of old car tires below where I was blasting. Prak, good to his word, showed us a huge pile of 1. 25” thick sawn quartzite slabs that were rejected for mostly cosmetic reasons. It takes a bit of math, a bit of doing, and a lot of C-4 to extract slabs enough to line our fire pit from stem to stern, top to bottom. Once installed, the pit was a tad less wide, a bit less deep, and a smidge less long, but it was the only Precambrian-quartzite lined bar-be-que pit in this or any other known galaxy. We celebrated the initial fire up with whiskey and hors-d'oeuvres. I stuck with vodka, ice, lime, citrus stuff, and a Jamaican cigar. The pit flared from the amount of dry wood we initially used. It burned very quickly into a pile of glowing embers. Now, we added some local lump charcoal and popped on the top, now sporting an exhaust chimney with a rather large, intrinsically-safe, unusually commercial-looking dual-temperature thermometer that somehow just appeared out of the ether. We took it all the way up to 1, 000 C. Although it was designed for ‘low and slow’, we wanted to see how it would perform under alternative conditions. We let it simmer for a few hours, then decided to kill the fire by closing the iris valve. Thus deprived of oxygen, given a few hours, the pit would be cold to the touch. The next day, we opened the pit and shoveled out the dead embers. The pit was well and truly cold. Upon examination, it seems that the quartzite had fused to the sand on the outside of the pit. Also, sand had filtered down into the cracks around the pit, like in the corners, along joints, and been fused there as well. The damn thing would now hold water if we wanted. We had a natural glass-lined fire pit now. We decided to try out some racked & stacked chickens first before we slowly made our way pig-ward. We staked split chickens out on various levels in the pit. We had worked up a series of adjustable metal frames where we could lay the staked-out poultry. The racks popped right in place and after a couple of hours, hey presto bar-be-qued peri-peri chicken. And hot-butter roasted chicken. And for the uninitiated, roast chicken with smoked Hungarian paprika and Indian ghee. A real Iron Chef fusion-style mixture. Liam and I took his Grady White out on the Persian Gulf and managed a couple of dorados, or Mahi, a largish shark, and a couple of kingfish off the deeper shipping banks. Fileted up and tacked in place, we played around with the smoking woods. Mango was just weird. Fig was weirder, almost vinegary; but not terrible. Pomegranate/tangerine tree smoked Mahi, seasoned shark steak, and Kingfish was the hit of the week. So easy, yet so tasty. It went well with Es’ famous Navajo Fry Bread. We were gaining confidence. Pinkus’ days were numbered. We decided that the Eid al Fitr would be the time that we’d been preparing our porky pit pig production. How’s that for cultural sensitivity? Break the Ramadan fast with a pig roast. We’re all about cultural sensitivity. Anyways, we hemmed and hawed over the methods of dispatching our soon-to-be-delicious 325 pounds of Professor Pinkus. One wag suggested we have it OD on tranquilizers, trip him out a la Heath Ledger. Use loads of Nytol ®, Dramamine ™, oxycodone, hydrocodone, diazepam, temazepam, alprazolam, and doxylamine. " It was straight out of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers ©. We all agreed it was funny as hell, but that it probably wouldn’t work. Then we thought we might go all Halal, just slit the pig’s throat with a very sharp knife, and let it bleed out. Rejected as to being too thrashing, too noisy, too Arabic, and just plain uncivilized. I thought I could get hold of a 12 gauge shotgun and some Foster Deer slugs. But again, noisy and messy. Besides, I’d have to borrow a shotgun, and that might raise some eyebrows. We’ve managed to keep Prof. Pinkus under wraps now for almost 3 months. Hate to blow it right before the feasting was to begin. In the end, all it took was an 18-pound maul and a solid whack to the right side of the head. More sensitive viewers might want to skip a dozen or so paragraphs ahead. Just fair warning^™. I was elected to deliver the coup de grâce. After walloping a bound and gagged Prof. Pinkus upside the head and basically caving in the skull, severing the skull-spinal cord connection at the atlas/axis connection, it was instant lights-out, he felt nothing. We had already apologized to Prof. Pinkus, and thanked him for his contribution. Seldom before has lunch ever been so noble. Pinkus freezes and collapse, the legs give way, and the neck goes rigid. We picked up the extraordinarily sharp butcher’s knife sitting there, one hand under the chin and pull the head back. The other hand takes the sharp, stout knife under the neck and slices across the neck back to the bone of the vertebrae. The knife hand loops around to the poll of the head, pushes down and forward while the hand under the chin pulls back and rearwards, so the neck vertebrae connecting tissue cracks. Knife hand back down under the neck, chin hand slides up and a finger hooks into the trachea and slice between the separated vertebrae. With our previous practice and experience, 10 to 15 seconds from hammer strike to the semi-decapitated head. Grisly but necessary. Hanging the beast by its back hocks, well out of sight of any casual interlopers, we bleed the animal out into 5-gallon buckets, saving the precious juice. Vonn and I have visions of homemade blütwurst, blood-n-tongue sausage, and zultze or schwartamaga; lovely, lovely headcheese. But that’s for later. Vonn gathers the blood in gallon-size freezer zip bags. Now to scalding the corpse, scraping off the hair and external epidermal debris. We had a tub of boiling water into which Prof. Pinkus went. It was a boring, tedious, annoying repeated dunk-soak-raise-scrape-return until the carcass was clean and smooth and removed of all nasty gunk on the outside. Now comes the really icky part ™, gutting and scraping out the carcass. Before opening the abdominal cavity, it was required to de-bung the animal. Cut around the anus, go in deep but not too, pull the bunghole out, seal with zip ties, and cut and discard. Now the lower GI tract is sealed from leaking when the rest is removed. We also have to remove the male dangly bits in a similar manner as Prof. Pinkus was a boy hog. Still hanging, we open the hog from sternum to groin, letting gravity aid us in helping Prof. Pinkus literally spill his guts. Right down into a waiting gut-bucket, or galvanized 50-liter steel tub. The chest region is split open further and the lovely and delicious major organs are singly removed by hand. Heart, liver, kidneys, etc., lungs, gall bladder, spleen, pancreas, and a few other organs are discarded. With that, we open the hog to where it will lay flat on the roasting rack. It is then hosed off and generally cleaned up before we give a good going over. After it dries, the whole gutted critter is washed in wine. Evidently, it’s a French thing according to Honey Bee. We wrap the hog in burlap, soak it down in cheap-ass wine and let it sleep 24 hours or so in Liam and Cassandra’s freezer chest. The next day, the fire is started in the fire pit. We have lump charcoal, bucket after bucket of fruit tree chunks soaking in water and probably half a rick of firewood to keep the party going the next 24-36 hours. We retrieve Prof. Pinkus from his cool, not frozen state, say hello and proceed to arrange him staked to the cooking frame in a belly-down, butterflied posture. Internally, he was well seasoned with dry rub after the obligatory internal rubdown with Napoleon brandy. We placed 40 garlic bulbs, kosher sea salt, olive oil, black pepper, and liberal amounts of Old Bay, to taste beneath him. So, it was up to me to get the external goo ready for the pig. Kansas City-Style Sauce? Eastern North Carolina Vinegar Sauce? South Carolina-Style Mustard Sauce? Piedmont or Lexington-Style Dip? South Carolina-Style Mustard Sauce? Texas-Style Mop or Basting Sauce? Alabama White Sauce? Wisconsin Drunken Religious Experience Sauce? “Ah, the hell with it! ”, I venture, “Sauces come much later. Too early; they caramelize, crystallize, and burn. We’ll go for a good rub instead. ” I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a good rub now and again? Anyways, which fucking rub? Kansas City Rib Rub? Mustard Rub? Spare Rib Rub? Memphis-Style Rib Rub? Porker's Rib Seasoning? Best Odds Rib Rub? Carolina Dry Rub? Texas Dry Rub? Jamaican Jerk Dry Rub? Classic Pork Dry Rub? Too much choice! Seasoning overload! I call over everyone involved in this little soiree and instruct them to come up with a rub we can all enjoy. I had to kill and gut the critter, it’s about time I go all Subsurface Manager, and delegate out some parts of this project. So, over beer, G&T’s, vodka and lime soda and various Froggy wines, ‘my’ crew came up with a rub that was simple, tasty and ironically reflects some of the culinary aspects of the region we’re currently defiling. Ingredients: • Smoked Hungarian Red paprika • Brown sugar • Caster sugar • Black pepper • Kosher salt • Cayenne pepper • White pepper • Chili pepper • Dehydrated garlic • Dehydrated onion • Fenugreek • Red Cardamom • Turmeric • Ginger • Garam masala (Cumin, Coriander, Green and Black Cardamom, Cinnamon, Nutmeg, Cloves, Bay leaves, Peppercorns, Fennel, Mace, and dried Chilies. ) They went to the co-op, bought buckets of the individual spices and played the rest of the day at getting to that one perfect combination for our resting porker. I don’t remember the exact breakdown of the proportion of the spices, but whatever it was, it tasted brilliant. Now we had about 8 or 9 pounds of the stuff. We were ready to go. Pinkus was set on the cooking rack, belly open and down. He was doused internally once again liberally with cheap Indian Napoleon brandy and secured to the rack atop all the garlic, celeriac root, boudin, and small new potatoes. He was tied in place with heavy organic hemp twine and had his mouth propped open to facilitate circulation of the pit’s heat and convection. He looked very Pink Floydian. One almost expected him to take flight. The exterior of the porker was treated to a nice rubdown. I swear I saw him smile once or twice when Honey Bee insisted on a sensual massage to make the resultant meat that much more tender. Olive oil infused with lime oil and garlic after a thorough wash with more brandy. Followed by a liberal rubbing of dry rub. Finally, ready to go, we tented the porker loosely with industrial-strength silver aluminum foil. The frame with its cargo was lowered and locked into place for at least 24 hours. Probably closer to 36, as we’re going ‘low and slow’. We take turns, between hands of poker, cribbage, and Schafskopf, as well as numerous G&Ts, Yorshs, and vodka and lime drink cocktails, to check on our prized porker. We kept the temperature right at 205 0 F as best we could. The voluminous smoke coming off the barbeque pit was our one concern. It packed an amazing aroma and filtered around the whole compound, dragging in expectant pikers, leeches, and other forms of human ectoparasites. We told them we were smoking a whole camel, Texas-style, a la filét de hump, and wouldn’t be ready for another couple of days; so piss off. That seemed to get rid of all but the most insistent. We finally got rid of him by using a leaf blower and directing a stream of high-velocity roast-pork laden smoke his direction each time we had to add more fuel to the fire. Time marched on and the time finally came: the deep internal ham’s temperature hit 180 degrees F. Pinkus was ready to make his debut. But first, we needed to get him out of the barbeque pit and over to Vonn’s garage to rest a while. More futzing, more aluminum foil, and more beers later, Prof. Pinkus, in all his delectable roasted glory was cooling out from atop a pair of sawhorses. Of course, he had to rest after his ordeal, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t manage a few samples. He was done to a turn. It was incredible. Crispy-crunchy-crackly over lean, moist and insanely flavorful meat. Not bad for a bunch of bumbling international mugs on their first Middle Eastern pig-roast pit-roast endeavor. Everyone made up their own version of sauce for sandwiches and dipping. We decided that we’d never all agree on one sauce, and 4 or 5 on one porker would be just too damn many. So, please yourself. Just do it, yourself. Behind closed doors, Liam and I were once again elected to reduce Prof. Pinkus to primary parts. We were hopefully disguising the fact that here sits 185 pounds of delectable roast pork in a very Muslim country on one of their highest holy days. So it was a bit unnerving when Sheik Gungan showed up and asked: “What was that wonderful aroma? ” We said smoked beef…lamb…camel…turducken… Tyrannosaur … anything other than what it really was. He asked for a sample. What could we do? We couldn’t well refuse now, could we? We gave him some of the best bits to try. “Lovely, gents, just lovely. Next time, for reference, more garam masala, and a little more rosemary. I find it really brings out the subtle flavors of pork. ” He smiled, wiping his pork-sticky fingers on my HGGTG ™ towel. “You old fraud”, we all smiled at once. “What? ”, he shied, raising his eyebrows, “It’s for scientific evaluation purposes. It’s therefore allowed. Now, do you have any cold beer, gin-n-tonics, or vodka and lime, which I’m hearing is very nice together, that I might also scientifically sample? ” he smiled toothily through his long white beard. We had made another powerful friend. Although it cost us one smoked Boston Butt, actually off the shoulder, that’s butcher’s for you, and a half a liter of homemade Texas-style barbeque sauce and another of Esme’s homemade fennel and caraway-infused coleslaw. Everyone on the cul-de-sac now had a freezer full of pit-roasted pork. The Brits got their sausage once Vonn and Liam figured out how to use the Osterizer ® Stuffing Horn. That was almost as much fun as doing the pit-barbeque. Never leave to Brits what Baja Canadians can better do. We distributed the bacon and hams, and the rest divided whatever was left. Which was a lot of pit-roasted pig pieces and parts. The bones made their way into gaily wrapped gifts and were posted anonymously to Mr. Guano Insano. We hoped he appreciated all our effort. I used Esme’s great-grandmother’s old German recipe for Headcheese. Basically, boiled smoked pork head meat in aspic jelly. With dill pickles. And pickled eggs. With special spices. Well, I don’t give a shit. We like it. Anyways, summer slowly slid south and the temperatures during the day got slightly more tolerable. Liam and I decided to forego his boat for a while, as launching and recollecting required us to put Liam’s boat in the water HERE and recover the boat THERE. It was trucked, via road, from the recovery place to the launch place. Why? Damnifweknow. It only cost something like US$5 to ship the boat back to the launch area and they actually did a good job hosing and steam cleaning the boat before parking it back in its rental dry dock. These were still the early days before gas was king in Qutur, so things were still ridiculously cheap. There were exactly 3 high rise hotels back then, as compared to the insane silhouette presented by Duhu’s current evening sun. I had flown over some likely looking flats that might hold snook, grouper, and tarpon on my last flight back from the rig. I translated that onto whatever road maps we could find here, as most everything was a state secret, ground verification was a must. Liam and I tossed a couple of surf rods, a cooler full of beer and some bait into the back of his new diesel Mitsobitchy Prago ™, and we were off to the north of town, the least developed chunk of Duhu real estate to date. We drove down a rip-rap road that was more just a pile of random rocks trucked into the bay area and dumped into something that resembled a straight line. I was less than confident that we weren’t going swimming today, but Liam relished every bounce, bolt and jolt. He confided in me that one of the big reasons he took the job here in the Middle East was that he’d never in a million years be able to afford a truck like this back in bonny Scotland ™. He confided that he couldn’t have even afforded the fuel for this diesel-slurper back in the UK, it was that dear. So, down the path we rebound. I was watching the water on both sides of the narrow groin, and saw it was getting deeper, but very slowly. I looked at my GPS and saw that we’d driven some 3. 5 km out to sea at this point. “Liam”, I said, “That’s a fuck of a long way to reverse. ” “Ah, Rock”, Liam assured me, “ No worries, Doctor. It’s all a loop. We can just drive our way out of any trouble. ” I remained unconvinced. We came to a breach in the ‘jetty’. There was some heavy marine equipment mounted on barges. They were working a large cut, ostensibly for cargo ships to pass through. There was to be a swing-bridge built after they cleared the channel, but with all these loose rocks, it was putting paid to their scheme. We parked and wandered over to who appeared to be the head guy. “G’Day”, “Liam says, “What’ the big fucking holdup? We’ve got fish to catch, mate. ” Liam had previously spent a few years down in Australia as if it didn’t show. “Oh, hello”, the natty clad black man said, “We’re having a bit of a time with loose rocks here. Supposed to be angular to lock in place, but by the time they get here from the quarry, they’re a sharp as bowling balls. ” I introduced myself and Liam as he was back in the boot snaking a beer. The black feller introduced himself as Zafir Djaballah, a civil engineer late from Algeria. “So”, I said to Zafir, “If I’ve got this straight, you cut a channel and want to line it with rip rap. But the rocks won’t stay put. How deep are you cutting and what’s the size of the channel? ” “Oh, 35’ east-west, 15’ north-south. About 15 meters deep. ” He relates. “And the road metal? Where’s that from? ” I ask. “Arabia”, he tells us, “They quarry it there and transport it here. It’s costly, but that’s about the only option we have. ” Liam looks to Zafir. “Hey, Zafir? ”, Liam asks, “Y’ken who this guy is? ” as he points to me. Zafir shakes his head “I just met Dr. Rock. ” “That’s not all who he is”, Liam smiles widely, “That, my friend, is the Motherfucking Pro from Dover! If he can’t fix your little problem, he can damn sure make it go away…” Zafir looks to me as if to ask: “What the fuck, sir? ” “Well, Zafir, “ I say, “I’m a bit of a dab hand with explosives. This sounds like a really simple problem. Drill a grid of 2 meter centered holes, and prime them with a waterproof explosive. Detonate together electrically and there you go. Channel dug and already filled with angular limestone blocks. Easy-peasy. ” Zafir looks over the water and puzzles and puzzles. “But sir’, he says, “Where would I find such explosives and such expertise? ” “Well…for starters”, I said, “You could ask me. ” He leads us over to a company trailer, where Liam and I drank beers, smoked cigars and told the superintendent of our plans. The Egyptian superintendent, Qaaid al-Zahra, later ‘Randy’ (Quaid? …never mind) scrutinized all our identification. He was actually very impressed when he came across my Blaster’s credentials. “Doctor”, Qaaid said, “I do like your plan. The drilling is no problem, the problem is obtaining the explosives. ” “Look, Qaaid”, I said, “Leave that to me. You’re working for a government company, I’m working for a government company. What difference does it make? How long to drill the grid of holes Liam and I laid out? ” “Oh, probably about a week”, Qaaid said. “OK, how about this? ”, I said, “Liam and I will be back out here unless the weather’s being stupid and we’ll set and prime the charges? After which, we’ll make certain everything’s green and blow this little project for you? ” “If you can, Inshallah. ”, Qaaid said. “Even if we’re out of shallah”, I said back to Randy. That Sunday, after Liam backed us down the 3. 6 km or bouncy un-turn-around-able path he drove us out on, I ordered some Kinepax ™ liquid binaries, as it came in easy-to-use 1-meter threaded lengths in various diameters. Qaaid was drilling 3. 5” diameter holes, so the 3. 00” nominal OD threaded length would be a breeze. I ordered a couple of spools of shock tube, comb connectors, deflectors, and tie-ins, and a 25 kilo box of ‘Elephant Shit’. We make sure each hole was blown clean with a high-pressure water hose. Since the water here was only 8 meters deep, we could get by with regular lightweight skin diving gear. I could leave my wetsuit, diver’s helmet and all that heavy-duty ice-diving gear at home for this trip. Liam and I would pre-form the charges, each exactly 6 meters in length, to match the depth of the drilled holes. Individual 1-meter units just screwed together, pin and box style, it was the utmost in simplicity. Rather like Seismogel ™, but packed a considerably higher wallop. All told, we would be setting off some 36 nodal points, each 6 meters deep with 6 meters of binary which weighed 5. 3 kg/meter. Turn the crank and we’d be planting approximately 1, 145 kilograms or 2, 524 pounds of high-energy binary explosive. Hmph. A new personal record. Like Guinness even cared. So, once we got the high sign from Randy that the shot holes had been drilled and cleaned, the next part of the project was up to us. We were both PADI-certified. Liam had done some oilfield related diving in the North Sea some years ago. I was a veteran of the Ice Wars from the days of Future Passed back in Baja Canada. The waters here were calm, gin-clear, and warm. The dives here weren’t work, this was a paid vacation. I had liberated a trailer for all our pyrotechnics and Liam was elected to use his Prago as the tow vehicle. We bounded our way out to the Liam’s Pass, as we had dubbed it, with a work trailer containing some 2, 750 pounds of high powered, binary explosives bouncing behind. I also had all my explosives paraphernalia there as well: new waterproof galvanometer, which in and of itself, is rather the achievement. Pliers, spare batteries, couple pair of blaster’s tools, the usual. Lia and I had our dive gear in the back of his Prago. A couple of single tanks, backpacks, regulators, hoses, and a few belts full of divers weights. These must have been of Islamic origin as they are specifically prohibited by the Bible. Deuteronomy 25:13, “Thou shalt not have on thy belt divers weights, a great and a small. ” And Proverbs 20:23, “ Divers weights are an abomination unto the LORD; and a false balance is not good. Why there should be proscriptions against SCUBA gear in ancient, desert-dwelling, shepherding Iron Age writings is what keeps Biblical Scholars up at night. Although I agree, a false balance underwater keeps your Swimmer’s Ear from healing up. At the pass, we park and call over for a half-dozen ‘helpers’. They were nominal employees of the company, but more indentured servants. Today, they were going to earn their water wings. We had a couple of large pneumatic rafts that we’d use to transport he charges to their final water resting site but damned if Liam and I are going to swim laps every time we needed to set a new charge. So, indoctrination and Explosives For Dummies. Safety first, second and last. Who here can swim? You guys can stay. OK, the rest of you blokes, bugger off. Here’s the deal, Sparky. There are 36 lengths of Kinestix with primers already set. Those go last, as that’s where I tie in to detonate. The rest of the 1-meter long tubes are identical. Pin on one end, box on the other. Thread them together and use a single ‘O-ring’ between each. Snug them up good and tight, but don’t go too crazy. Those are binary liquids, and I’ll give them a good smack with a hammer before they go into the hole. I really only have to do the last one as once initiated, these liquids can mix in milliseconds, but I’m all for safety and doing things right the first time. OK, so, one raft will carry the 36 initiators, that is, the last bits to go. The other rafts will carry the 5-meter long strings of connected explosives. Liam and I will be down on bottom and you guys just stay up on surface, dog paddling or treading water, but slowly feeding the lengths of tubing down to us. When you reach an end, pop on one of the other lengths, the one with the primer. To be continued.
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Hitler like you've never seen him before, hilarious! You guys clearly haven't seen Kung Fury.
The Roads Not Taken Watch streaming sur internet. Sayri bhout mast thi bhaiya... 😉😉 kya such me humlog ko woh route lena chahiye jisme bhout kam log chala h aur mujhe us route me jane ka man h pr dar rahi hu... 😢 please answer anyone I need 😢😢. The Roads Not Taken Watch streams. The Roads Not Taken Watch streaming. I appreciated all the kind words from the 1st episode I wrote! I also enjoyed writing it out and figuring out the story as I go on. For the sake of the story we'll just carry on right from episode 1 and school will start again. This one is a lot longer so apologies:( Episode 2 Starts- The episode starts with a close-up shot of Otis's Alarm clock which reads 7:29. It then changes to 7:30 and lets off an awakening buzz. Otis then shoots up to sitting up straight on the side of his bed. He then starts to frantically look for his phone in among his bed covers and then under his bed, then Otis remembers he left it under his pillow when he fell asleep. He quickly pulls away the pillow to reveal his phone lying upside down with the camera staring right back at him. He goes to pick it up with excitement only to look at it and be massively disappointed revealing no messages at all. Just a blank lock screen. He sighs deeply, and continues to get ready for school. Unexpectedly we go to Miss Sands and we see her lying in her bed the camera then pans out to reveal that Mr Hendricks is lying sleeping next to her. She wakes him to say eagerly "Time for school. " Hendricks replies "Oh right better get a move on then I'll take my car and go. " Miss sands kindly says back "No don't worry we can just go in together. Nobody is going to say anything to there new step-in headmistress are they now? " He whispers back in the Hendricks way "ooh groovy... " She smirks and begins to get ready. Cuts to a lovely overhead shot of the caravan park. Birds singing, sun shining and hills looking as scenic as ever. Maeve is sleeping in her caravan only to be awoken to a phone call who she thinks to be Otis at first, so she gets excited, but is actually Aimee calling. Maeve answers the call "Hello there stranger. " Aimee replies "Buenas noches. " Maeve giggles knowing that it means good evening, but doesn't say anything out of kindness. Aimee asks "So do you fancy meeting me and Steve at the bus stop to get the bus to school? " Maeve replies confused "Yeah but you do know it'd take me longer to get to school doing that? " Aimee answers "I know that! " Steve mutters in the background of the call "I told you Aimee. " Maeve laughs "Oh go on then, i'll be there in 30. " The call is ended, and Maeve's mood changes when she sees Otis's name in her contacts on her phone. She stares at his name for a few seconds then quickly throws her phone back on her bed and begins to get ready to meet Aimee and Steve for school. As Maeve is leaving her caravan she sees the police at Isaac's Caravan talking to Isaac. She hides behind the caravan next to hers to try and eavesdrop into the police's conversation with Isaac. She manages to pick up the end of the confrontation. "Since this is the caravan park we've had reports of suspicious illegal activity do you mind telling us if you see anything odd? " Isaac replies kind of nervously "Yeah will do. " Maeve has a worried but confused expression on her face. The police leave so Maeve walks out and goes over to Isaac acting as if she didn't hear anything. "Was that the police at your door? Who've you killed then? " Isaac laughs "Yeah they were just checking up on me and my brother. " Maeve replies suspiciously "Oh yeah. Why would they be doing that? " Isaac says "I like that you care so much. But it's nothing serious don't worry. " Maeve not liking how secretive he's being walks away "I'd better get going, off to meet someone for school. see ya later. " Isaac doesn't say anything and just waves nervously. We then go to Eric's house where Adam stayed over night. Eric and Adam are both ready for school after having a great night together. Eric asks Adam "Do you want to cycle to school with me and Otis, you can use my dads bike? " He replies "Nah I'll find my own way, I better let you two idiots catch up first. " Eric grins "Okay sure. See you later then. " Adam leaves Eric's house and starts to walk home to get his things ready for school. Eric sits down at the dining table with his family for breakfast, they all begin to quiz him about Adam, his sisters joking with him. "He looks older than you hehe. " His mother asking him serious questions "How long have you known each other? He is so sweet! " Questions are getting fired at him so he is unable to answer them all at once. Eric just smiles and continues to eat his cereal. Then they stop talking all of a sudden as they hear the father walking down the hallway to come for breakfast. Eric looks nervously over still not knowing if his dad is definitely approving of Adam. Then he says in a serious manner "Can I see you up the stairs Eric. " Eric gulps down his cereal slowly. "uhh yes dad. " They go to the end of the hallway not fully upstairs. His father starts "I want you to know I'm no longer going to interfere with what you want to do or be. You can do all that without my help. " Eric looks into his father's eyes and begins to hug him. He hugs Eric back Smirking. "Okay now get to school! " Eric laughs "Thanks dad. " He then straps his helmet on, leaves on his bike and begins to cycle down the road towards Otis's house. We then begin to hear Jackson's annoying alarm that we've heard before. It cuts to his house. Jackson wakes up grunting and the first thing he does is change his alarm as the one he currently has reminds him of swimming. Once his alarm gets changed to something slightly cheerier he gets up has breakfast and texts Viv "Fancy walking to school in a bit? " Viv texts back "Yeah sure! " Jackson smiles and tells his mum "I won't need a lift today walking to school with Viv " They both approve "Okay yeah no problem. Enjoy. " Once he is ready for school the next shot we see is in the location we last seen them in Season 2 E8. They both greet each other and start to walk to school. Otis's doorbell rings. Jean goes over to answer the door. Eric is standing with his back turned to the door. Jean greets Eric "Oh Eric, how are you? Otis will be ready in a second. He is charging his phone. " Eric Replies "Hi Jean! I'm doing great! Okay no bother I'll wait. " Otis a few seconds later comes running down the stairs saying bye to his mum and hello to Eric. Eric lights up when he sees Otis "OMG! Otis I've got so much to tell you it's insane! " Otis replies smugly "Oh so do I. But you go first. " So they start their cycle to school through the country roads, with the sun beaming down on everything and telling each other what's happened since the day before the school play. Eric starts "So me and Adam are like official now we had sex last night and it was greeeat! " Otis is happy for him "Nice man that's grea... " Eric interrupts "Oh and my dad is happy for me and I couldn't be more over the moon. Anyway tell me about you and Maeve you still clearly in love with her or...? " Otis laughs "Well yeah I may have sent a voice message telling her how I feel about her and how much I like her. Nothing has felt right up until the point I sent that voice message, I just don't know if she has heard it or not. Could be a little awkward at school today. " Eric is ecstatic "No Way! I knew you could do it, she definitely likes you back I know it. If she has heard it she definitely would've phoned you back man! We'll see what happens today at school. Yaasss I'm so excited for you. " Otis smiles with confidence. Eric looks back in support, confident that they will work things out for Otis. Otis slowly veers off the road onto a dirt path and loses control slightly, but manages to gain it back. Eric jokingly says "Keep your eyes on the road. " They both laugh it off. Ola is driving Jakub to his next job, once she drops him off on the way to school Ola sees Lily walking up the road in an enlightened mood, she pulls the van over to the side and says "hop in don't want to be late do you? " Lily smiles and jumps in with Ola without hesitation. They greet each other with a quick hug and they're off. School bound and knowing this is the 2nd last term they get emotional and start to wonder what they're going to do after school finishes. Ola says "Going to work with my dad for a bit and try out University. " Lily replies "If I've not been abducted by a superior alien race and been made their queen then I'll most likely be at university as well. " Ola looks at Lily and just can't help but laugh. They arrive at school a bit early, so they sit in the van and continue to talk about their future together. " They spot Miss Sands and Mr Hendricks getting out a car together and begin to chuckle a bit too loudly. So Miss Sands turns around and begins to walk over to the van and blurts out "Is there something funny girls?! " Ola and Lily quickly look at each other and back to Miss Sands and begin to shake their heads. (Mr Hendricks smiles and waves in the background. ) Miss Sands continues to walk away in a professional manner with Mr Hendricks into the school building. We cut to Aimee, Steve and Maeve sitting together on the bus having a conversation about the new guy that Maeve knows, Isaac. Aimee starts off by saying "I hope you haven't started to like him Maeve. You and Otis are meant for each other it's so clear to see. Otis is too nice to give away like that. " Maeve replies "Yeah I know... But I've been very disappointed in him lately, with the party and that. " Aimee reassures "Ugh Maeve he was drunk. You should have a chat with him today at school! " Maeve shrugs looking nervous "But what if he doesn't like me anymore. He hasn't texted or called me at all since the party. " Aimee looking frustrated "You two like each other too much. Trust me it's almost like I can sense it. Right Steve? " Steve responds from staring into space "Y... Yeah Sure Aimee. " Maeve quickly changes the subject "Whens our stop this one or the next? " Aimee gets up and pushes the stop button "This one. " They all get off the bus and realize it was the next one. The trio look at each other and just burst into laughter. They begin to walk up to the school walkway, but see Eric and Otis putting their bikes onto the bike rack so Maeve panics and stops. Fixes her hair, while Aimee and Steve walk ahead into school. Eric notices Maeve, waves and she waves back. Otis turns around to see Maeve standing in the middle of the school grounds by herself looking at him smiling He smiles back. Eric looking excited prances off leaving them both. while saying to Otis "Make it happen. " It cuts to Jackson and Viv walking into the school campus with all of Jackson's friends teasing him about hanging around with Viv "Alright Romeo, didn't know you and Einstein were best mates now. " Jackson laughs and knows they're teasing, but Viv doesn't look impressed one bit. Jackson says to Viv "Aww come on they're only kidding. Don't take it personally. " Viv just grins and leaves Jackson with everyone else. "See you later yeah? " Jackson replies "Yeah will do Viv. " We're in the Groff household. Adam had taken Madame a walk and he walks in the house ready for school and sees his father Mr Groff lounging on the sofa eating a bar of chocolate reading a newspaper and says "I'm off to school dad. " His dad looks at him and says "Oh good. Try not to get expelled... " He goes back to reading his paper. Adam's mother Maureen is sitting outside waiting to give Adam a lift to school. Adam gets into the car and she asks him, "So do you think your father is improving? " He replies, "No mum. I don't" She looks disappointed "I hope he finds somewhere else to stay soon. This is only temporary so don't get used to it okay. " Adam smiles and nods. He arrives at school gets out the car, and he spots Rahim walking up with a new guy. He observes them before walking into school campus. He also looks over at Maeve and Otis looking at each other from a distance. He shouts Rahim over. Rahim turns around to see it's Adam and continues to walk away from him. Adam they apologizes "Listen. Rahim, I'm sorry for what I've done. " Rahim turns around upset. "It isn't you who should be saying this. You done nothing wrong. " Then he storms off in a saddened manner. Adam looks sympathetic for him and lets him walk away. In the background the Maeve Otis confrontation is still happening. Maeve begins to slowly approach Otis. Otis advances towards her, still trying to figure out if she has heard his message or not by looking at her body language and says "Hi. " She says "Hi. " back to him. Both very timid. "Enjoy the school play? " She asks "Well it was weird and didn't have a conclusion. So No? " He replies confusingly. Maeve chuckles "So I didn't miss much then? " Otis begins to inform her "Well actually you missed a lot more than you would think. Mr Groff had a break down, Eric and Adam had a moment. And of course Jackson is actually not that bad at acting. " Maeve smiles. Otis nervously looks at her "I was wondering did you... (Maeve's face lights up) Did you get. " Only to be interrupted by the school bell. Otis stops awkwardly and waits for the bell ring to finish. He coughs and blushes. Otis panics "Did you get my text? " Maeve looks confused. "No... I didn't, but if it's about the party Otis I'm over it I know you were drunk. I should've stopped you from drinking too much it's partly my fault. We best get heading to assembly huh? " Otis annoyed with himself as he didn't mention the voicemail he sent, begins to walk into assembly with Maeve. There are 2 seats free where Eric and Otis always sit. Adam and Eric are sitting next to each other elsewhere. Eric winks at Otis, Otis rolls his eyes back at him indicating that he failed to say anything he wanted. Eric looks over in disappointment. Maeve and Otis sit down in the empty seats next to each other. The assembly begins introducing the new temporary head teacher Miss Sands. Also the new exchange student from Netherlands named Joris who Rahim has already met. The camera goes to Maeve and Otis and her leg edges closer to Otis's and Otis slowly moves his leg closer to Maeve's until they're finally touching ever so slightly. She notices at the corner of her eye and gives a sly smile while trying her hardest not to look at Otis. But gives in. Otis looks back and smiles. From this point they know they still have feelings for one another and not all hope is lost for Otis. Assembly finishes and everyone goes to class. Otis asks to see Maeve after school at the main entrance. She agrees. We go through and check in on Miss Sands is doing as the new head teacher and she is enjoying it decorating her new office with her own style. The old history classroom which was Jean's little office is now once again deserted apart from one loose sheet of paper which reads "Adam Groff" It is then picked up by a mysterious hand which is then revealed to be the new guy Joris. Jackson is back to roaming the school corridors, he bumps in to Otis "Ayy O-town. How you doing man? No luck with Maeve yet? " Otis just smiles sarcastically as Jackson walks away. Mr Hendricks is back teaching swing band and Eric is still not the perfect french horn player just yet. The bell rings "Nice work today team. Especially you E-man. ERIC! I mean Eric. Please don't get mad. " Hendricks says scared. Eric just laughs "Bye Mr Hendricks. " It is the end of the school day Otis hasn't seen Maeve all day apart from morning and he goes outside to the main entrance after the rest of the kids have left. He's also told Eric "Just go on without me I've got to sort things out with Maeve still. " Eric replies shocked "What the hell were you doing earlier? " "umm... err... " Otis replies. "This is the last chance Otis you're cycling with me next time if you fuck it up again. " Indicating he can't mess it up with Maeve again. "There's only so many chances. " Eric cycles off. She arrives late outside the school. "Hey Maeve. You look great today by the way, I... Forgot to say earlier. " She replies "You look not bad yourself you know. " Otis begins the serious chat "I'm surprised you're still not mad at me" Maeve informs him "Well I was a lot mad before the party put it that way. " Otis builds up enough courage to ask her "Maeve I was wondering. Did you get... my voicemail a few days ago? I'm assuming you didn't because you haven't reacted on it. " She replies instantly talking fast "What? No, what voicemail? " Otis replies "Have you checked your phone? " She is violently swiping through her phone and fails to see it until she reaches "Deleted voicemails" and it says "1 message from Otis" She asks "Is that it. " He says "yes that's probably it. Unless I pocket dialed you. Why'd you delete it? " Maeve looks very confused "I must've done it in my sleep or something? " Failing to know it was Isaac doing. Otis smirks nervously and tells her "Well Wait! Don't open it now. Wait until you get home. No cheating! " Maeve can't read what is happening "Otis?! " He replies "Just trust me okay. " Maeve agrees with him and they both go their separate ways back to their own homes. It cuts to Otis cycling down the road happy and jolly but also nervous not knowing what Maeve's reaction will be. He arrives home and we then go to Maeve walking home. Halfway down the road she is about to press "listen" but remembered he said "no cheating. " So she hesitates but puts the phone back in her bag. She gets back to her caravan. Maeve is lying in her bed with the voicemail in hand ready to be listened to. She takes a huge breath in to prepare herself. It starts playing. " Hey, Maeve. I know you can't answer this right now because I'm watching you on live TV. But I wanted you to know how proud of you I am. And how unbelievably stupid I've been. (Maeve's eyes begin to fill up with tears and her lips begin to shiver) You telling me you had feelings for me was... Was all I wanted to hear. And... I was so caught up in trying to do the right thing, I lost track of what that actually is. It's you. (A single tear is streaming down her cheek and she couldn't have a wider smile on her face. ) It's always been you. I love you, Maeve. Call me back. I hope it's not too late. She chuckles out loud and can't help but flood her face with tears of happiness. Maeve maintains herself for a moment but fails. She does not hesitate to phone Otis back. Otis Answers his phone nervously. "Hello? " There is a long tense pause. All Maeve sobs is "Of course it's not too late you dickhead. " It cuts to Otis smiling. CREDITS ROLL Episode 2 Ends. Man I'm sorry for the length of that... Edit: "trombone" was changed to "french horn".
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This movie should be about Gretchen Carlson, not Megan Kelly.
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- The Roads Not Taken
- The Roads Not Taken
Author: Larry Gleeson
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