Clay road courthouse vehicle registration

💡 💡 So it goes like this, I had this idea that will basically fix the vehicles until they can be dialed in fully for real for real. So basically, The issue isn't necessarily the lagging. If you play Dayz, you have come to terms with suprise lag. It's that horrible death screen that comes after such said "lag" that crushes the soul. Am I right tho? So what if! (Drum roll🥁) The Devs added seatbelts??? Was thinking maybe make it inconvenient for players to use by having to press and hold like 5 buttons at once to wear one, and of course, doing so saves you from dieing in an accident most likely caused by the Drivers Frozen screen. Maybe would just take damage to your health if not buckled up. Would make things much more uncomfortable, especially for the actual driver, having to hold seatbelt on and drive and navigate.....but isn't that how seatbelts are irl??
And just like that ladies and gentlemen in the audience, vehicles are no longer a guaranteed death sentence when above 2nd gear or going off road. Lol. I dunno, what do yall think?🤔 Does it even sound realistic?
I've got other outside the box ideas. I'll keep you posted. 😄 see yall out there.

Transmission
by Brian Martinez
Let me start my story by telling you something about me, the most important thing, in fact: I find things, and I fix them. That’s who I am. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.
I’m a second-generation auto mechanic, born-and-bred. I’ve been repairing cars since before Ford Pintos were blowing up, when cars were made of steel and Route 66 wasn’t just something for the cartoons. These days I’m fortunate enough to own a shop downtown between two of those chain coffee places. It’s small, sure, but it has a reputation for saving cars so far-gone no one else will even touch ‘em. So if you live in the area, and you’ve ever been stuck with the sourest of lemons, or maybe your kid drove your minivan into the pool, we just might have crossed paths, you and I.
That reputation is what led to me getting a phone call from a guy I’d never met, saying he had something that might interest me. His name was Burt and he’d apparently just purchased a piece of property that sat unowned for the better part of twenty years. I knew of the area he was talking about. It’s out in the hills, where there isn’t much to look at. Most of the land there went to weed years ago; acres and acres of old woods and burnt-down barns just waiting for nobody in particular to see the value in them. And, well, it seems Burt was that nobody in particular.
I honestly didn’t know what Burt’s purchase had to do with me, and told him just that, figuring he must have had the wrong number. But the next words out of his mouth told me he knew exactly who he was talking to.
Apparently when old Burt started walking around his new property, digging around in the dirt, so to speak, he made an interesting discovery. So interesting, in fact, that it got me to grab my keys, hop in my truck, and drive up into the hills without so much as a pause to wash my hands.
Some things, you see, don’t wait for a man to look presentable.
As I drove up into the hills to meet Burt, I started to think about my father and the drives he used to take me on. He liked to get a feel for whichever car he was working on, and those drives, they always ended with a detour into the hills. ‘Nothing tests a vehicle like elevation,’ he used to say, and I have to admit, I still agree with that statement. All those long inclines, sharp turns and fast descents- not to mention the occasional slam on the brakes- really put a car through its paces.
Dad knew a thing or two about cars, even if he knew nothing about how to raise a family.
Other than maybe a slight fear of commitment, the main thing I got from my father was a passion for restoring old cars in my spare time. It’s a hobby of mine, and I do it in the garage at my house. I’m especially a sucker for rare cars, and the rarer the better. That little hobby of mine, more so than my day business, was why I ended up driving out to the middle of nowhere with dirty hands and a head full of ideas.
The road up was just as long and winding as I remembered. I almost missed the entrance for the property, a hidden driveway marked with little more than a broken mailbox and a rotting signpost. The private road got smaller and smaller by the minute until I swore the trees were going to swallow me whole and spit the bones back out.
When I finally reached what could pass for a clearing, a guy with a face like a junkyard dog was waiting for me next to the newest, cleanest Ford pick-up I’d seen outside of a dealership. He introduced himself to me as Eddie, an associate of old Burt. I told him I’d been expecting to meet Burt himself, but Eddie explained that Burt didn’t like to meet new people, and rarely came out in the cold weather. It was a bit raw, I had to admit, so I dropped the whole thing and let Eddie get down to the business at hand.
We left our cars behind and Eddie led me into the woods, where the walking was slow-going on account of the overgrowth of vines and dead branches. I’m not one to spook easily, but the more we walked the creepier those woods got, until I was fairly sure Eddie was going to use that French Mastiff face of his to tear my throat out. But just when I was thinking about turning back and saying screw it to the whole thing, I caught sight of what we’d come for.
The very first car I saw was a white, 1974 Pontiac Trans-Am. It was missing its door and tires, and it was buried under a layer of dead vines, but the body shape was unmistakable. Under the rust I could even see what was left of the telltale Firebird emblazoned across its hood in blue.
I couldn’t believe a car like that was just sitting out in the middle of the woods, waiting for anyone to come along and find it. As I got closer, though, I saw just how bad the condition of the car was. The insides were rotted out from rain and mold, and the floor was so eaten up by rust it was ready to fall out.
Before my brain could process the loss of such a beautiful machine, I caught sight of another car. This one was a Datsun 210 with a tree growing right through the hole where its trunk used to be. Wet leaves and newspaper filled the back seat, and the dashboard was an abandoned nest that crawled with leggy insects.
Old Burt hadn’t been pulling my leg: those woods were a graveyard for abandoned cars. From what I could tell, about three acres of woods were absolutely littered with the corpses of old autos. Some were in pieces, most were covered in dead leaves and rust and all the other things that happen when anything is left outside for years and years, but they were there. The sight of so many classic cars in one place, virtually unknown to anyone, both excited and saddened me.
For close to an hour I walked around random piles of tires and glass to stare at rusted-out Range Rovers and Jeeps with their headlights hanging out like popped eyeballs. Finally, like I’d woken up from a spell, I asked Eddie what Burt expected from me. And that’s when he told me the strangest, most interesting offer he could have told me in that moment.
He said if I could make every, single one of those cars disappear in three day’s time, at no cost to old Burt, I could keep them.
The words nearly knocked me off my feet. I’d have to call in every favor to every salvage yard and tow truck operator I knew, but it was possible. Still, nearly all of the cars I’d seen were beyond repair, even for a guy like me. At most I saw some parts that could be salvaged. Maybe a few of the newer, less damaged ones could be saved. I knew a few guys in my circle who might be interested, and I figured if I played my cards right I could make a few bucks out of the deal to boot- or at least land a good trade or two. Still, there weren’t any cars that I was interested in for myself.
Until, at the edge of the property, tucked away in a spot I’d nearly overlooked, I saw it. It was as if I’d been drawn there. Like I was meant to find it.
The car was familiar-looking, yet like nothing I’d ever seen. Cross a Chevelle Malibu Classic SE with the modern retro feel of the ‘97 Plymouth Prowler, add the large rear spoiler and flared wheel arches of a ‘99 Nissan Skyline GT-R, and you still won’t come close. It looked like something one of the big three manufacturers had made and yet I’d never seen or heard of its like ever before. It had no logos, no hood ornament, no identification of any kind. I practically ran around to the back of it to look for a name, a logo, something to identify it, tripping over hidden rocks and broken glass to do it.
But there was nothing. Nothing to betray the make and mark of the strange car in front of me. I even asked Eddie if he knew what it was. He only shrugged, clearly wanting to wrap up our little outdoor meeting. I half-heartedly agreed. It was later than I’d realized. Between the dwindling sun and the discovery I’d made, I’d started to get a chill I couldn’t shake. I had a bad tooth I’d been neglecting, and even that was starting to hurt from the cold.
So I agreed to Burt’s deal. I shook Eddie’s hand on it and got out of there, giving one last glance at the strange car in the woods on the way out.
The next day, after making more phone calls than a politician on election night, a swarm of flatbeds, wheel-lifts and salvage trucks descended on those woods. For two days they scooped out every piece of metal and glass in the place, while I oversaw the operation like a choir conductor from hell. I directed trucks this way and cutting crews that way. They snipped and cut and tore out every dead tree standing in the way so the truck crews could do the rest. I even got in there myself with the old chainsaw when it was needed.
It was an exhausting two days, but I managed to keep my word to Burt and clear every abandoned car off his property with about an hour to spare. Some of the cars went to the junkyard, others to various garages I’d made arrangements with.
I was dead on my feet by the time I got home. I was ready for a shower and a bed, in what order I wasn’t sure. And yet a crackle of energy went through me when I saw what had been dropped off in my garage.
My mystery car. Without the shadows of the woods hiding it, I could see it had been painted silver before the rust took over. It had been a fast sucker once, like a bullet to a werewolf’s chest. That had been a long time ago, and yet I sensed there was still some life in the old girl. I wanted so badly to start digging around under the hood, to see what I could find out, but my legs were ready to collapse and my eyes could barely focus. Intending to wake up early and hit the garage, I stumbled off to bed.
You know that feeling you get when you realize someone’s been talking to you for the past minute, thinking you’ve been listening, and you only just figured it out?
That’s the feeling I woke up to.
I sat straight up like a vampire rising from his coffin. My bedroom was still dark, which meant it was the middle of the night. In my half-sleep I tried to make out the clock on my nightstand but couldn’t read the numbers, so I fumbled for my glasses and shoved them on. It was just past two in the morning: way too early, even for me. No way was I getting up, strange feeling or no.
I was about to take my glasses off and lay back down when I heard the reason I’d woken up.
Whispering.
A man was in my room, whispering in the dark. I lunged across my bed and turned on the lamp, nearly knocking it over. I didn’t have a weapon, but if I could see the intruder I could do something about it. I spun back, back to the whispering, to see who it was, to shout at them or jump on them, whatever I had to do to save my life from the psycho in my bedroom.
But the room was empty. Just me and a pounding heart.
I was so confused, I jumped out of bed and tore around the room, making sure no one was hiding, but I didn’t find anyone. I was alone.
Then I heard it again, and I knew: the whispers were coming from down the hall.
With bare feet I followed it, trying to make out what it was saying, but it was too low to understand. I grabbed a knife as I passed through the kitchen and held it in front of me with sweat beading on my face despite how cold I kept the house.
I followed the whispering to the garage. The overhead light flickered on, lighting up the strange car in my garage. In my half-sleep, half-terror I’d nearly forgotten about it. But there it was, like a bear hibernating in its cave, waiting for the end of winter. It felt alive somehow. Not dead, just asleep and dreaming.
And it was whispering.
I knew how crazy that sounded, how crazy that was, but I swallowed hard and approached the car, knife first. The blade shook in front of me. The whispering got louder the closer I got, and yet I still couldn’t understand the words it was saying. Was someone hiding inside the car? Had I inherited a homeless man when I’d had it towed to my house? If so I had to get him out of there. Get him help, sure, make sure he had a place to sleep, but he couldn’t stay in my garage, whispering through the night. No way.
With my free hand I yanked on the driver’s side door. It didn’t open. Rusted shut. I slowly walked around to the passenger side and yanked again. It opened.
The whispering was louder now, louder but not clearer, like an old television tuned between channels, like a frequency not being picked up, like a…
Like a radio.
The whispers were coming from the radio. I laughed under my breath, realizing how ridiculous I’d been. But then I remembered there was no way the radio could be working. The car wasn’t turned on. If it even had a battery under the hood, it was probably little more than a square pile of rust and battery acid.
I clutched the kitchen knife tight, and with the other hand I slowly reached out to turn the volume knob. I needed to know if the whispers were coming from the radio, and if they were, I needed to know what they were saying. My temple throbbed as the whispers grew louder and louder, louder and louder, louder and-
The moment my finger touched the knob, the whispers stopped.
I felt like I was going crazy. I looked around the inside of the car, noting the strong smell of mildew and animal with a tinge of rotten leather. Other than my own breath echoing back at me, it was silent.
No whispers. No nothing.
I went back to bed, but I barely slept.
The next day was the day I usually took off from the shop, which was a relief since I woke up almost as tired as when I’d gone to bed. As I ate my breakfast, the night before still sat fresh in my mind. But the more I went over it, the more I thought it had been a bad dream, brought on by exhaustion and an imagination run wild. I had to admit the mystery car sitting in my garage had gotten my mind racing faster than a Formula 1.
I’m the kind of guy who likes a simple explanation, something I can touch and feel and, yes, fix, so I started to think that I could have picked up some kind of rogue radio transmission from a trucker, or even a passing plane. The police scanner I owned in my younger days had certainly picked up its share of random broadcasts, and when it comes to working on junkers I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.
After I’d eaten my breakfast and downed my coffee I got right to work on the car. I wanted to clear the air of whatever had happened, and I was dying to see what that baby had going on under the hood. The mystery of who the hell had made the thing was still heavy on me.
But the enigma only deepened the more I looked. Under all that rust and dirt and oil I couldn’t find one damn mark that told me who’d made the car. I almost wanted to say it was a custom build, but the work was too precise, the system too well-planned out to be an after-market job.
I worked on it all day, so wrapped up in it I forgot to eat lunch. I ate dinner like a raccoon digging through a dumpster. Then I worked on it some more.
I was just crawling into bed when I heard it again.
The whispering.
This time I ignored it, hoping it would go away on its own. But it didn’t stop. Not until I got up, walked across my house, went into the garage, and touched the radio. Then, it stopped.
I decided right then and there not to go to the shop the next day. There was just too much work to be done.
I’d been working on the car for four days straight before I got it started up. Four days of stripping and cleaning and rebuilding. Four nights of whispering. I was even starting to hear it during the day, but low, barely audible, like a television playing somewhere in the house.
After I got the engine started, the first thing I did was pull my code reader down from my tool wall and hook it up to the dashboard input. I’d been pleasantly surprised to find an input on the car, even though I was fairly certain it had been built after '96. To my shock the screen filled up with a bunch of random trouble codes I’d never seen before, then went blank. I tried to get it powered up again but apparently the connection had completely overloaded the device.
I’d had the reader for years and it had never given me a problem. I put it down and got back to the car, deciding to stick to the old-fashioned way and get a feel for what was wrong with it. Just like dad used to do.
With my foot on the gas I revved the engine good. It sounded better than I’d expected, like a beast waking up from deep sleep. But there was also something rattling around under the hood, something loose knocking around inside the carburetor or possibly even the manifold.
I tried a few options, opening up this and that, until I narrowed it down to something completely unexpected: the transmission.
With considerable force I managed to open up the transmission, and sure enough I found something inside. Something dark and red. I pulled it out and studied it under the light. It looked like a small rock covered in old transmission fluid. How it got in there I didn’t have a clue. But I decided to clean it off and get a better look at it, in case it pointed to a bigger problem. As I walked it to the slop sink, I noticed the whispering, usually a dull static during the day, had started to grow louder. I could almost make out individual words now. But I ignored it and ran the small rock under the faucet, watching the dark red fluid swirl down the drain.
That was when I discovered something I wasn’t prepared for. The thing in my hand wasn’t a rock- it was a tooth.
A human tooth.
The whispers had grown so loud I could barely hear myself think, barely feel the disgust rising in the pit of my stomach. With the whispers practically shouting in my ear I dropped the tooth and it bounced and clattered inside the sink, coming to a rest near the edge of the drain.
The whispers grew quiet again. A dull roar tickling at the back of my skull. I stared at it, the tooth in the sink, the impossible tooth from the impossible car. I had the urge to throw it out. To get it out of my house and never see it again. But I didn’t do that. I couldn’t tell you why not.
Maybe because that meant touching it again.
Maybe something else.
Feeling like I should give the car a rest, I worked on getting my code reader working again, otherwise I’d have to run to the store and buy a new one. I changed out the batteries and gave it a good, solid whack. A few seconds later I was happy to see the screen turn on. I thought I’d have to do a factory reset to use it again but I was surprised to find it worked perfectly fine. Not only that, the trouble codes it had read off the car were still stored in its memory.
There were pages and pages of codes like I’d never seen in my life, more than I think are even in the tool’s programming. In fact I couldn’t find a single one of them anywhere in the manual. I figured they were probably just random numbers, and yet there was something strange about them, like they had a pattern to them. I dusted off my old computer and typed in the problem codes, figuring if I could get a better look at them I might be able to figure out their meaning. If not, I could at least print them out and show them to somebody who could.
After twenty minutes I’d barely made a dent in typing up all the codes. I gave up on the idea that I could copy them all. I pushed away from my computer and stood up, rubbing my eyes from the strain. Between the glare of the old screen and the noise in my ears, my head was killing me. It all felt so pointless. So inconsequential.
Just before I shut the computer down, I happened to glance one last time at the screen. And when I did, I noticed something that made my skin go cold.
The codes. The pattern. The numbers and letters and spaces between them. They were starting to form a face. A human face, with two eyes and a screaming-
I shut the computer down as fast as I could, then unplugged it to be safe. Then I marched to the garage and disconnected the radio, practically ripping it out of the car.
The whispers stopped.
The house was quiet.
But not for long.
For three days I told myself to get rid of that car, tow it out of my garage and dump it somewhere no one could find it. Maybe even drench it in gasoline and light a match. For three days I ignored the whispers and the doorbell and the phone calls from my shop asking when I was coming back. For three days I buried my head under the hood and worked and worked and worked.
On the fourth day, when the whispers from the radio had grown louder than my own thoughts, louder but still unclear, without words I could understand, I lost it. I threw my wrench at the tool wall, knocking down chisels and socket wrenches and a dozen other tools clattering to the ground. I pounded on my ears, cursing them, willing them to go deaf and stop hearing the whispers.
But they didn’t stop hearing. And the whispers didn’t stop. So I decided. I decided that if I couldn’t stop hearing them, I at least needed to know what they were saying.
I went back to the slop sink. The tooth was still there, perched near the edge of the drain. I’d prayed for it to slip down and wash away on its own but there it was, round and sharp and real as ever. So I picked it up, and the whispers grew louder. Clearer. But still not clear enough to hear. Not enough to make out what the radio was saying. To understand what it wanted from me. It was like a broken antenna, only tuning in half the frequency.
The garage was a mess. I was a mess. Rancid grease stains everywhere. A hole in my tool wall where the wrench had struck it, the ground littered with hammers and screwdrivers and …
Pliers.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the pliers from the ground, shoved it onto my mouth, got a good hold of my bad tooth, and ripped it out. It was easier than I expected, but it still hurt, and it bled a lot. But I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the tooth I’d found in the transmission into its place.
The moment I did, it was as if everything came into focus. As if the radio was inside my skull. No, as if my skull was the radio, and I was the antenna. I could hear the transmission clear as day now, a man’s voice inside my head.
Whispering to me.
Telling me where to find the rest of him.
I told you all of this, not because I expect you to believe me, but because I’m about to walk out my door and do something I might not come back from. And if that’s the case, if I don’t return today or any other day from this thing I need to do, I want people to know why.
Because I find things. I find things and fix them. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.

This thread is for all SPM related discussions, may it be results, universities, courses etc. The intention is to help school leavers talk about the SPM in one central spot on the subreddit.
For both public school and private SPM candidates, you can check your results online at myresultspm.moe.gov.my or retrieve via SMS by sending SPM < space> IC number Examination number (Angka giliran) to 15888. Example: SPM 000527031234 WY189A123
Mental health resources

• If you are feeling intense emotional distress and need someone to talk to, please call (a) the Befrienders Suicide Hotline at +603-79568145, (b) Talian Kasih at 15999 any time 24/7, or (c) the Buddy Bear Childline at 1800-18-BEAR (2327) if you’re under 18
• More mental health resources

Pathway after SPM

• Universities, degrees and careers - previous questions regarding universities/careers/fields posted by Nyets. The replies may be helpful!
• Information regarding 11 different study pathways after SPM (ex: STPM, Diploma, SKM (Sijil Kemahiran Malaysia, A Levels etc etc. Start from page 8)
• Non-STEM courses such as arts, design, mass comm, business, finance, F&B, hospitality and travel (info about the subjects you will undertake, course duration, career options, etc. Start from page 53)
• STEM courses such as health and sciences, engineering and manufacturing, information technology (info about the subjects you will undertake, course duration, career options, etc. Start from page 56)

Links to relevant post-SPM posts

• Why aren't there many SPM graduates enrolling in government politeknik or TVET?
• A Discussion on Should You Take a Degree
• Almost done with STPM and here's my experience if anyone is interested in it
• I feel completely hopeless after secondary school
• It's been almost 2 years since I got straight As for SPM
• More posts

For young Nyets who are interested in TVET (Pendidikan Teknikal Dan Latihan Vokasional):

• Program Latihan Kemahiran Inklusiviti Belia (Autisme) by Youth and Sports Ministry for young Nyets with mild and high-functioning autism. 7 courses are available and registration deadline is 30th June. Registration link
• Skills For Life programme by Youth and Sports Ministry that includes basic electrical maintenance; basic vehicle and air conditioning repairs; hair cutting; traditional cooking; sewing clothes and smartphone photography. Fee is only between RM10 and RM30 for each course. Registration link
• Program Latihan Kompetensi Kemahiran Belia - sponsored fully by CIDB (Construction Industry Development Board) in 6 campuses; Kedah, KL, Johor, Terengganu, Sabah and Sarawak
• NCER (Northern Corridor Economic Region) Skills & Entrepreneurship Programme. Through collaboration with agencies and organisations, you receive free training and relevant certification along with access to job placement opportunities. Exclusive to 4 states (be sure to check out their FB page from time to time for slots such as this:

1. NCER Perak
2. NCER Penang
3. NCER Kedah
4. NCER Perlis

For Nyets who are NEETs/already school dropouts/did not pass their SPM:

• MyFuture Youth Plus 2023 offers 30 short term skills courses across 22 Institusi Latihan Kemahiran Belia dan Sukan (ILKBS). No registration fee is imposed and deadline is before 16th June. Registration link. Note that some courses were in May. If you're interested, I recommend that you search for the specific IKTBN (Institut Kemahiran Tinggi Belia Negara) on their individual FB page and use their own Google Form like IKBN Kuala Langat or IKTBN Sepang for quicker response.

Education Fair

• TheStar Education Fair in Penang, KL and Putrajaya (June, August, November and December)
• StudyMalaysia Education Fair in Sabah and Sarawak - (17-18 June and 24-25 June)
• SureWorks Education and Further Studies Fair in KL and Johor - (June and September)

Free courses to explore new/existing interest:

• e-Latih - free e-Learning platform for Malaysians with over 1800+ courses
• Free digital tech training by MDEC
• 42KL - Learn to code for free (F2F classes)
• FreeCodeCamp - Learn to code for free
• EdX (choose free audit track)
• Coursera

Volunteering/internship after SPM:

• Kechara Soup Kitchen [Link]
• SPCA Selangor Link
• MNS (Persatuan Pencinta Alam Malaysia) [Link]
• WWF Malaysia Link
• MyKasih Link

Scholarship info links

• Telegram channel for a list of scholarships, constantly updated
• Telegram channel for any questions regarding UPU, matriculation, STPM,asasi
• Afterschool.my
• International Scholarships for Malaysians
• FB Group: Biasiswa Dalam dan Luar Negara (for undergraduates, Masters/Postgrad and PhD)
• ASEAN Scholarship for Malaysians
• Hungarian Government Fully-funded Scholarships for Bachelor's, Masters and PhD. Malaysia is one of the partners
• Japanese Government (Monbukagakusho: MEXT) Scholarships
• Global Korean Scholarship
• DAAD Malaysia: German Academic Exchange Service
• MOE Taiwan Scholarships

The moderation team will be removing any SPM-related posts - please share your advice threads, rants, and memes on Malaysians, on the Daily Discussion Thread, or in this post.

My wife and I currently own a Volkwagen Touareg (mid sized SUV) that is not longer suitable for us (my car is an e-bike). We really enjoy adventuring into Death Valley, especially the backcountry, and our ideal vacation is camping, the more remote the better. But, we need an incredibly reliable road trip vehicle to get anywhere outside of our small hometown. Hence, basic off-roading and decent interior space is highly desirable, but reasonable in-town MPG is appealing. Plan is a used car, budget is around $20K.
I have my guess, but others are probably better at this than I am.

Hi! I’m a 22 year old submissive female, seeking Dominant female for role play.
I play as myself, in first person. I’m 5’ 2” 85 pounds (I’m really petite) B-cup, size 5 feet, long dark blonde hair and brown eyes.
Don’t just send a replay to the starter, say hi and let’s discuss plots and kinks, then we can jump in. Here are some starter plots/scenarios that I’m interested in playing…
The pickup: I’m walking back from the beach on a hot summer evening. The hot wind blowing my hair as I walk along the desolate back road away from the beach. Walking in nothing more that a little white bikini, the soles of my barefeet stained black from walking barefoot on the asphalt, “Damn it’s really hot” I continue to walk down the long, deserted road…
This plot could go a lot of ways, I’m pretty willing, submissive and naive, so I don’t really like anything forced. Maybe you target me because of the way I look, maybe you like feet abs target me because I’m barefoot. Definitely lots of possibilities. Maybe you’re gonna keep me all to yourself, locking me up in your basement or secret dungeon. We can work out a scenario
The farm: I’m coming to your farm in the Deep South, it’s a hot, humid, moonless night. I already know this isn’t a ‘normal’ farm and I’m not ordinary farm help. I already know what’s in store for me. Under the cover of darkness, I make my way from the town deep into the countryside. Bringing nothing with me as instructed, I make my way to your farm in nothing but the little black bikini you sent me prior to this arrangement. I spot the farmhouse and make my way towards the porch light, “that’s the farm” my barefeet kicking up dust as I walk up the dust road…
Another fun plot I like. I love dirty places so a farm is awesome. Maybe I had seen your ad online about being kept and used for breast milking, maybe you’re just looking for a girl to keep her ankles and wrists in those old rusty slave shackles you don’t have keys for, maybe you’re just sadistic and you’re going to use and torture me. Let’s work out the details!
Meeting online: Meeting a partner online is the norm nowadays, I found your posting about looking for a girl, which was very appealing to me and too good to pass up. After some email exchange, you offer to take me…permanently. I excitedly accept and being the trip to your destination. Walking to the address, wearing a white tank top, no bra, a short black skirt, white panties and barefoot, I walk towards the door “this is it, no turning back now” I say to myself as I ring the doorbell…
This is really open ended. Did you offer to keep me in your dungeon? Maybe you have an asylum where I’m going to be kept, so many different ideas here.
The road/camping trip: We’ve been planning this for a long time, a summer trip. I’m excited and can’t wait for you to get home. I’m waiting around in my white bikini, already packed for the trip with my shall bag. Considering how long the trip is, I packed very little. “I can wait until she gets home” I say eagerly awaiting you…
This is more a non bdsm related plot but we can definitely include it! Maybe we card going camping deep in the woods, or by a lake, maybe tent camping in the rolling hills and we have to hike in. Let’s figure out an awesome trip!
The BDSM resort: Being the kinky girl I am, I naturally stumbled onto a kinky resort. I eagerly book a month long excursion into my ultimate desires. I arrive and check in. Off the lobby is the holding room. A grey, bare room with a locker and bench, I close the door and open my locker. Inside the locker is a pair of handcuffs and ankle cuffs, the chain in just long enough for me to walk. I place all my belongings and clothing in the locker and close it “I should be out in a month” I say to myself, knowing there is no turning back. I sit on the floor and lock the cuffs around my ankles, followed by cuffing my hands behind my back, following instructions, I wait on the timer for my host to enter, little did I know, I’d be here much longer than a month…
So much fun. What a vacation! But what’s in store for me? Did I sign up for multiple things, where I would be kept and how? Maybe I signed up to be kept in one place and one kind of restraint/position the whole time? How did I end up there longer? Maybe as punishment for something, violating the rules of a session, a computer glitch? Let’s come up with something together!
My kinks are, but not limited to: Bondage, Cuffs, Shackles, Mummification, Stocks/pillory, Straightjackets, Chastity, Bastinado, Tickling, Plugs, Gags, Oral, Anal, Vibrators, Dildos, Hoods, Blindfolds, Pee/scat, Barefeet (I love going barefoot and getting my feet dirty, I’m a regular barefooter) Foot worship (barefeet) sensory depravation, hoods, blindfolds, branding, tattoo, name calling, dirty talk, impact play, dirty/musk, verbal humiliation, Long term/permanent chastity, Long term/permanent bondage, Long term/permanent captivity/imprisonment, Predicament bondage, Kidnapping, Isolation, Being kept as a captive/prisoner, Stuck fetish (eg, having my feet stuck in mud, clay, tar, cement, quicksand, glue, etc)
Hard limits: Footwear (I stay barefoot), animals, drugs, broken bones, males,
Places I like to be kept: Dungeon, Basement, Garage, Farm, Old prison, Old asylum
I’m sure I left things out, so if you don’t see a particular kink or you have questions, please ask.
Only looking to roleplay with females, trans or futa as long as it’s not focused on a certain body part and it doesn’t go right to that.
All characters are 18+
I use Reddit chat
Kik: barefootslavegirl01
Discord: barefoot👣slavegirl#2957

I tend towards the verbose so TL;DR right here:
I'm set to inherit ~120 rural acres in the US South. It has some good/bad points. It is quite far from where life has led me to put down roots. I don't know what I don't know and I wonder if y'all have faced similar situations in your life.
Geography: NW Alabama but tending towards Birmingham. The footiest of the foothills of the Appalachians. Not flat, not mountains. Property is bordered by a non-seasonal, 20 foot wide, creek on two sides and has a county blacktop road cutting it into basically 60 acres and 40 acre plots. The bordering river is navigable by small boat/personal watercraft but sees only incidental fisherman, no docks or ramps for a while up or downstream. It flows slowly, sometimes backwards when far downstream locks/dams stop flow. Zero flood risk.
Land Ecology: The property is about 70 percent woodland, unmanaged, and 30 percent hay field, casually managed by leasee that cuts it. Some older hardwoods but much of it is scrubby pine. Healthy deer, turkey, possum, rabbit populations.
History: The pasture was once the row crop field of my paternal grandfather and great grandfather, perhaps even further back. A ruined wall is where washing was done in the past. Long disused fish capture/raising ponds recount my great grandfather's side business selling bait for long gone fishing camps. A (now inactive, more on this below) is where my father and his siblings bathed growing up. The 40 acres across the street has been leased for mountain top strip mining 3 times in living memory, about 20 years apart, most recently 10 years ago. Reclaiming efforts that are mandated by law were performed haphazardly and amount to some grading of the land and some pine saplings strewn about. The spring is long dead. The river, once clear to the bottom when my father was young, is a permanent zero visibility clay orange from the mining operations of decades ago.
Economy: The land is a few miles outside of a town that has been dying for decades. They just closed the local school not too many years ago so even that vestige of strength is gone. The mines are slowly folding as well. The feneral population is best described as elderly or addicted. Sad/fading churches, potholes, and kudzu are the icons that I note from afar. The rest of folks, those who could, have left. Drug abuse and crime, petty and otherwise are not at all uncommon.
Fiscal burdens: There are no liens or other intangible issues with the property, I'm an only child and the property is mine by birthright if I want if. Yearly taxes are small due to no improvements on the property, though this may go up if inheriting it triggers an accessor visit. I think my parents are paying $1200 or so a year in taxes, but it could be half of that.
Personal thoughts/questions, aka the meat and potatoes of this post that I'd love to talk about:
I hate to see the family land that, including my kids, albeit briefly, have played on, at least 6 or 7 generations have owned simply be sold. But I am realistic and the complications, the ones I've considered listed below, are tough.
I don't live near there anymore, I'm 12 hours away by car and I've seen friends attempt to manage two homes, or a home and a cabin, and it's a heck of a job. Keeping up two places, even if one is rustic, is a stressor to even think about. Roads/trails need maintenance. This is further complicated by the fact that, due to the economic issues above, any improvements are subject to abuse or theft. Garbage will be dumped, unattended RVs would be noticed and vandalized/stolen/squatted in, cabins would see break-ins and even AC coils or well pumps or electric wires stolen for scrap metal sale.
There's a small interest from a group of my goodest friends in creating a group owned cabin there. That would help with the issue of not having a presence there by spreading responsibility across more people but, honestly, they don't know the local taboos and idiosyncrasies that this would entail dealing with. Plus 'good walls make good neighbors' or something like that and I'm not sure I want to rism complicating a friendship with the worlds smallest commune, offgrid, cabin homestead.
But, I have always wanted to build an off grid retreat of sorts... It's not impossible insofar as my wife's and my careers are doing well enough to keep it on the back burner, nor do we need the money that would come from a sale of the property.
Anyway... Thanks for your thoughts. Until the time comes, at least 10 or 15+ years for my kids to finish school, I continue to dream.

DPS Alert Vehicle Accident-Property Damage IR15N / RUSSELL ROAD; NB ON RAMP 05/30/2023 04:22:51 PM

This was last Friday (May 27); I was taking my driving test. I had to make a left turn at an intersection (4-way traffic), and did not have the right-of-way when the light was green. I began making the turn but the light turned yellow and there was an oncoming vehicle, so I stopped (I had only moved forward by a couple of feet, so I wasn’t obstructing the flow of traffic).
I guess the car behind me was planning on tailgating me throughout the turn and gunned it, because right after I hit the brakes, I got rear-ended and the impact sent my car forward, in front of the lanes where the light had just turned green. Thankfully, none of the cars in those lanes started driving forward (otherwise I’d have been hit a second time), so I was able to find a place to pull over.
I thought the car that hit mine would follow me so we can exchange insurance information, but they instead took the opportunity to speed off (so they probably didn’t have insurance. Still, absolutely boneheaded move on their part). Both the road tester and I had mild -ish head and neck injuries from the impact; the tester went to the doctor and got pain meds, and I had to take a day off from work.
A police report has been filed with the location and date, as well as a claim to the car insurance company (the car was rented from Ford, where my dad works). The road testing place sent an incident report to the state, and I’m not legally allowed to test again until the state clears it (according to the staff at the testing centre, the state still has to grant permission for testing in these instances even if the permit-holder isn’t at fault for the collision, since you’re not supposed to be in accidents when you have a driving permit).
Is there anything I should do in this case? The police department hasn’t gotten back to me yet, so I still don’t have any leads. If the person is found, should I press charges? Is there anything else I should be doing right now?

I paid off my car a few months ago and my bank sent me my title later.
I noticed on both my title and updated vehicle registration, my name is written last name-first, like “SMITH JOE”. There is no comma (as in “SMITH, JOE”).
Until now, my registration has always read FIRST LAST (as in “JOE SMITH”), so I’m pretty sure this is wrong.
Is this going to be an issue when I eventually sell the car, i.e., do I need to get this corrected by either the lender or DMV?
Thanks.

Graduated college in December and I’m looking to move on from my current vehicle. I drive an ‘04 F-150 and given that I’m looking to be more conscious of my emissions output, my current setup ain’t doin it. I’m looking primarily for a vehicle to get better gas mileage, but also one that would be good for road tripping. I’m trying to get out to more National Parks and I know Subaru is a huge supported for the NPF so I’m largely looking at Subaru branded SUVs. I have history with SUVs and enjoy the feel of the road I have with them, so I’m primarily interested in an SUV, but would be willing to look at sedans with decent storage capacity. Vans are also an option if they provide decent gas mileage. Thanks!

On memorial day I sold a vehicle that I had posted beside the road at my place of work a week before. The purchaser and I met at about four o'clock. The vehicle was unispected, registered at that time to me and had its insurance removed that day. I informed the purchaser of its issues I knew of before selling it to them. I sold it to the purchaser with a hand written bill of sale which was signed by both parties, which in general context said "I 'seller' agree to sell this vehicle 'make model and VIN number' to purchaser as is for 'agreed upon amount'" they drove away with it, unispected, uninsured and unregistered. I then received a call shortly thereafter that the vehicle had caught fire.
Now honestly it's a terrible occurrence I imagine not unheard of but not likely. Had I known that the vehicle was in such a condition to be undrivable I would not have sold it to anyone.
Their copy of the bill of sale and the signed over title was lost in the fire and the vehicle is little more than a steel frame now. The purchaser is seeking for me to repay them the agreed upon value of the vehicle. While I can understand a moral duty to return the value of the vehicle do I have a legal duty to do so?
For extra information I live in Maine The purchaser lives in Maine The vehicle was 17 years old This was a private cash sale I am not a registered vehicle dealer of any kind

Why is this such a big issue in WA, no one seems to know the right of way rule below which I literally copied from the gov website, as an Dutch immigrant, please explain to me, is this being taught at driving lessons??
" Whether turning left, right or going straight ahead at an uncontrolled intersection, always give way to vehicles on your right and to any pedestrians crossing the road. "

I’ve got a 1992 dodge ram with the 3.9 v6 the truck has about 300 000 miles on it but the motor in the truck currently only has 75 000 miles on it I drove the truck on a long road trip probably 6 hrs straight driving and when I got back home the truck acted like it completely lost power to everything for a split second then it came back alive and didn’t do anything until winter it started dying in the morning while I was letting it warm up and it eventually got to where u had to be on the truck to keep it alive I still drove it for a few days like that and then it got so bad u could pop the hood and the misfire would shake the hood back and forth so I started to mess with it and this is what all I have changed to a new part spark plugs wire distributor distributor cap and rotor crankshaft sensor camshaft sensor the 3 sensors on the throttle body new injectors checked the fuel pressure it’s right compression is right I changed some ax sensor on the intake I put a new ecu in it and it still dies on idle sometimes u can keep it alive if u hold down on the gas but most of the time that doesn’t work I did a spark test and u can count to 5 basically between each spark on any other vehicle the light flashes so much it basically stays on the spark plugs get Fowled instantly I also checked the timing and it was spot on

i just recently moved to MO from TN. I’ve read that I need to fax/mail form 5843 Owner Out Of State Title Request to my lienholder and they have to come back with a letter saying they will not give me the title and then submit that when I go to the DMV, but I’ve also seen this is not necessary and that I can just bring my registration and the DOR will do that on my behalf. Mixed answers, have me so confused.
Anyone know if I am able to show up with just my registration or do I have to mail/fax this form off and wait weeks to register my vehicle. Unfortunately my out of state registration/tags expire soon, so I don’t want any trouble.

With the storms today (heavy in some locations with hail), can someone please explain to me the logic in driving with your hazards on when it's raining?
To me, it seems like it makes it less safe driving on the road with your hazards. I can't tell if the vehicle is actually having a problem needing to stop, just trying to notify everyone they are bad at driving, or whenever they are trying to change lanes. Just having them on going with the flow of traffic in weather seems like it makes it more dangerous.
Unless there is a logical reason I am missing, can we all just agree to not use hazards while driving in weather?

Location: The entire episode takes place in a car, though trouble is faced from the outside, our main characters never exit the vehicle, only enter it in the beginning.
No 9: As seen in the title shot, the empty beer pack stuffed in the middle of the car is called 'Nine O'Clock Boost'
In this wacky episode, Shearsmith plays Gary, a classic British dad who just wants to get things in order. He is about to go on a 14 hour road trip to Germany with his wife and two children. What could possibly go wrong?
(Note: this episode is a homage to family/slapstick comedy/road trip/vacation type flicks.)
The episode begins with Gary, his wife Sarah, and his two children, one called Meghan, a 12 year old girl who just LOVES her phone, and the other called Timmy, a 10 year old who has his coat zipped up and covering his entire face kinda like Kenny from South Park, to the point where we can only see his eyes. This makes for good humour as the other characters try decipher what he says. They have just left a fast food place and are heading for the road.
Gary is worried that things will go wrong, and Sarah has to comfort her husband, giving him a kiss of support. They start the trip, but countless things go wrong. Meghan and Timmy are refusing to cooperate, Timmy needs a piss, their clothes are accidentally dropped out of the window, wild animals attack them but they escape, and they have to escape bumbling irresponsible law enforcement in order to make it to their destination on time.
All the while, Gary keeps spotting an unsettling, mysterious, shadowy man walking down or sometimes in the middle of the road, causing him to keep swerving in absolute fear. Stalking the car at every move. When he tries pointing it out, the other members of the family do not see this man. I think it's incredibly obvious what's going on here, a very bad twist, right. A motif that is tied to this that recurs is the idea of a car rolling backwards, a thought that keeps making its way into Gary's head through multiple things, whether that be Timmy's toy car, a car ad on the radio, or other cars spinning in traffic. It clearly has an effect on him.
The first bomb drops when things begin getting emotional and confrontational. Sarah reveals that throughout all of this, she's been aware of Pemberton's mysterious character all along. Or at least, she'd know Shearsmith would see something like him. Turns out that 5 years ago, Gary recklessly drunk drove back home from work. He had only found out the next morning from a news broadcast that he had hit not 1, not 2, but three people on the way. He went quiet about it and only told Sarah. This trip to Germany wasn't a holiday- it was a trip to a rehabilitation center.
(You could argue that it is a dumb decision to allow Shearsmith to drive in this case, but keep in mind that no one else could remove his license since he was never found as the perpetrator.)
Furthermore, that mysterious man on the road was of course just a manifestation of Shearsmith's guilt blah blah blah you've probably all heard of something like that before.
But there's a kicker to end this one off. The kids are dumbfounded, having only just discovered this information that's not been disclosed to them for their entire lives before this. How could their father be such a monster? Gary starts feeling terrible and feels the need to park on the side of the road or go back, anything to avoid the talks that were to lie ahead. His victims: A businessman, a grandmother and her grandson, a 5 year old. As a surprise to them all, Meghan remembers that she'd once heard about something like that on the radio, the exact victims and story. The 5 year old actually survived, just with a mangled face for life.
And that's when, for the first time in the entire episode, Timmy unzips his parka, revealing a face they do not recognize underneath. Turns out that they got the wrong child at the fast food restaurant. And this kid coincidentally has bandages all over his face. Maybe just like how that 5 year old would've.
'Timmy' grabs the wheel of the car and swerves it into oncoming traffic; it cuts to credits.
(Sorry if this is a bit too sardines like at the end it wasnt the intention but now it seems it and im pissed cause i liked the got the wrong child plot twist idea lol)

DPS Alert Vehicle Accident-Injury IR15N / RUSSELL ROAD;nbno 05/30/2023 02:37:50 PM

EDIT: just wanted to clarify for the sake of the post that at no point did I ever match or overtake the driver I described, I fell behind and then tried to equalize speeds to understand how fast he was going. No cars nearby, and I didn't fully match the guy's speed. I got up to an uncomfortable speed myself, saw I was not going to be able to match without being guilty of reckless driving myself, and withdrew. 185km/h is an easy estimate, I'm sure he would've topped out near 200km/h for a short moment there. I only managed to catch up to him because, blinded by his rage, he made a bunch of stupid merges that dragged him back to me in traffic. After about 8 mins of paying attention to how far up he was, he fell several positions back merging to the exit, and I was able to catch his plate. Love people who always blame the OP.
This past Sunday I was going to pick up someone in Guelph and was driving West on the 401. As I was about 13-14km away from the Morriston exit (which was the exit this psychotic driver got off at), I was in the 2x-solid-line separated HOV lane and cruising at a solid 137kph, as the speed of traffic was already pretty fast (~125) but I also don't want to get my license taken away because of bad luck. I was driving a 'green vehicle' which is why I was in the HOV btw.
A dude in a black Volvo SUV (early-to-mid-2010s) magically appears in my rearview mirror in the 2 seconds I don't check it, and he's immediately like Bill Cosby on my ass, staring at me in my mirrors with intent. He must've been doing 160/170+ just to catch up to me that quickly. I look in my rearview and put my hand and shoulders up like "what do you want?" because I can't legally leave the lane and I'm also not gonna do more than 50 over the limit because of some guy's ego (I sped up to accommodate it at first). So I wait until the line is about to break, and I signal to turn out and begin doing so. Unfortunately, our intrepid friend decides to veer out of the lane without signalling, before the line actually broke and while I was beginning my merge, and I'm forced back into the lane as he speeds past me, straddling the two lanes to my right and glaring at me with this deadpan "I'll kill you right now" type of old guy stare (all the while going 160, 170+, not looking at the road for a very slowly counted block of 4-5 seconds). Bald, all the caucasity in the world, and wearing a white shirt and cop shades. Pitbull lookin' ass.
As this was happening there was a brief moment of open highway (re: safety) so I tried to match his speed to see how fast he was going. I had to bow out. He easily passed 185km/h as he was beginning to approach the next wall of traffic (closing distance wasn't a thing to this guy apparently?). I couldn't believe my fucking eyes how fast he was willing to send it into the cars ahead of us, and then he spent the next 13km weaving in and out of traffic while I mostly just cruised up and around the left lane. All that work from him to get ahead, only for me to follow him (legally) the whole way and snag his license plate as he did a classic rapid 3-lane-merge towards his exit at Morriston just before Highway 6 north. Guy would've been fine if he just used the fast lane the whole time lmao. Guess something important was going down at home.
Whoever's abused dad is driving a black Volvo SUV with plates CYCY 661, he needs his ego checked and his license revoked. I prefer not dying while I'm running errands for people on a Sunday afternoon. I'm willing to drive pretty fast but if it was some normie going 115km/h hogging the lefthand lane, this guy might've driven them right off the road. Idk what comes after stunt driving but whatever that is, that's what this guy was doing, and in a fuckin family vehicle of all things. My biggest takeaway from this encounter is that Volvos are unbelievably versatile vehicles.
Please don't be an asshole on the roads. We all have lives to go back to and accidents as a result of this behaviour are highly avoidable. Can't believe how many top-heavy SUV drivers think they'll be able to get away with this type of shit forever, too.

Should this not apply?
"Unnecessary slow driving prohibited 132 (1) No motor vehicle shall be driven on a highway at such a slow rate of speed as to impede or block the normal and reasonable movement of traffic thereon except when the slow rate of speed is necessary for safe operation having regard to all the circumstances. R.S.O. 1990, c. H.8, s. 132 (1)."
I mean, good luck having it actually policed, but we have enough traffic problems around here already without people lining up for their double-doubles or big mac's out onto the road.