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Hi!
Not really expecting a fix for this but one can always hope...
My old machine: MacBook Pro 15" mid-2015. New machine: MacBook Pro 16" 2023 M2 Pro. Network with AirPort Time Capsule (802.11ac, 2016) with 1TB hard disk (Time Machine).
I've been using my old mid-2015 MBP happily and using the Time Capsule to run my backups using Time Machine. I attempted to upgrade the machine into Ventura using OpenCore Legacy Pather (formatted disk during install). While this did work Ok, I still couldn't run a piece of software I had hoped I could, so I wanted to revert back to Monterey.
I re-installed Monterey and attempted to use Migration Assistant to restore my old backup. However every single time the restore halts around the same point: the number of files migrated does not increase and slowly the estimated time to finish keeps rising and rising. I've attempted this several time overnight and once let it run for two days, but it's always the same 4-6 hours that it goes on and then fails around the same file count. It's always during the migration of user files.
I have tried to:

• Archive the backup from the Time Capsule onto a USB disk but that fails every time around 180,25 GB
• Fix the volume using Disk Utility after mounting it on Finder: it run for hours and said the volume was ok and didn't list any repairs.
• Attempted to copy the .sparsebundle elsewhere manually on Finder. This halted at some point but did continue by itself. At the very end Finder complained it didn't have privileges to access it and failed.
• Attempting to copy my old profile directory manually from within the .sparsebundle the disk unmounted itself at some point and the copy failed.

The backup history on the Capsule was around year or two, as I have once or twice received the error that the backups were not Ok and I should start it anew. Since the last fresh start it had been running for moths just fine and never complained about backups' not being Ok.
I can mount the .sparsebundle and access the backups in Finder and copy single files manually. I also had a separate backup of my main stuff on my User folder (Desktop, Documents) so I have not dramatically lost anything. But it will take ages to set up every little thing and app again and I am very disappointed at the Time Machine for appearing to work totally fine and then failing so bluntly without even confessing that something is wrong!
I have now bought a new machine (it was anyway due to anytime soon). Migration assistant had stopped during the night I left it running; it said it was trying to re-connect (the machine was connected with both WiFi and wireless gb ethernet). Again, *something* happens at around a certain point in the backup which causes the process to halt and never finish.
Now that I have the new MBP I can attempt leaving the old machine doing the migration and let it run longer - just in case it would magically get over with it. But I am not really having high hopes, it feels like there is something wrong within the backup and it just drops it at that point.
Would there be any help if I were to disassemble the Time Capsule and try reading the disk over a USB-SATA interface? I'd expect this be at least faster than over network and I could dismiss it being a problem with the Time Capsule itself (again, never seen any and even the logs under AirPort Utility do not show anything unusual - also it confirms that the fan is working). If I run (and cancel) the Migration Assistant, will there be any system logs that would give any pointers on where it fails?
Tl:dr: I am attempting to restore from a Time Machine backup with Migration Assistant but the restore halts around the same file count every time and never finishes.

Hello, I'm very very much new to this so pardon if it's already explained elsewhere.
A month ago, I bought my first Apple product, a Macbook Air M1 (incredibly excellent machine). Apple asked for Payment Info and after I set it up, I bought an album to test out the payment. In a place where Internet can get rather choppy, and as someone that doesn't have an income (late year uni student), I appreciate purchasing for offline listening. I wanted to do this on my phone as well since I don't have a subscription on Spotify and I've already bought them.
However, when I downloaded the Apple Music app on my Android, it seems that I have to have an Apple Music subscription to sync the music on my MacBook with the one on my phone? I thought that, given they were mine, I could listen to them offline on my phone as well.
So, can I not sync up my offline library on my MacBook with the Apple Music app on my phone without a subscription, or do I have to instead manually convert the .m4a files to .mp3 before transferring them to my phone?
Thanks!
EDIT: I asked because when I searched this topic, I only found subscription stuff like will playlists disappear after a certain time of not renewing, etcetera.

I'm 30 and male. Started happening in my 20s. Can't handle much sugar. Started getting lactose intolerant. Around 27-28 I had several horrible IBS problems and ended up having to completely change my diet. No red meats randomly anymore as well. Just one cup of coffee makes me spiral a bit. I have to light on any kind of beans
My gf has commented on it. Surprised by how sensitive I am. I was an idiot and drank an espresso shot while visiting her family. I got incredibly anxious and said something dumb to her after. It heightened my social anxiety to the point I just blurted out to her that I felt her parents didn't like me. When there was absolutely no reason to believe that.
I also ate a ton of sugary foods. That combined with caffeine made me grouchy. Coffee in particular makes me feel great for a bit, but without fail I end up getting incredibly anxious and then irritable.
If I don't do cardio for 3-4 days I start feeling irritable as well.
So the combination of spending days with my gf, eating sugary foods, and having lots of caffeine; made me super irritable. Just in time to spend time with her family and make an impression.
I hate how much of a machine I seem to be. Like I have to eat super healthy and get cardio in almost everyday.
Ive tried to cut out caffeine completely, but I love teas and coffee. Every kind. It's a hobby to me tbh.
It's a mix of feeling like maybe I lack self control but also feeling like what I eat and drink change my mood so drastically it's unreal.
I hate it. I notice many aren't affected like this.
Any advice?

I have a smaller garage door currently not attached to an automatic opener. I’d like to build a rope and pulley system with a winch so my kids could operate the door when they want to get their bikes in and out. The door is about 8 ft x 8 ft and is fairly light: less than 50 lbs. I’ve been googling these sort of manual systems but suspect I’m maybe googling the wrong thing. Looking for your help here. Wife is worried it’s going to look like a Rube Goldberg machine…

I just started last week with the Breville Bambino with the Fellow Opus. Last week, I managed to pull a shot at around the 3 grind setting on the Opus. It seemed to extract a bit too fast, so I set the grind setting to lower the next day and it was basically choking. I went back up in setting and it choked again.
Today, I tested it out by starting at grind setting 1. Choked. Grind setting 1.5, choked. Grind setting 2, choked. Grind setting 3, choked. I upped it to grind setting 5 and there was finally a bit of flow but not much, I think I got about 10-15 grams.
I'm really confused on what I'm doing wrong as Fellow is telling me that I should be in the 1-2 grind setting for espresso and rarely up to 3, but I'm not pulling any decent shots up to 4. I was only able to get 2 decent shots at around 3 - 3.5 and never again. I'm using the single walled basket that the machine comes with, the Normcore V4 tamper, and the Normcore WDT Distribution Tool.
I'm using 18 grams of the Devocion Honey beans every time.

TLDR:
Sulphites, natural fermentation product chemicals which are perfectly harmless to most people and used as a preservative in many foods and drinks, cause tiredness and headaches and nausea in the intolerant.
Medical "science" doesn't believe in sulphite intolerance, but I do (n=1). And I will fight them if they like.
Many years ago I fixed what appeared to be CFS by taking thyroid drugs, despite the fact that I don't have any sort of thyroid problem.
This worked beautifully, and I forgot I was ill for years, apart from having to take enough thyroid to kill a horse every day.
Recently it stopped working. Or at least the tiredness came back mid-pandemic. Just after my second vaccine. But I think we would know if the vaccines caused long-term fatigue. I figured I'd probably got long covid without noticing that I'd had covid.
And this time I couldn't fix it with thyroid. Raising the dose made me hot and anxious, as well as tired. Lowering the dose brought back all the CFS symptoms and threw me into depression.
I've also been having increasingly terrible hangovers for years.
As a result I've completely stopped drinking alcohol, but still occasionally have an alcohol-free beer. I can get hangovers from them! But fair enough, there's a bit of alcohol in most of them.
Recently I've been feeling tired and getting headaches much more often than normal. And I've also been gaining weight, which has never been much of a problem for me before.
As a result I started getting interested in the causes of tiredness again and obesity for the first time.
And I hit upon the idea that polyunsaturated fats were things man was not meant to eat.
There's a great theoretical argument for this, but the evidence is very against it. The argument is so compelling to me that I thought I'd experiment anyway.
Cutting out all the polyunsaturated evil made me feel much better. Not perfect, but much better.
The other day I was in a pub and had a coffee. Later I wanted another and they'd turned off the coffee machine and so I had a lime and soda.
The next morning I had a hangover, with headache.
My sister is a publican, and I told her that my alcohol intolerance was now so bad that I could get a hangover from lime and soda.
And she said, pulling a bottle of lime cordial off a shelf: "What you've got is a sulphite allergy."
I do not have a sulphite allergy. I know what allergies feel like.
But I figured my sister had probably hit the nail, if not squarely on the head.
I ate half a jar of maraschino cherries as a test, and it gave me (headache and nausea) that went on for two days.
So I worked out what sorts of things had sulphites in them and stopped having them (not too hard because most things with preservatives went out the window as part of giving up PUFAs).
The last culprit detected was my breakfast muesli. So innocent-looking. Whole box overboard.
I feel great! Tiredness much reduced, almost gone. Headaches gone.
Medical "science" does not believe in sulphite intolerance. I do.
Apparently there's an enzyme, sulphite oxidase, which turns sulphites (a poison, kills bacteria, hence a preservative) into sulphates (harmless).
I think it is probably possible to get bad at making this enzyme as you get older. (My health was perfect until I was around 40. I used to be a heroic drinker.)
I wonder if half the reported well-being effect of giving up PUFAs is from not eating the poisons in processed food.

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[First.] (Chapters 1-2) [Prev.] (Chapters 3-4) [Next.] (Chapters 7-8)
​

Chapter 5:
FALLING LIKE DOMINOS
^{They’ve got the moves!}

Like a cackle of hyenas, the peaceful silence of the desert was broken by the despotic laughter of raiders (the ‘Rust Fiendz’ as they like to call themselves) riding in the night, their vehicles kicking up a large cloud of sand in their wake, and the smell of motor oil, sulfur, iron, and death tailing them as they drove off from one of their latest hits.
In the cabins of each rusted-to-hell pile of scrap on wheels, their jury-rigged radio crackles to life. The constant whine of static and electrical buzzing is punched through by a haughty voice. “Hey good shit back there, boys!” the gruff voice barks. Over the din of motors and engines, the roar of various vehicles’ occupants punches through, their raucous cheers just as vicious and loud as their dilapidated chariots. At the head of the pack of these rusted raiders was a heavily modified pickup truck that looked more akin to a sheet-metal sarcophagus that crashed through a hot-topic, a fitting final resting place for their war chief.
“Shit,” he snickers to himself, reveling in his recently ill-gotten spoils as he plunges a hand through a roughly made sack made out of a mysterious hide; whether it’s human or an animal remains a mystery. “Dumbass motherfuckers. Why do these starry-eyed jackasses keep trying?” He pulls out a bottle of spirits, the label reading: ‘Whiskey Rose brewery--A Cassidy Venture.’ Rolling down the window, he breaks the top of the bottle like the fucking barbarian he is and downs the bottle. “Whatever, not so starry-eyed anymore,” he snickers to himself, recounting the way his latest victim’s eyes clouded as she lay bleeding on the half-built foundation of the colony’s brewing facility. “As long as the hive lords keep paying, there’s no need for me to ask questions. ‘Sides these colony upstarts need a fucking reality check anyways.” Tossing the bottle out the window and rolling it up, he stops midway and watches through the rear-view mirror as the empty glass bottle collides in the face of one the scouts. The man lets out a high-pitched yelp as he goes tumbling off his motorcycle and is quickly crushed under the wheels of the others. “Hey dipshits look out next time!” he shouts out as he finishes rolling up the window. Without another look back the war chief focuses on the sands in front of him, not bothering to notice the smaller cloud of sand blending in behind the group.
-------------
“C’mon, come on!” Carmine hisses through gritted teeth. He lets go of the wheel, allowing the cruise control to stay on the path towards their target as he checks the chamber of his pistol. Meanwhile, Victor preemptively loads the makeshift crossbow with a tracker bolt, and Devin pulls back the bolt of the machine gun and begins assessing priority targets. “Devin!”
“Yeh chief? Devin answers back.
“I want a spotter report before we get any closer!”
“On it buddy!” With that, Devin pulls out a periscope and uses it to peek over without exposing himself from the safety of the gunner’s nest confines. He catches a glimpse of some poor bastard falling out into the desert sands and promptly being turned into a fine human pâté under the wheels of his fellow raiders. Devin winces at the sight but then smiles rather smugly. “Well, that’s one to scratch off the list. Fucker probably deserved it,” he mutters to himself. “Oi Carmine good news!”
“What is it?”
“Is god gonna smite them for us?” Victor interjects.
Devin shakes his head for no one to see. “Nah, I fucking wish. We were going to be dealing with eight scouts, six technicals, and king mong over there. However, it seems that we can scratch off a scout, cause the dumbass somehow managed to fall off his bike.”
Victor sucks air through his teeth at the news. “Bitch got smeared across the sand by his own buddies. Sucks to be that loser.”
Carmine snorts and chuckles to himself. “Bitch deserved it. Hey Devin, soon as a bunch of them group up give ‘em a taste of the beans. Save the actual HE round for king doitch bag over there.”
“Got it.” There’s a pregnant pause between all three of them as they see three of the scouts and a technical start slowing down from the main group and approaching them. “Oh shit, here comes a gaggle of them now.” Wordlessly, the trio goes to meet them, each of them readying themselves for the fight ahead. “Hey, Carmine, blast the radio; It’ll make us aim better.”
“Whose playlist is on right now?”
Victor rolls down the window and props himself out with his assault rifle at the ready. “Don’t know. It’s either yours, Devin’s, or any one of our granddad’s playlist. We all know that all your grandad listened to was ‘fortunate son’!”
“Oh, fuck off Victor!”
“The joke will never die! Besides, at least your grandad was different. Devin and my grandpa were practically the same person, they even had an on-going list on all the same ideas they had and even the same things they said... Well, what are you waiting for? Play that shit!” Victor shouts over the wind rushing past.
“They were brothers all the same, just as we are now!” Carmine shouts back. “Alright, playing that shit!” Carmine jams a finger into one of the old, faded buttons of the decrepit radio. It takes a moment before it comes to life. The static fading away until suddenly crisp, clear, energetic music starts blasting from the speakers, and the trio are greeted with the steady beat of a tambourine. “Fuck! Could be any one of ours!” Carmine shouts over as a guitar joins in on the fun, followed by drums hot on its tail.
​

All the old paintings on the tombs
They do the sand dance don’t you know?
If they move too quick. (Oh Whey oh!)

​
“Bitching!” Devin shouts, loading in one of the makeshift rounds for the grenade launcher.
-------------
Three scouts, having watched one of their own get crushed under the wheels of their fellow Rust Fiendz, group up together and begin to slow down to lag behind the rest of the pack, not wanting to take the chance of watering the sand in their own blood and viscera due to others’ disregard of life.
“Hey!” One of them shouts, getting the attention of the others. “Who the hell are those jobbers tailing us?”
“’ow the fack should I know?” One of them barks back.
“Well figure it the fuck out because they don’t look like one of ours. Their ride looks too clean and purdy to be one of us. You!” He points to the third, “Go flag one of the more sober guys up there and tell him to back us up.”
“Wait. What the hell why me dipshit?!” He protests.
“Because I said so fuckwad. Unless you want to be fly food smeared across the sand, I suggest you do it.” The third scout relents and goes to one of the technicals up ahead to request help. “Good, we have a new pecking order established now.”
The second scout looks at the self-appointed head incredulously. “The ‘ell there is! I never ‘oted yew to be boss of the scouts!”
“Your fault for not stepping up. Now shut up. From what happened up ahead I don’t think the boss wants anyone bothering him and those party crashers are getting closer. Get ready and bitch boy and motor cuck are coming over to back us up.” The self-appointed head turns around heads off for the armored car coming up on their rear.
“Mutha fucka!” the second bitterly swears. “The ‘ell is that music anyways?”
-------------
Devin stands up and positions himself over the gunner’s nest, eagerly bobbing his head along with the music as he leads the shot on the approaching raiders. Carmine for his part begins steadily speeding up to meet them.
“I’m gonna show these fuckers what real desert heat is!” Victor excitedly shouts over the music. He racks the bolt on the assault rifle and begins taking aim himself.
​

All the bazaar men by the Nile
They got the money on a bet
Gold crocodiles (Oh whey oh)
They snap their teeth on your cigarette.

​
The music starts ramping up now as Carmine floors the gas causing the RPM to sharply rise to the redline and all the men begin harmonizing with music.
​

Foreign types with the hookah pipes say

​
“WHHHEEYYY OOHHH WHHEEY OH, AAAYYY OOHH WHHEEYY OOHH!” They sing together.
​

Walk like an Egyptian...

​
And like that the music dies down for a moment leaving only the strumming of the electric guitar and the methodical shaking of the tambourines. Everyone holds their breath while they focus on the four hostiles coming at them head on. Each one of the men’s eyes dilating like a cat’s, just waiting for the moment to pounce.
...
...
“Closer.” All that’s left is the tambourine, it’s rhythm in sync with the beating of their hearts in their eardrums.
...
...
“Closer.” They all think to themselves, their adrenaline and testosterone building up in anticipation. The guitars make their presence known drowning out the noisy racket of the raiders. Tensions continue to rise until suddenly!
Dun dododo dun dun
Dun dododo dun DUN
DUN DODODO DUN *THOONK\*
Devin fires the grenade launcher, and shots begin to ring out alongside the strums of the guitar. As if on cue, the singer returns, her voice coming in right on time as the bean can explodes, sending bits of tin and whatever else they could stuff in there as makeshift shrapnel, taking out the scouts and flipping over the technical on its side like a wounded ox.
​

The blonde waitresses take their trays
They spin around and they cross the floor
They’ve got the moves! (OOHHH WHHEEEYY OOHHH!)
You drop your drink, then they bring you more!

​
-------------
The sudden shots and the explosion bring the rest of the raiders out of their revelry as each and every one of them sobers up and checks their rear-view mirrors. They watch in surprise as one of their own is flipped onto its side by an unknown assailant. None of them are able to get a good look until the cloud of smoke passes and an armored car in better conditions than theirs rides up to the flipped technical and throws a firebomb onto it, followed by a staccato of gunfire from someone leaning out the passenger side window with nonsensical music playing.
You drop your drink, then they bring you more!
(That drink being the firebomb that was force fed into that poor fucker.)
There is a collective moment of “Oh Shit” between the Rust Fiendz as the single communal braincell bounces in out of the skulls of all the members. Some of them panic, while the drunker ones, angered by this party crasher, make a sloppy U-turn and go to face this suicidal nimrod head-on.
-------------
Carmine pounds the wheel and shouts, “FUCK YEAH GUYS! GOOD SHIT RIGHT THERE!”
“Hell yeah brother!” Victor shouts, all the while Devin begins cackling like a madman over the destruction they had caused. Devin’s cackling is quickly cut short as he hears the pained groans of a poor, unfortunate scout that was badly maimed by the dollar store dumpster frag. Nonchalantly, he brings out his carbine and double taps the raider for good measure and goes back to cackling.
​

All the kids so sick of books
They like the punk and the metal band

​
A honk from the horn cuts Devin and Victor’s celebration short as they see two more technicals and the last of the scouts coming their way.
​

When the buzzer rings (OOHH WWHHEEYY OOHH!)
They’re walking like an Egyptian

​
“That’s our cue guys, get ready!” Carmine calls out.
Devin fires another shot of the grenade launcher at the oncoming enemies, but the effect isn’t as spectacular as last time as the makeshift bean can round manages to dent one of the technicals but bounces off the hood and into the sand. “Fuck a dud!” Devin curses.
“Get on the turret and start blasting Devin!”
“Orders received!” Devin ducks back into the safety of the gunner’s nest right on time too as wild and erratic shots ping off of it. Before he can rack the bolt and begin firing, a thunderous blast disorients him and knocks him against the walls as the whole armored car shakes and sand rains down from above him. Drunkenly, he rubs the back of his head but is caught off guard by his helmet getting away. “Da fuckz wah that?” he slurred out.
Victor ducks down as bullets rattle on the hood of the car and junk rounds begin ricocheting off the armored grill covering the windshield, some of them managing to thread the needle and lodge themselves in the damaged bulletproof glass. “An explosion dipshit. Now-,” Victor covers his head and blind fires out the window towards the oncoming raiders. “GET ON THE FUCKING GUN!” he hurriedly shouts.
“Son of a-bitch goddamn mother *rrghh\*” Devin growls. Shaking his head and racking the bolt of the heavily bubba’ed FAL, he grits his teeth and takes aim. As the scouts get closer, they notice the gunner’s nest moving and begin concentrating their fire on the turret and spreading out. The sudden spray of bullets causes Devin to flinch and wince at the sparks and sharp sounds of scrap bullets on metal, but he clenches his jaw and fires an unfocused burst at one of the scouts. Devin’s shots go wide as Carmine begins speeding ahead and whipping the car violently left and right, either to try and ram some of the scouts or to throw off the aim of the technical firing the explosives.
​

All the kids in the marketplace say
(WHEEY OHH WHHEEYYY OOHH, AAYY OH WHEY OH!)
Walk like an Egyptian...

​
The music is abruptly cut off as another explosion rocks the speeding armored car and the radio cuts off. “FUCK DUDE!” Carmine shouts out.
“What. What! WHAT!” Victor rushes out, dipping back in from the passenger window and narrowly avoiding a spray of bullets from a scout coming up on their rear.
Before Carmine could get out a sentence one of the technicals that had been acting as cover for the other slows down and positions itself on Carmine’s side. Several shots ring out and manage to get through the grate that acted as armor for the driver side window. Victor watches on in horror as three heavy *THUNKS\* can be heard following by Carmine groaning and buckling. Carmine’s head slams on the wheel violently and he ends up honking the horn before snapping back up and firing his pistol at the offending technical.
“ASSHOLES!” Carmine curses. “Devin light those fuckers up on our right!” A violent rhythmic roar can be heard above them as Devin sprays the machine gun with extreme discrimination at the flanking technical. The screams of the raiders are drowned out by the gunfire before their vehicle begins to slow down and all noise from the raider’s Humvee ceases, all except a pitiful mechanical sputtering. The spraying resumes as Devin now has a clear shot on the technical that had been launching the explosives at them. The Rusted Sedan tries to bob and weave out of the shots until something explodes in the back and the car cartoonishly bounces on the sand.
“Fuck,” Devin heavily breathes out. Checking the scuffed belt feeding ammunition into the machine gun, he grimaces at the count and shakes his head. “Eighty-four rounds left. Fuck eighty-four rounds left,” he repeats to himself. “Well let’s see if I can’t rat my out of this one!” Cautiously he peeks his head out from the nest and sees two scouts behind the car taking pot shots at the rear-view window. Thankfully Carmine had the foresight to mount his ballistic shield to the back, but how long it’d hold was the question that worried Devin the most. “Hey, Carmine!”
“Urgh! Ah-Y-yeah Devin?”
“I need you to start doing some shit!”
“What kind of shit!” Carmine takes another shot to the side of his enclosed helmet and one to the side of his chest plate, the bullets not getting through but still managing to cause him to flinch and bruise from the force. He snaps his head to the scout, and the scout, now realizing how much she fucked up begins clutching the break of her ATV. Her ATV doesn’t slow down in time as Carmine fires three shots at her. One of the shots goes wide and misses, the second grazes her arm, but the third pierces her throat. She clutches at her throat with one and falls backward, one hand still death gripping the brake, the uneven steering and the violent braking causes the ATV to flip.
“I need you start swerving around and make these bastards on our tail get closer so I can nail them with the last bean can!”
Victor fires another burst taking out a scout that had been harassing the passenger side of the car. Overhearing the conversation, he taps Carmine’s sides and gets his attention. “Or what we could do. Hey Devin, how close are they!”
“They’re pretty close Victor!”
“How close?”
“About mouth to exhaust pipe distance! Why?” The realization dawns on Devin as he ducks back down to avoid the shots and he promptly gets back on the turret and focuses on ahead.
“Okay, thank you!” Turning his attention back to Carmine, Victor says, “Slam the brakes, this is going to be funny.”
“Oh, fuck yeah!” Carmine laughs out. Carmine abruptly slams on the brakes of the car, it takes a moment as the wheels fail to find traction on the sand, but it isn’t too long as a violent crash and shake of the car tells them as much. “Shit, one of them had a brain cell to rub between their fingers.” Luckily fortune was on their side as the sudden jolt from one of the scouts crashing into them managed to jolt the radio back to life. Unfortunately, though, one of the scouts speeds past them.
The trio lets out an elated cry as the music comes back on, but the elation is short lived as a frustrated shout from Devin alerts them to some unfortunate news. “Fuck he’s getting away and the rest of those braindead barbarians are heading into that sandstorm!”
Carmine steps on the gas and starts chasing after him and Victor leans out the window and takes aim with the crossbow. “Yeah, no we don’t do that here,” Victor states matter-of-factly. “Carmine step on it I want to make sure I land this.”
Carmine nods and tightens his grip on the wheel as the RPM hits the redline once more. “Alright hold on!”
The last scout looks behind himself as the sound of death rumbles like an engine getting pushed to its limits. Seeing how quickly the armored car is gaining on him, he hunches over and begins silently praying for mercy. His prayers are cut short as he feels a sharp pain pierce through his lower back, and he begins swerving wildly into the sandstorm, following the taillights and silhouettes of the other technicals as best he can through the storm.
Victor brings out a tracker and begins monitoring the tracker bolt. “And now we follow him through the storm.”
Devin hunkers down and suddenly jolts, a new fun idea pops up in his head. “Hey Carmine, pause the music. We’re going to be making an entrance!”
-------------
In the middle of the sandstorm the Rust Fiendz bicker and panic amongst themselves through their radios.
“Who the fuck were those guys?!”
“How the hell am I supposed to know!”
“Are you retarded! The Hive lords probably had enough of our shit. They sent someone to kill us!”
“We’re all going to di-“
“SHUT THE FUCK YOU WASTERS AND LISTEN HERE!” Their warchief screams over the radio, the sheer volume of causing the sound quality to warp and distort the audio of their poorly maintained radios. “We probably lost those jackasses in the storm by now, just keep driving. Furiosa!” He calls out.
“Furiosa you useless bitch! Answer me!” he angrily shouts again through the radio.
A calm voice, much too calm and collected to be a raider answers him back, “We’re almost out of the storm boss. It won’t be too long now.”
The warchief throws up a hand in exasperation. “Now you fucking answer.”
“Apologies sir, I was focusing.” She replies, her voice showing no hint of emotion.
“Yeah, well next time do it quicker.”
“Yes sir.”
The Rust Fiendz keep a tight formation as they follow Furiosa’s dune buggy as it takes the lead and guides them out of the storm. Once they’re out of the storm, Furiosa circles around and parks next to the Warchief’s pickup truck. Her vehicle compared to the rest of the group is well maintained with only light rusting here and there.
“Wait holy shit! The hell is that coming at us!” One of the raiders shout out over the radio.
Everyone draws their respective firearms and aims it at the red blinking light coming at them from the depths of the sandstorm. The air is suffocating now as the red gets closer and closer; it’s blinking becoming more rapid and it’s light brighter and brighter. All of them tense up as they hear an engine’s rumble get closer until suddenly something bursts out from the storm and everyone begins indiscriminately blasting at whatever had made the mistake of fucking with their crew.
The gun fire and shooting lasts for a good solid minute, the bullets kicking up sand, the muzzle flash lights the midnight sky and the smoke obscures everyone’s vision. Eventually the shots die down and so does the smoke revealing.
“H-Holy fuck!”
“You GODDAMN IDIOTS!” The Warchief shouts as everyone takes a good look at the swiss-cheesed remains of the last scout and the unidentifiable heap of scrap that was his vehicle. Before the Warchief could shout anymore abuse and obscenities at his band of idiots and jackasses.
Furiosa, the only competent member, says something over the radio. “Listen!” Everyone stops what they’re doing and does as she says. They listen intently and all they can hear is the rumble of their engines, the howling sandstorm and...
“Whistling?”
The whistling is distant, but overtime it gets louder and louder until they also hear the sounds of-
“Are those fucking guitars?”
“I hear a rattle...”
​

Slide your feet up the street, bend your back

​
“Is that singing?”
​

Shift your arm then you pull it back

​
Everyone’s collective blood runs cold as the familiar tune starts playing through the sandstorm and the sound of an engine gets louder and louder.
Life is hard don’t you know
And then once more silence.
...
...
...
“The fuck did it-“
For once in the Rust Fiendz collective lives, they did something in unison. They screamed as an armored car with people shouting-
​

"OOOOHHH WWHHHEEYYY OOOHHH!"

​
Landed on and crushed the occupants of a Cadillac, scratching another off their list of technicals.
​

SO STRIKE A POSE ON A CADILLAC

​

Chapter 6:
IN AN ESCAPE POD WONDERING IF THIS TRULY IS THE LAST
^{静けさが追いつめる}

“OH BY THE COMMON GOOD WHY! WHY! WHY!?” Cried Akali as one of the buttons he pressed only caused the escape pod to accelerate even faster. He clutched the sides of his head and began pacing in circles.
​
“How do I always get myself into these sorts of situations?!” he desperately shouted his hands grasping at the air, helplessly reaching out for something that wasn’t. He asked the question over and over again, but his desperate cries were answered only by the deafening roar of the escape pods thruster as it hurtled through space.

The escape pod blared.
“W-what is it now!” Quickly Akali rushed over to the main console of the escape pod to see what else the universe wanted to add to his woes. His eyes widened and all the feathers on his cobra-like hood flared out, a primordial fight or flight response to scare off predators or to make oneself blend better with shrubs and bushes to ambush prey. However, this response would do nothing as he couldn’t scare a console, nor were there any bushes to hide in from the decrepit satellites.



And like that hope was reignited in Akali as he frantically reached for the glove compartment, his hands fumbling the latch to open it. Each time it did his heart rate would spike until. “YES FINALLY!” He triumphantly shouted as he opened up the glove compartment. Instantly he looked down and all that met him was a pocket of darkness as black as the void around him as the glove compartment was empty. Save for a hastily written note that read.
The User Manual is currently being inspected by Health and Safety Specialist: Orza T’igalma. Please DO NOT use the Escape pod during this inspection period.
~Yours truly Cleaning and Maintenance Specialist ‘Gumpy’
P.S. Stop calling me a Janitor. I am a Cleaning and Maintenance Specialist dammit!
The light in Akali’s eyes faded out upon reading the note. His mind shutting off completely, tuning out the rattling and occasional impact that shook the escape pod as it barreled through the halo of space debris and satellites that surrounded the dead planet that the escape pod was on a hell-bent collision course towards. However, his mind was able to think of one thing; the crewmember he had encountered during his rush to get to his uncle, the various signs that got knocked out during his collision with said crewmember, and even the janitor’s scrubs that the crewmember wore. Then the pieces started fitting together; and he realized that one of those signs looked oddly like the one used for escape pods back on the station he was previously on.
The feathers on his hood spiked up as he let out a primal screech, “LORD GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE SO THAT I CAN MURDER THAT MANGY LO’HAAANNN!!”
-------------
Meanwhile on the Great Endeavor.
Several members of The Great Endeavor’s security team rushed to the escape pods; the order had just been given. It was a ‘Centauri protocol’ which called for the security team’s best equipment and their best members.
“What in Hel’s embrace?” One of the Vicaik members exclaimed.
“What?” One of them asked.
“Where the Hel are the signs?”
“What signs?”
“The signs.” The Vicaik stated again, pointing at the empty mounts and missing placards. The other members began looking around and sure enough, the signs were gone.
“It shouldn’t even matter. We know where they are,” One of the members said dismissively.
“I know that, but isn’t the captain’s nephew new?”
One of the crewmembers pauses at this and strokes their chin at the observation. “By about... a little less than a week why?”
...
...
The Vicaik slaps a heavy paw to their forehead. “Shit, that explains it!” He exclaims.
“Explains what?”
“He probably didn’t even memorize the layout! Also, that janitor probably screwed up some of the electrical systems while cleaning and probably shorted out some of the signs.”
“And?”
“You know what he always does. He always takes the damn signs to electrical to ‘have them fixed’. Before the Vicaik can elaborate more on the topic, an alert on their PDA’s draws their attention.

​
A.N: Hope you guys liked this chapter.
Also, Question: Should I make the chapters their own separate posts or should I keep doing what I'm doing now? Any other feedback, critiques, or criticisms are very much welcome.

I've been having increasingly terrible hangovers for years.
As a result I've completely stopped drinking alcohol, but still occasionally have an alcohol-free beer. I can get hangovers from them! But fair enough, there's a bit of alcohol in most of them.
Recently I've been feeling tired and getting headaches much more often than normal.
Cutting out all the polyunsaturated evil made me feel much better.
The other day I was in a pub and had a coffee. Later I wanted another and they'd turned off the coffee machine and so I had a lime and soda.
The next morning I had a hangover, with headache.
My sister is a publican, and I told her that my alcohol intolerance was now so bad that I could get a hangover from lime and soda.
And she said, pulling a bottle of lime cordial off a shelf: "What you've got is a sulphite allergy."
I do not have a sulphite allergy. I know what allergies feel like.
But I figured my sister had probably hit the nail, if not squarely on the head.
I ate half a jar of maraschino cherries as a test, and it gave me (headache and nausea) that went on for two days.
So I worked out what sorts of things had sulphites in them and stopped having them (not too hard because most things with preservatives went out the window as part of giving up PUFAs).
The last culprit detected was my breakfast muesli. So innocent-looking. Whole box overboard.
I feel great! Tiredness much reduced, almost gone. Headaches gone.
Medical "science" does not believe in sulphite intolerance. I do.
Apparently there's an enzyme, sulphite oxidase, which turns sulphites (a poison, kills bacteria, hence a preservative) into sulphates (harmless).
I think it is probably possible to get bad at making this enzyme as you get older. (My health was perfect until I was around 40. I used to be a heroic drinker.)
I wonder if half the effect of giving up PUFAs is from not eating the poisons in processed food.

I love espresso but I don’t want to fiddle with learning how to operate manual machines, I just don’t have the time. I need caffeine with the least amount of intervention, which led me to super autos. I will have the occasional milk drink but what really gets me going is a nice double shot in the AM and again throughout the day. My biggest challenge is, I am saving for a house and I barely have a budget at all. I can’t spend over $500 and even that is a tough sell for my oh-so-cute but frugal fiancé. He drinks his coffee out of a $12 Walmart pot, and god love him he is trying to be supportive of my espresso needs but given the stage we are in he’s trying his best to keep me from splurging. It’s working. In the fall after we close, I would be able to invest in something around $1k-1.5 but if I find something budget friendly now that would be great. I need espresso at home, we are far from shops and it feels like a waste spending $7 on coffee out every time I leave the house. From what I’m reading though, the budget machines are not very reliable and probably wouldn’t last. Should I just get a nespresso or something like that to tide me over until I can afford something nicer, or is there anything extremely budget friendly that’s worth a damn?

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Via needabarista.co.uk