Non alcoholic beer kroger

I have a 5.4cm liver lesion. I'm a 26 year old female, minimal alcohol and life long non smoker.
I've had an MRI, CT, x2 ultrasounds and bloodwork. Doctors are a bit slow on progressing with this case. But I got my hands on the reports (they don't know) and the gastroenterologist and radiologists believe it is fibrolamellar carcinoma based on all my investigations.
How likely is it they could be wrong? They said on the MRI it does not have benign pathology. Maybe it is cancerous but could be hepatocellular carcinoma, or what's the likelihood it is benign if they report otherwise?
Happy to post the reports as I'm curious on them at the moment 😊

I work in hospitality, a very popular chain company here at the UK, I won't mention the name, but I can honestly say, it's the best job I've ever had, I didn't think I would enjoy a job so much especially working the night shifts. When I was being interviewed, everything was sounding amazing until they mentioned I would be working completely alone, I have to admit that made my heart skip a beat and I almost refused the job. But honestly accepting the job was the best thing I ever did and being there for nearly 2 years has proven that, I still can't believe I work there. The staff are amazing, the guests are 99.9% pleasant and overall I'm very happy.
But of course, where there's good, there is bad. Sure I've dealt with awkard guests, guests who came back drunk after a night out, I even had to kick out a few guests because they were being way too loud and disturbing other guests sleeping. So it's not all sun shine and roses I admit but that doesn't put me off my job. Until one night where a guest made me question that very thing.
It happened a few weeks ago, I arrived at my normal time to take over from evening staff, the duty manager that was working took me to one side and gave me the run down on what happened to her and the staff that evening during dinner service. According to her, the 2 guests (a man and a woman) who is staying in room 1 was acting very strange, apparently they stepped out to have a cigarette but the guy was disturbing the guests who was eating dinner, by slamming his entire body against the windows that looked into the restaurant, shouting profanities, and making rude hand gestures. He then disappeared for a few minutes then came back with a fire extinguisher that he got from our bin shed. Whilst all this was happening, the duty manager stepped out and gave him a warning and told him if they disturb any more guests or attempts to destroy the hotel property again, they'll be out. Apparently the guy made some empty threatening remarks then disappeared back into his room with his lady friend.
The duty manager assured me that it's highly doubtful that the strange couple will come out of their room for the rest of the night and that everything should be ok. Oh how wrong she was.
After the duty manger and front of house staff left at around 11.15pm, i locked the doors and grabbed my panic button, something that the manager insists us night shift workers wear as a precaution, and although I never had to use it, I'm very glad I wore it that night. I knuckled down and got on with my duties, cleaning, setting up continental breakfast, emptying rubbish bags, counting the till, restocking juices and defrosting pancakes, crumpets and muffins. Little but necessary jobs. At around 1.30am I just finished mopping and getting ready to sit down to take a little break with some snacks and scroll through my phone in the restaurant area, I was just about to take a bite when all of a sudden I heard the hotel door open. It was the couple from room 1, making their way outside to have another cigarette. Going by what the duty manager told me about the guy I didn't feel at all safe being alone in the open, so I gathered all my things and made my way to the office where I could lock myself in a keep an eye on them on the CCTV monitor.
Some time went by, and the lady made her way back in, and she did not look at all well, she was walking so slowly, like she was in pain, swaying while she walked, stopping every few steps, but she managed to get back into her room from what I can see on the monitors. The guy how ever was not at all in a rush to go back to the room. He made his way back in the hotel with his key card and decided he was going to explore the restaurant area, ok nothing alarming, at first i thought he was looking for me, and I almost opened the door to let him know I was there, until I looked up at the monitor and there he was standing on a table and dancing, now I know that doesn't sound at all threatening but you have to admit, very strange behaviour. So instead of opening the door, I decided to observe him for a while and for the next hour or so, his behaviour went from strange, to damn right disturbing.
As I said he started off by just dancing on a table, then danced around the restaurant area, then made his way to the lobby area where he decided to stand very still like a statue, then a few seconds later, move position, then stand still again. Again not very threatening, in fact I was giggling a little just watching him doing what ever the heck he was doing. But the worse was yet to come.
At around 2.45am the guy was still acting strange, he was constantly going in and out of the hotel, dancing some more and jumping around. Then he decided it would be a good idea to take the condiment tray, take a seat on the chair behind the desk and start drinking the ketchup and brown sauce. Ok, now his behaviour has gone from strange, to a bit concerning. I was not about to open the office and tell him he needs to stop what he's doing and go back to his room, being a lone female worker I wasn't about to put myself in any danger, but I wasn't in enough danger to call anybody so again, I just watched him. As time went on his behaviour slowly went from concerning to disgusting.
Around 3.25am after he finished drinking the condiments, he got up and took his shirt off and wiped away the sauce that was around his mouth, he then draped his shirt over the desk chair walked around a little bit until he came to a complete stop and slowly turned his head towards the office door. Now I'm scared, the way he slowly walked towards the office door, the way he made direct eye contact at the camera as if to say, "I know you're in there watching me" he pressed his body against the office door and started kissing it whilst making direct eye contact with the camera, he then started putting his hand down his shorts and yes he was doing exactly what you're thinking. I felt sick, my whole body broke into a kind of frozen mode, like I couldn't believe what I was looking at but I knew I had to do something and fast.
So I pressed my panic button and called the police, I wanted him gone, time was passing fast and pretty soon breakfast service would be starting and I didn't want any other guests to be in danger. As I was on the phone to the police I spoke in a kind of whisper talk, so the guy right outside the door couldn't hear me, I told the dispatcher everything and of course they sent a call out for officers to come to the hotel to see the situation. It was just before 4am when the police officers arrived, and the guy was still in the lobby area but not doing what he was doing before. Instead in a very dramatic way he went down on his knees and yelled "not me, not me" I made my way out of the office, feeling safer that the police were there and whilst he was still on his knees with his hands above his head I told one officer everything that I told dispatch. The officers tried to communicate with him that him and his lady friend needs to leave the premises, there was a language barrier I think the guy was polish he kept saying "not me" or " I no go"
One officer asked to be let into his room to check on the lady friend, as soon as I opened the door, we were hit with the most foulest of smells ever, it smelt like urine and feaces, bottle of beer scattered everywhere, hard drugs on the bedroom desk. The lady friend was sat up naked on the bed that was drenched with urine and alcohol. I never seen anything like it.
After much argueing and alot more police officers arriving with a riot van. The guy was arrested and was put into the back of the van. A relative arrived just before 6.15 am to collect the lady. They couldn't be more apologetic, trying to explain to me that both of them had mental issues and have been missing for days. I tried to be understanding, I really did, but after what I saw, at that moment I just wanted them gone.
By 6.45am the police and the couple were gone. And the day manager arrived. I told them everything and showed them what had happened on the cctv. They gave me a big hug and praised me for how I treated the situation, but all I wanted to do was go home and take a long hot shower and go to bed. I was exhausted.
It's been a few weeks and I was told the guy was charged for indesent exposure and the lady is staying with a relative. I really do hope that both of them get the help they desperately need. As for me, I'm still working there, I'm not about to let one major incident make me leave a job I love. But what it has taught me, is to always, always trust your gut, if I didn't run to the office when I did, god knows what would of happened to me.

I was an avid coke user for a few years, I used other drugs but the alcohol/coke combo was my DOC almost always. I did spend a lot of money on it, I lied to people, stole from people, etc. nothing TOO intense but still did those things to a certain degree. The pandemic rlly limited my access to it so I mainly just drank and then when I got out of the pandemic I kind of just joined AA because I hated drinkign to the point of prolonged physical sickness, so I've been sober for a little while. I guess it ultimately doesn't matter if I'm a drug addict and/or alcoholic in terms of labels if I'm choosing 100% abstinence either way. But I was reading an article that said coke addicts because of the way using it impairs brains can actually make the addict have a completely warped view of their using. I talk to others about my coke usage and I'm consistently like, "ya man, that stuff is probably the best thing that i've ever experienced, i love it," and the non-addict I'm talking to will be like... that's not normal pal. Which I get they're not users but damn do they want me to lie and say I hated it? And when I reflect upon it it caused me distress, got a few batches mixed with fenty and didn't stop, lied and stole. And ya I was miserable by the end of it but the feeling of it is still something I long for and miss, I loved that sh*t. But when I lost access to it in the pandemic, I survived just fine and haven't actually used for years... so I really don't know if I just really loved it or if I'm a drug addict?

Hello everyone
I am 31 Female, no drugs no alcohol and non smoker. I do not take any medication on a regular basis. Allergies to Buscopan.
Over a month ago I had Covid and then I had a terrible stomach bug.
2 weeks after that I started having diarrhea after meals and sometimes in the morning. Mostly bloating and burgling after meals.
I went through the following tests

1. complete blood count - elevated bilirubin 1,9 no other values were off
2. sonography abdomen - all okay
3. Endoscopy and Colonoscopy- all okay and biopsies are taken waiting for the results
4. stool test shows Helicobacter pylori, leaky gut and increased bile acids

I started Pylera with a Stomach acid blocker as instructed by my GI. Unfortunately after a day of extreme side effects I had to stop it.
We are reconsidering if we should treat it using amoxicillin etc.
My current symptom is on and off diarrhea and nausea.
Could this be caused by H Pylori?
I would appreciate any help.

We use to be alcoholics together. I quit several years ago during the early pandemic. They also quit as-well. But they relapsed and I hate coming home. Cuz I know it’s one day on one day off. And when I’m home on days they have downed several bottles of alcohol it’s non stop aggression and verbal abuse, crying, bi polar. I can’t even get a word in without being told to shut the f up you fing idiot. I can’t do it anymore. I deserve so much better. I gotten away once and I came back and then the pandemic hit and I just accepted it and I think I died a bit inside and worked as much overtime as I could because it was better then being at home and now I have some money aside. And honestly I’m so fed up where I live. Im sleeping on the sofa. I’m just done with this city, everything is pushing me away/ rejecting me. I’m down to the wire of being able to be on a youth visa I was thinking France or Germany. Though I know none of these languages. But I need to get away, I need change. I’m feeling so stale. 35 here and soon to be 36. So I’d need to apply soon. I can’t go to my parents because last time that happened I was also abused. I’ve been abused by them my whole life. And looking back on all my relationships they have all been abusive in some way. I think I was use to abuse and found that in partners because all I knew was being treated like crap.
I have no friends. No hobbies. I just work, gym, eat, sleep, clean.
I have no real job prospects. Jumped around various jobs stuck around for 4-5 years at each one. I have an unfinished BSC… 1 undergrad pre requisite course I failed several times and didn’t bother going back.
I have ADHD and I’m scared if I move I won’t have access to my meds and I will just spiral back into a deep depression.
I don’t even know where to start of how to fix all this mess I’ve gotten myself in.

Does anyone get this longing? … how to explain…?
So this ain’t my first rodeo. AT ALL. Long story short it’s been ten years of maniacal chaotic drinking ( many fun and parties along the way but obvs way way too many dark and disturbing times ) and five years diagnosed with a chronic condition prompting me to get an alcoholic councillor, try AA ( nope), find smart recover, scream and cry, breakdown for a summer, find weight training, running and yoga religiously and talk about it as much as possible ( to people who are here to listen ).
But here it is. The longing. Usually happens about three weeks sober from my last relapse. ( which is about now ). It’s like some inner thing, inner arm reaching for something constantly. Gets annoying as it reaches my consciousness from my unconscious. Like a constant ‘ where’s my…?’ Where’s my where’s my where’s my. I honestly think it’s a part of myself reaching for my fags and beer.
Well she can keep reaching. Just breathing into this and tryna let myself explore the feeling and that maybe nothing will fill that particular longing.
(Though Pump up the Jam just came on the radio and dancing maniacally to that helps. )

I work in a high end steak house and as many know, the restaurant industry is based on alcohol. Everyone’s drinking beer, fancy drinks and I’ve even been offered drinks a lot in the past.
The reason I’m nervous to work tomorrow is that this is the first week that I haven’t had a drink in quite a long time and as of today, I’m six days sober and also attending AA. This will be the first weekend that I can remember where I will not be going to the bar after work to socialize with my coworkers and black out.
It’s not a huge concern as I feel I’ll be able to do this, but originally I was supposed to work a day shift and this was a last second request.
I’m not being too paranoid am I? I just hope I don’t become tempted…

Im so confused. "background"
We met 2 years ago. Everything was amazing. I have a daughter from a previous relationship and always worried about being able to find the perfect man.
I ended up dating an amazing man (at the time).
As time went on he would act strange and when he met my friends he said they were not good for me. (i know red flags, but my friends are crazy but they are good to me and i am just the quiet one in the group).
We were "doing" stuff in bed one night and he bite my lip and wouldn't let it go. He said that I was a whore and loved attention.
I left him after this. Then after work I got home, outside my front door was flowers, a massive new mirror, a card, and new furniture. I rang him to say thank you. He apologised and said he has issues with gambling.
I told him i would help i was happy he told me.
Time went on we went on holidays he spolied us rotten with gifts, disney, italy, trips everywhere. And then every few months he would blip, call me horrible names, say horrible things about my body (to the point where i can not even look at myself in the mirror anymore).
"Anyways"
Every few month blips, turned into every fortnight, every weekend and recently every other day.
I left him ages ago. But I still see him sometimes as my daughter loves him, his family our like my family. It really was a dream relationship, i sometimes regretted ending it, but i didn't like what it was doing to my energy levels and mental health. Everything had to be about him. If i went out with a friend he would get drunk in my house and ask me if i was woth another man. (literally in work uniform after work beers and food with 2 female friends) i stopped going out. He had fake social media accounts under different names to talk to women, was on sex meetup sites. He was going to gambling meetings and getting close woth females there. I had enough and left.
FAST FORWARD.
Past few weeks i have been feeling absolutely amazing. I have felt free, doing fun things, enjoying life, beach trips, out with friends. I was ignoring his texts.
** I was OVER him completely**
He rang me saying he needed help badly. He's in debt and needs me to help him get well. He was crying. I said okay, you can stay with me for 4 weeks, until pay day.
The first 3 days were fun and as the weekend approached he asked if we could try to be a family again. I said no. I don't love you, i am here to help you, that's it.
He kept asking, and asking and asking. He admitted that hundreds of women have been propositioned him (from work and his home town) and he has wasted his time on me. I told him i was happy for him and he should move on. He agreed.
We planned to go swimming this weekend. He came to pick me up. (i noticed 100€ was missing).
He said he dropped it.
I counted money and he asked me again about being a family. I said no stop asking. He said no point in living ill just go gamble.
We got into a huge argument. He was trying to get bank card to gamble and i ended up flushing it down the toilet. (im not an anrgy person but i have been lisntening to gambling stuff non stop for 2 years and reacted). I told him he needed help, i couldn't do it alone.
I had money in my hand sitting down. He stood staring at me. He walked over and put his arms out wide and i thought he was giving me a hug(hes 6.6ft 18 stone, big big guy). He slapped both sides of my face and squeezed really hard saying"your mine i want you, I want you, i need you" over and over again. (left a small bruise)
I locked myself outside. He left. My daughter was in neighbours house at pool party. I rang my mum. My mum rang the police. And the police are now wanting to put my child on a protection list with social services. (ie. Her dad will get custody (whole other dilemma she hates going to his house, he won't let her be a kid ie.messy time, he doesn't play with her).
I know he won't come near me again, just want to be at peace and enjoy like last week.
I can't sleep now, my mental health is very very low because I am afraid I am going to loose my daughter. I lay awake all night looking at her.
My whole life is all about her. I am an amazing mother, my daughter is confident, intelligent, emotionally intune, empathic and so loving.
She's top in her class for reading and maths. I take her swimming everyweek, to the beach, holidays, horse riding, fishing. Everything i have goes to my daughter.
And now because my mum reported my ex for domestic violence, I am going to loose my daughter.
I just feel like giving up.

Checklist of Hidden Preferences
​
Spanking
Double Penetration
Slave Fantasy
Golden Showers
Degradation
Humiliation
Praise
Latex
Bondage (rope)
Bondage (harness)
Bondage (apparatus - table / chair / cross)
Group Sex
Exhibitionism (being watched)
Anal Sex
Dirty Talk (specific trigger words - slut/whore/explicit acts described in detail)
Cum Play (facials / Ahegao)
Escort Fantasy
Mutual Masturbation
Nipple Play
Anal Play (Beads / plugs / licking the anus / having your anus licked)
Gang Bang (3+ partners at once)
Being recorded
Consentual Non-Consent (rape fantasy)
Choking
Ball Gag
Collar
Masks/Blindfolds
Glory Hole
Whipping
Fuck Toy fantasy
Big Cock
Fake Tits
Tape in an X over nipples
Edging / Orgasm Control
Threesome (FFM or MMF or both)
Oral Sex
Anonymous Sex
Bimbo Fantasy
Daddy Play
Toys
Visual Stimulus (Porn / Slideshow)
Restraints
Pain
Discipline
Service
Spit
Domination
Submission
Being Held
Role Play
Voyeurism (watching others)
Hoisery (lingere / tights / thigh high nylons / pantyhose)
Aurilism (Moaning / ASMR stimulation)
Music
Stimulants - cocaine / alcohol / thc / MDMA / Mushrooms
Wax Play
Homosexuality
Tan Lines
Feet

Beer is fun 🍺 I’m having trouble finding any credible info on where it is actually legal to get beer online and what are the limits. By “online” I imply a purchase made on a website which are usually not local to the state with the beer delivered via FedEx and UPS.
I’ve read that Utah and Alabama prohibit all online delivery of alcohol but that’s about it.
Does anyone actually track these things outside of Utah and Alabama?

28, male, 5"7, non smoker, occasional alcohol, no medications, no drugs, 165 lbs.
I have had an issue with my right foot for at least a month and a half now, probably more. It's a pain that I notice walking or running, specifically when bending the toes to push off for leverage in that last moment before that foot comes off the ground. Bending it hurts, but I can also push against the ball of my foot with my thumb and find the painful spot. It's a relatively isolated spot at the base of the middle toe's phalange bone. I can bend other toes just fine without pain, but that one will hurt to pull back or push forward, the pain being in that same spot on the bone as well poking at it. It's a sharp sort of pain, very topical. Sometimes, usually after trying to strech it, it can have a hot sort of lingering pain, but usually it's just when walking or putting pressure on that specific spot.
Here's the backstory if helpful.
I play a lot of ultimate frisbee, and I'd taken off the winter to rest some shin splints i'd struggled with. Having started back up in spring, I quickly found my shins happy, but my feet not so much. My plantar facia seemed to be very tight, but it seemed to be loosening up. I stopped noticing that issue, and it seemed like my feet kept wearing down. I started getting a pain in the ball of my right foot. I kept playing, it was manageable, but it just got worse over time. I've been taking a few weeks off to recover, but it's still a work in progress, and I'm trying to figure out how soon I should play and if I am at risk of ruining my progress. I would say it's gotten better, I can walk casually now without noticing it, so I have to believe it can heal itself. But at the same time, I've never had this type of injury before, so I could use some help. I've also got a video of me showing the exact spot.
If anyone has insight, I appreciate the help. I'm looking into podiatrists near me, but money isn't in high supply, and I'm uninsured, so I need to be careful and get an idea of what the issue might be and where to get it addressed cheaply.

Chapter 4: The Dew
We have a new cast member for this chapter! Her name is Molly, and let’s just say she’s the MVP.
It was almost noon when I woke up. Faaaaack! I scrambled to get dressed, slap on a little makeup, put my hair in purple pigtails, ask myself whether I was dolling myself up for FPB or for Axton... Yeah, that was a no-brainer. I engaged in basic some humaning (brushing teeth, applying deodorant, etc.), spritzed on some men’s cologne called Spicebomb (FPB really was kind of right about that), put on my new shoes, and dashed out the door. I looked at my phone to see if I had a missed call or an angry text from FPB. Nope. Good! He must have still been passed out.
I Ubered to FPB’s place to get my car, then I drove back to Sage’s house and parked on the side of the street. There were four Molly Maid vehicles in the driveway. I checked the door. It was unlocked. Was it possible that my absence might have gone unnoticed? As I entered the house, I could hear one of the professional cleaners yelling at Sage. I’ll call her Molly.
Molly: I’m charging you TRIPLE! I had to call in SIX extra girls. We clean up vomit, pee pee, poo poo, and your house smells like a distillery! You are nasty, nasty people!
I was damn near pissing myself laughing. One of the professional cleaners swooped past me, and I felt embarrassed to even be associated with these nasty, nasty people (even though all of them except for FPB had been super nice to me).
I found my way into the kitchen and accidentally interrupted Sage and Athena arguing over who was going to pay the cleaning bill. Sage was in favor of splitting it between the chummers, and Athena was in favor of sticking Mori with the bill since his nasty, nasty rules caused the nasty, nasty mess.
I cleared my throat so it didn’t seem like I was eavesdropping.
Athena: OP! Hey! Where have you been all morning?
Me: I ran home to get some sleep. The snoring was pretty loud...
Athena: I hear ya. We sleep in Sage’s bedroom, but Mori makes all the others sleep in the War Room or on the porch. You might be able to convince him to let you sleep in the guest room tonight?
Me: Isn’t it your house, Sage? I’ll play by your rules.
Sage: Yeah, but Mori’s in charge during Shadowrun weekends.
Damn, this really was starting to feel like a fucking cult. But I still found Mori hella amusing despite all his absurdities.
Me: Hey, guys? How much hell am I about to catch from FPB?
Sage: That would be... none. He’s still passed out in the backyard.
I made my way to the porch. I guess the cleaning crew hadn’t gotten there yet. There were toppled cups, empty liquor bottles, and several piles of puke on the porch; and the distinct scent of boozy pee clashed in an act of olfactory violence with the scent of stale vomit. I didn’t even want to take a single step outside. I was wearing my brand new shoes, after all! But the rest of my outfit was blissfully casual.
FPB’s absurdly formal clothes were draped over the hammock, and he was sprawled across a lawn chair in nothing but his black boxer briefs, snoring like a freight train.
Axton was sitting on a dry patch of the steps that led down to the yard, smoking a cigarette, and drinking what I hoped was coffee. Snorlax was passed out in the inflatable kiddie pool. And Mori was nowhere to be seen. Axton turned around and noticed me. Surely he didn’t remember trying to kiss me the night before. I mean, I kind of hoped that he did... but it would make my life a whole lot easier if he didn’t.
Axton: OP! Where did you run off to after you put us to bed?
Me: I went to sleep.
Axton: Where?
Me: Ummmm...
Axton: I won’t say anything to FPB, don’t worry.
I wanted to believe him. “I went home. I wanted to sleep in my own bed, and I wanted to have my car in case I get tired again. I seriously can’t keep up with you guys.”
Axton: That’s probably not anything to be ashamed of. Wanna come sit? Have a smoke?
I scanned the porch. “I’m not sure where it’s safe to step.”
Axton put his cig in the ashtray and stood up. “Combat boots to the rescue.”
He crossed the porch, picked me up, and carried me to the puke/pee/booze-free step. As he was putting me down his hand very deliberately grazed the length of my spine. Guess he remembered... I couldn’t seem to pull my hand off his shoulder, nor could I seem to take my eyes off his lips. But just then, FPB stirred. And he roared, “UNHAND MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
He tried to stand, but his tall, hungover ass just withered to the ground.
Me: Good morning! Don’t worry. He was just helping me protect my new shoes.
FPB: So help me, Pretty Boy. If you touch my girlfriend again, I WILL END YOU.
Axton: Just trying to be gentlemanly, buddy. You want some coffee?
FPB grunted.
Axton turned to me. “You want some, too?”
FPB: DO NOT SPEAK TO HER, YOU FUCKING SKIDMARK.
Me: I’m good. I’ll hit Mori up for some coke later on.
Axton laughed and headed to the kitchen.
FPB: YOU WILL NOT GET COKE FROM MORI. I WILL LITERALLY KILL HIS (expletive slur deleted) ASS IF HE GIVES YOU COKE.
Snorlax was stirring in the kiddie pool.
Snorlax: FPB... Chill, bro. Seriously. God damn. You’re gonna pop a vein in your forehead.
Okay, it’s finally time to pause and give you guys some background on my relationship with FPB. It might be mildly triggering for some, so apologies in advance.
He repulsed me at first. I thought he was a snob, I hated his beard, and his circus freak height intimidated me a little. But he managed to humanize himself. He feigned vulnerability. He was attentive and affectionate (at first). And when we finally went on a proper date, it was actually pretty romantic. Plus, he had cool Bioshock tattoos! I wouldn’t find out about his Shadowrun tramp stamp until a bit later.
And I felt like I was gaining some maturity by looking past the unsightly beard, the constantly furrowed brow, and the shocking amount of time he spent standing on the most random soapboxes one could possibly imagine. I’ll also shoehorn in the fact that he had been “dating” a possessive, obsessive legbeard and I found myself feeling like a white knight for helping him out of that annoying situationship.
FPB’s triumphant, and probably fabricated, stories of his past facilitated empathy. He had dropped out of college to join the Peace Corps. He once pulled over to save a child from a burning vehicle. He had been bullied in middle school for being the only boy in the Color Guard. Blah, blah, blah. It was mostly a load of bollocks, and I’ll save the ridiculous details for another story. But his displays of affection in the early stages of our cursed courtship seemed sincere, and I believed him when he said that my “being there for him” was helping him grow as a person. What a rube I was.
The emotional connection gradually ran deeper as a result of FPB’s exceptionally well-rehearsed vulnerability act, but it was hardly a romance novel. After several relatively normal “getting to know each other” months, I discovered that FPB had been notoriously promiscuous in the past. A lothario, through and through. Many women apparently knew all about the “ladies’ man maître D” in midtown Wellsprings who would go home with absolutely ANYONE.
And I soon figured out that he had not left his promiscuous past behind him... at all. But even if I hadn’t become aware of his reputation, I could often smell his sexual escapades once he felt confident enough to interact with me immediately after he’d gone muff diving. His beard stank like a turtle tank, with heavy top notes of body odor and microwaved fish, and undertones of stale urine, dingleberries, and sometimes a gentle waft of rotting tampon.
He’d also had to treat his foul flavor-saver for pubic lice on a few occasions. I know I mentioned his beard crabs earlier, but it bears repeating (if only for the cringe). I can’t even begin to explain how humiliating the state of his beard was for me. I take care of all manner of personal hygiene, and I’ve certainly never had CRABS. To be known as the girlfriend of such a nasty beardo must have caused at least a few people to reasonably assume that I had a crab-infested crotch and a serious case of junk funk. #notmyjunk
Hindsight tells me that I didn’t care about his philandering because I wasn’t in love with him. His company wasn’t particularly enjoyable since he spent most of our time together complaining about “losers” on the internet and lambasting the insufferable management at the restaurant where he worked. But he could carry on lengthy conversations about luxury fragrance, which was... harmless. Plus, I enjoyed the idea of having a “boyfriend” since I was approaching 30.
And FPB could convincing behave like the *perfect gentleman* on the rare occasions when we attended respectable social events together. So all of my friends thought I’d won the dating lottery by landing myself a quirky, intelligent, polite, and visually striking boyfriend. This dreadful dating experience tempts me to spout some unsolicited advice along the lines of, “Wait for the right *connection* with a person who makes your life more enjoyable, and don’t get hung up on your relationship status... YOU are enough.” But perhaps that’s something we all have to realize for ourselves.
Aside from the philandering, things ran pretty smoothly back when FPB was still keeping “the crazy” under wraps. His goblinization unfolded in tiny, almost imperceptible increments. And by the time he had become a full-blown possessive lunatic, every attempt to end things with him resulted in death threats, slander, vandalism, bomb threats, or false police reports. I could easily write an entire lengthy story about every disastrous breakup attempt. But they wouldn’t be amusing stories. At least this current story has moments that I can try to frame as humorous, largely thanks to the Shadowrun crew.
I suppose the most honest answer as to why I had given FPB chance after chance is that I had absolutely NO prior experience being emotionally close to severely mentally unstable people. I’m one of the lucky ones who has never suffered from mental illness aside from occasional situational depression and some mild body images issues when I was a teenage girl on the high school drill team. I grew up in a loving family. And the only other serious romantic relationship I’d had prior to FPB fell apart because we were just in different stages of life (he was quite a bit older), and we eventually found ourselves unable to relate to one another. Nothing horrifying.
FPB was much closer to my age, we had common interests, and he was a (seemingly) genuine gentleman at first. Our relationship was like Beauty and the Beast... in reverse. I’m not so much comparing myself to Belle as I’m comparing FPB to a kind-hearted prince who gradually transformed into a stomping, snarling, tantrum-throwing BEAST.
Any desire that I’d ever felt for him died from poon fume inhalation. And FPB was pitifully butt-hurt when I closed the cookie to him. And despite displaying no interest in showing affection towards me, despite having countless randos at whom he could wiggle his whisky wang, despite griping incessantly about my terrible personality, my wretched taste in music, and my annoying sense of humor, he refused to end the relationship.
But if I so much as spoke to another man, FPB would call the police and report him as a TCAP Story, vandalize his property (usually with poop and/or semen), stalk him relentlessly, or make a slanderous website, crudely photoshopping the poor guy’s face onto obscene images that he got off the deepest, dingiest, most dumpster-fiery recesses of the dark web. This “retaliation technique” would eventually get his ass incarcerated, but not until many, many unfortunate girlfriends later.
Everyone had always told me that, “Relationships are HARD.” Guys, gals, non-binary pals... if you ever feel the need to cough out this fetid tonsil stone of “wisdom,” please operationally define the word “HARD.” If a relationship feels like a prison sentence and you find yourself fearing for your safety or for the safety of your loved ones, that isn’t “hard.” That is coercive control. RUN. But never forget that running is often much, mucheasier said than done. There’s no shame in getting help from friends, family, and law enforcement.
​
So, where were we? Snorlax was telling FPB to chill out, Axton was going to get some coffee for the lanky, bearded ball of rage, and I was standing on the one clean step, hoping the cleaning crew would come outside and save us all.
FPB was flailing about, trying to achieve a sitting position. Snorlax seemed to have gone back to sleep. And Axton returned to the porch with a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. He made his way down to FPB.
FPB: You’d better stay far, FAR away from her for the remainder of the weekend.
Me: Funky, he’s helping your hungover ass. And he hasn’t been inappropriate towards me in any way.
(That was kind of a lie. But I suppose it all depends on what you consider “inappropriate.”)
FPB harumphed.
Me: I promise you that I’ll punch him in the face if he makes me uncomfortable. Otherwise, please let me get to know your friends. You said that was an important part of the weekend.
Axton sat down the hangover remedies next to FPB’s lawn chair.
Axton: You want some Advil?
FPB nodded, and Axton took the pills out of his pocket and handed them over. FPB washed the pills down, took a few sips of lukewarm coffee, and leaned back in the chair, groaning miserably.
I sat down on the clean step and lit up a cigarette. Axton left FPB to his own devices and approached me cautiously. I gestured for him to come sit next to me. Axton grinned sheepishly, took his cig out of the ashtray, and sat down on the step. I wanted to keep FPB under control, so I said under my breath, “We’d better sit about two feet apart.”
Axton and I both scooched away from one another, the ashtray serving as a buffer, and we continued to speak quietly so that FPB’s hungover groans would drown out our conversation.
Axton: Are you really gonna punch me?
Me: Are you gonna make me uncomfortable?
His grin faded a bit, “Have I made you uncomfortable? If I did, I’m so sorr...”
I made eye contact with him and held it for about 3 seconds longer than I would have held friendly eye contact and replied with my own sheepish grin, “Not at all.”
​
Snorlax was sitting up by that time and he seemed to be in a world of hurt as well.
Axton: Yo, Snor! You need some hangover helper, too?
Snorlax (groaning): Pleeeeeeease.
Axton got up to fetch Snorlax some coffee, water, and pills. Those combat boots were going to need to get hosed down before he went back inside. Especially with Molly and her pissed off crew still at the house.
In fact, I could hear Molly screeching at Sage again.
Molly: There’s more mess on the porch? What sort of mess? More poo poo? A lake of liquor? You people are ANIMALS. I’m never cleaning your house again!!!
Sage: Ummm... I think it’s just booze and pee. You should be able to just power wash it.
Axton: There’s a ton of puke out there, too.
Molly: Jesus, save us all.
Axton ran to Snorlax and delivered the hangover helper.
Axton: Dude! The maids are on their way, and they’re pissed off. We gotta disappear.
I put my cigarette out, stood up, and dashed over to FPB, who was still reclining in the lawn chair with a pained expression on his face.
Me: Funky? The maids are coming. We need to get out of here.
FPB: And go where?
Me: I don’t know! I’ve never done this before. I think Axton knows, but I’m afraid to talk to him.
FPB: HEY, FUCK-FACE. Where are we running off to?
Axton: Garage! Go around the side of the house.
Axton helped Snorlax stagger around to the garage, and FPB managed to wobble to his feet. As he was standing up, I noticed a whisky wee aroma and an extra dark patch of fabric near the crotch of his black underpants. While I guided him to the garage, I tried my darndest to keep his wet boxer briefs away from my clean shirt. His crotch was level with my mid-section, so I curved my body away from him and let him basically use my shoulders and arms as a walker. In the end, we all managed to enter the garage though the side door. It was dusty, musty and stuffy, but it was blissfully devoid of puke and pee. Well, aside from FPB’s underpants.
Sage must have anticipated that we’d take shelter from the angry maids in the garage because he came out from the house and opened the garage doors for us, letting in a nice breeze.
Sage: You guys good?
We all indicated the affirmative.
Sage: Excellent. Mori should be back from the liquor store pretty soon. And he’s picking up hangover food, too.
Snorlax: What’s he getting?
Sage: Taco Bell.
Seriously? Not only were they having to restock the booze, but they were also planning to chow down on Taco Bell to help with the hangovers? There was no way in hell that was going to help.
At any rate, FPB and Snorlax were chugging the remainder of their hangover helper and seemed to be gradually getting their sea legs back. Axton had apparently been awake a little longer than they had, so his hangover seemed to have passed. I’m just assuming this since I was forbidden to speak to him. And with the only two non-hungover people there forbidden to speak to one another, the garage was eerily silent.
We were all sitting on the dusty floor and FPB, still wearing nothing but wet boxer briefs, tried to pull me into his lap.
Me (getting up and crossing the room): HELL NO. You peed yourself. I’m not sitting in your lap until you go wash up and put on some clean underpants.
FPB: It’s not pee. It’s dew.
Axton: It’s piss, bro. I can smell it.
FPB (snarling): You shut your fuck-nugget mouth, Asshat.
Wow, Axton’s ability to exhibit no reaction at all to FPB’s venom was impressive. I might have to try that and see if it would work for me.
Snorlax: He’s right. It’s definitely pee. No shame, though. I wet my pants, too. I had to get up and change at like... 6 in the morning. It sucked.
FPB: OP, please get over yourself and come sit by me.
Me: No lap sitting.
FPB: Fine.
Me: Do you want me to go get your backpack so you can change?
“Chill out, Miss Uptight! We all wet our pants every weekend. It’s tradition,” he said as he wound his long arms around me from the side.
I felt like I was in a cage. I rolled my eyes, and I think Axton noticed my exasperated expression because I could see him snickering.
FPB: What’s funny, you DICK?
Axton composed himself, and Snorlax gallantly stepped up to save us.
Snorlax: He’s laughing cause I farted. Sorry.
Always a sucker for bathroom humor, I burst out laughing. Axton started laughing again, Snorlax started laughing, lifted a cheek and really did rip one this time. The butt wind even kicked up a little dust from the garage floor. That made all the reasonable people in the garage laugh even harder. But not FPB. No, he was fuming.
FPB: What the hell is really so fucking FUNNY? Someone fess up to me or I’m gonna start flaying you bitches.
Axton: Dude. For real. We’re laughing at a fart. (more laughter)
Snorlax (also laughing): Yeah, just the thought of Taco Bell gave me gas.
FPB’s fury just made it even funnier, and all of us were in stitches.
FPB: I know you’re all laughing at ME.
Yeah, I guess it did kind of start off that way. But by the time his rage was hitting the boiling point, we really were just behaving like overgrown children and laughing hysterically at a fart. And everything was ten times funnier because we had this “stick in the mud” sitting there getting outrageously offended by the laughter. You know the feeling, right? When you’re not supposed to laugh at something, it becomes even harder not to laugh? Or is that just me?
FPB: I’m getting dressed now. OP, come help me. You two jabronis can stay in here and laugh at each other’s farts.
Instead of heading to the hammock in the back yard where FPB’s clothes presumably remained, he entered the house through the garage door and headed straight for the guest room to retrieve his backpack. Good. Maybe he was at least going to put on some clean underpants.
But, no. He wasn’t. That would have taken away from the repulsive debauchery that his whizzy boxer briefs allowed him to revel in. He really needed to settle on a story. Was he such a wild, crazy party boy that he was too cool to care that he’d wet his pants? Or was he a pathetic drunk who’d passed out and managed to collect afternoon dew in the crotch of his boxer briefs (and nowhere else on his body)? We’ll never know. His Shadowrun tramp stamp was in full view as he bent down and grabbed his wallet from his black leather backpack. He then marched into the kitchen and told Sage, “Bring me a maid.”
Sage: Ummm... they’ve got their hands pretty full at the moment.
FPB produced a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. “I want my clothes steam cleaned. And I’ll need them spritzed with perfume. Athena’s got some here, doesn’t she?”
Sage: Yeah... But you’re gonna have to ask HER if you want to use her perfume. And you’re gonna have to ask the cleaning crew to steam your clothes. They’re all pretty annoyed with me over the condition of the house. There’s a new head maid. I’m having to pay TRIPLE the normal cleaning fee, dude.
In my mind, the considerate action would have been to forego the steaming and offer the cash to Sage, since FPB’s sparkle vomit and spilled liquor definitely contributed to the mess. Instead, FPB exited through the front door, made his way around to the backyard, and began removing his clothes from the hammock. The maids shrieked. FPB ignored the shrieks, gathered his clothes, and sauntered back into the house. Once we were back indoors, we could hear Molly going over the bill with Sage.
FPB: AHEM. Madam, I need these clothes steam cleaned.
He thrust his suit and the hundred-dollar bill in her direction.
Molly: Excuse me??? We were hired to clean this disgusting house. You want your clothes steamed, go to the drycleaners.
She sniffed the air.
Molly: And go take a shower. You smell like a diaper.
I stepped in. “Hey. Sage? Do you mind if I steam FPB’s clothes in the guest bathroom?”
Sage: Fine by me.
I pulled FPB aside. “Give me your clothes. You peed in your sleep after you took you suit off right?”
FPB: IT’S DEW.
Me: It doesn’t matter. Your underwear’s wet and you need to put on a dry pair. In the meantime, I’ll go in the bathroom, hang your clothes up, get the room steamy from the shower, and then they’ll at least be a little less wrinkled. We used to do it all the time in college.
FPB: But those bitches have professional equipment. If they can steam carpet, they can steam a suit.
Me: I think it’s a different type of steamer.
FPB: Oh, you’re an expert on steamers?
Me: Not the Cleveland kind.
Damn it, Mori would have appreciated my attempt at an obvious dirty joke.
FPB harumphed, and I put the plan into action. I turned the shower on as hot as it would go, sifted through FPB’s suit components carefully to make sure his pants were dry. Fortunately, they were. I hung the clothes as close to the shower curtain as I could without getting them wet and sat down to try and enjoy the steam room and the solitude. Maybe it would make me feel refreshed? But the sweetness of the solitude wouldn’t last, as I could hear a conversation taking place just outside the door.
Sage: What the hell, man? Why are you guarding the bathroom door?
FPB: I don’t want any of you pervs trying to walk in on my girlfriend while she showers.
Sage: Okay... I think she’s just in there steaming your fancy clothes.
FPB: She might be taking a shower, too. NAKED. I have to protect her from the male gaze.
Sage: Well... I’ve got a girlfriend. Mori’s not here, and Snorlax and Axton are both stand-up dudes.
FPB: I don’t trust Axton. I caught him picking her up on the porch, and then he tried to TALK TO HER.
Sage: “Picking her up” as in the crap you pull at work all the time? Or literally “picking her up” so she didn’t step in puke?
FPB: Uh... he made some lame excuse.
Sage: So... Picking her up so she didn’t step in puke. What a jerk.
FPB: Right?!
Sage: Listen, man. The door locks. And she’s a grown woman. Leave her alone for five minutes, for fuck’s sake. And put on some clean underwear.
FPB: IT’S DEW.
When I couldn’t take the steam anymore, I turned off the shower, retrieved FPB clothes, which did look spiffier, and opened the door to inhale the fresh, cool air. Ahhh! And the lovely cleaning crew had managed to get rid of the “poopy-pee-puke-pizza” pungency.
Apparently, being lightly mocked by the “vice principal” had embarrassed FPB enough to make him go find something better to do. No one was outside the door at that moment. I gathered FPB’s clothes, carried them to the guest room, and laid them out on the bed.
Now to find my seething anger ball of a boyfriend. Best guess? He was back in the garage, yelling at Axton and Snorlax. So that’s where I checked first.
I entered the garage from the house, and found Sage, Athena, Axton, Snorlax, and Mori all sitting around enjoying some Taco Bell and drinking beer. No FPB.
Me: Hey, guys! Have any of you seen a tall, angry guy in wet boxer briefs?
Mori: He’s on the back porch. Said he had to call his work.
Ah, yes. “Work.” That meant he was texting one of his randos. Probably the one who showed up at Sage’s house late last night.
Me: Beer me?
They all answered with a validating chorus of “Hell yeah,” and, “Go girl!”
I grabbed a beer from the cooler and scanned the room for a place to sit. Axton stood up and led me over to his spot.
Axton: Hey, guys! Who am I?
And then he pulled me onto his lap, wrapped his arms around me and started shouting in a caveman voice, “MY GIRLFRIEND. MINE. NO TALKING TO HER. DON’T EVEN LOOK OR I’LL STAB YOU IN THE EYEBALL.”
Everyone, including me, found this incredibly funny. And I was pleased to see that the whole team was acknowledging FPB’s absurdly possessive behavior. Maybe if the people he respected most in this world called him out on his insane possessiveness, he would reflect? Yeah, let’s see how that goes...
I stayed in this far too comfortable position for a minute or so. Axton was more muscular than FPB and he wasn’t “circus-freak tall,” so his lap was a much better fit. But I knew that if FPB rounded the corner and caught me sitting in another guy’s lap, he’d flip. Especially since my position in Axton’s lap had happened purely to make a mockery out of FPB. I leaned into him for a few more seconds, then slid over into my own cold, hard, lonely space.
Guess I needed to do some reflecting, too... Not because I was finding myself attracted to a guy who wasn’t my boyfriend. My boyfriend was a psycho and I needed to reflect on why I hadn’t been able to find an exit strategy that didn’t lead to terroristic threats or stalking.
Mori: I think I’ll add a new punishment tonight. But only for FPB. If he glitches, he has to sit in my lap and let me paw all over him. See how he likes it.
Me: Be sure to get a raging boner and jab him in the hip with it.
I couldn’t tell if the laughing that ensued was because I’d made a crude joke to the perfect audience or because I had unintentionally “called” the inevitable.
Mori (in a deliberately creepy tone): Oh, that won’t be a problem.
We laughed again.
And then, all the fun was sucked from the garage. FPB entered from the driveway and demanded to know what was funny.
Sage: Mori’s cooking up new punishments.
FPB: That’s... terrifying.
Me: Hey, I put your clothes in the guest room if you want to get dressed.
FPB: M’kay. I’m getting a beer first.
He cracked open a beer and headed inside. As he towered in the doorway, he turned to me.
FPB: You coming?
Mori: You need your girlfriend to help you put your clothes on? Are you in kindergarten?
FPB: Eat a dick, Mori.
Mori: Sounds delicious.
FPB shuddered and trudged inside. He hadn’t made any more demands that I accompany him, so I let him go put on his big boy pants all by himself.
*end of Chapter 4
As always, thank you so, so much for reading!
Hope to see you back for The Lap of Luxury!

I was listening to the What a Cartoon! podcast, hosted by the same guys who host the Talking Simpsons podcast. They had animation critic and amateur historian Thad Komorowksi on one of their podcasts on Ren and Stimpy since Komorowksi wrote a book about the acrimony of the production of that show. Komorowksi said that someone ought to write a book the 1990s Warner Bros. produced animated TV shows, like Animaniacs, Tiny Toons, and Pinky and the Brain, etc. He said this because there were lots of behind the scenes acrimony during the production of these shows.
I am into animated media, but I have only seen some episodes of the Animaniacs reboot and the "One Beer" segment of Tiny Toons. I am super into literature and documentaries that focus on the behind the scenes production trouble and personalities of crew, such as owning a copy of Michael Barrier's Hollywood Cartoons, Walt Before Mickey, and the memoir Springfield Confidential . I thought a book about a certain set of shows would be interesting when written from the perspective of someone who does not have any nostalgic feeling or "fresh perspective", or at least taken more seriously behind hard-core fans.
However, I am a beginner and would like to know what things that I need to do to seriously prepare for the task of writing a serious history book. I regarded history as my favorite subject in my primary and secondary education, so I am aware of things, such as historiography and the limitations of primary sources from memory (as opposed to documented company records).
I came up with a rough outline of what I think could be covered. Yes, prior to even researching, I will buy the book On Writing Well. However, this would be the case if there is really demand for such a book while having the time and clout to get a hold of TV network archives and production staff (most of whom are retired by now, beyond the voice actors).
Chapter 1: The legacy of Looney Tunes post 1960s shutdown, biographical information of show-runner Tom Ruegger, how Steven Spielberg came into the picture after he co-produced Who Framed Roger Rabbit, how syndication and after-school broadcasting of animated media formed by the 1990s, and how Tiny Toons began.
Chapter 2: Cover Tiny Toon Adventures, include the handling of public service announcements such as the "One Beer" segment. Emphasize the backgrounds of the staff which include Sherri Stoner and Deanna Oliver from Groundlings improv, writers Tom Minton and Jim Reardon and director Kent Butterworth from Mighty Mouse the New Adventures, and how many Ren and Stimpy storyboard and layouts artists were in the first season of Tiny Toons but did not really like how board artists could not contribute to the writing. Cover the Plucky Show. Oh, refute the urban legend that the show was cancelled because of one particular stalkeharasser against, though most of the work has been done by YouTuber Bedhead Bernie.
Chapter 3: Cover Animaniacs as the main production. Cover the switch from Fox Kids to WB networks. Include on how Spielberg having the marquee value to pressure network executives to allow subtle innuendos. Settler the question whether Spielberg's role was ceremonial (just collecting checks for minimal input) by saying that he would consistently give an hour of his time to give notes. Cover the cultural impact and appeal of the show, especially among those beyond the intended audience of kids. Address whether the staff were just passionate on a variety show that they want to work beyond just kiddie fair.
Chapter 4: Cover the spin-offs of the Animaniacs, primarily Pinky and the Brain and the spin-off Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brian, in which even the lyrics made of the executive decisions to produce the latter.
Chapter 5: While Ruegger had little to with Batman the Animated Series aside from enabling its development into being green-lit, this show should be included.
Chapter 6: Cover other Ruegger produced shows, such as Freakazoid, Road Rover, Hysteria! Trevor Thompson of the YouTube persona The Looney Tunes Critic interviewed Tom Minton for doing the episode "Toby Danger" in Freakazoid. Afterwards, include the downfall of Fox Kids and WB, which slowed the careers of those involved, including Ruegger.
Chapter 7: Cover the 2020 Hulu Animaniacs. Emphasize that Ruegger was never contacted about the decision of Hulu to green-lit a reboot to the point he found at when the announcements were made to the general public. Cover the decisions to not include most writing and directing staff of the original beyond consulting, (of course most of the voice actors retained their roles) and how Wellesley Wild worked as the show-runner.
Again, this is a general idea and only showed what I already know of these shows.
I posted this idea to animaniacs, in which they are not against the idea of the book but skeptical of my ability since I rarely viewed much from these shows. However, I think that my non-fan status would have an "untainted" perspective that is the biases of fanbases.
What would it take to write a serious book that not only you but broader entertainment fans would be interested in checking once published? Thank you very much! As I said before, I need to read On Writing Well to become a non-fiction author. Thank you all in advance!

My brother just got out of the hospital after a weeklong stay for pancreatitis. He’s been a severe drinker for most of his adult life. He had a heart attack at 38 and is now 41. His bilirubin was 3.5x high normal levels in the hospital, was turning yellow, and was told he was drinking himself to death.
Still, the word “alcoholism” is taboo. The first thing he bought on the way home from the hospital was a case of non-alcoholic beer, and I fear that this is simply a goal post move that will eventually lead back to drinking. We expressed to his wife that we are finished letting this go—no equivocation, no being afraid what he might think. We won’t even accept him drinking non-alcoholic beers around us, because we don’t think he’s addressing his addiction.
I’m afraid he’s killing himself and I’m not sure how long we have to save him. I don’t think he likes himself very much and I’m suspicious he may have more mental health concerns like bipolar disorder, and I don’t know how to help convince him that he deserves the effort it takes to seek help.
I’m not ready to lose my brother, but I don’t know what to do.

I've been kicking my mild drinking problem/habit with kava and have had a lot of success so far. I got a bunch of empty growlers. For those that don't know, a growler is an airtight 64 oz glass jar. Usually you can get them at breweries. Before a session, I'll make around 2L of strong kava with the strainer bag method. Use a funnel to fill up the growler (careful you're probably going to spill a bit if you made it in a bowl). In my experience it will keep up to 3 days in the fridge. Shake well before serving. Bula!

For context, I'm 32, he's almost 60, I live with him because he wants me to live here because pooling our resources makes it really cheap for both of us, and it's going to allow me to save up to buy us a house to live in so we're not throwing away money in rent anymore.
The only problem is I can't stand to be around him, I don't want to live with him, I don't like anything about him, we don't have anything in common, in fact we're exact opposites on basically everything. I have nothing to talk about with him, and even if I did, he's always drunk, like 'seesawing back and forth, slurring, asking toddler-level questions but not being able to understand or remember the answers' drunk, every single day, without fail. He's not violent or mean or anything so I know I shouldn't complain since it could always be worse, but it's embarrassing, I don't want to live around it, and dealing with it makes me incredibly uncomfortable, and it literally ruins my night every night that I talk to him. He starts drinking as soon as he gets home from work, or if it's his day off, he starts drinking as soon as he's done with any driving errands he has to do, so basically mid-afternoon. He has absolutely positively no interest whatsoever in quitting drinking, as we've argued about it several times and I've told him more times than I can count that I don't think of him as a person when he's drunk and that we can't really have a relationship if I can't talk to him like a human being.
I should probably explain what I mean by that; It's kinda like how he felt when he had to take care of his mom who recently died of dementia, it's like you're talking to someone's body, but their brain really isn't in there at all, they don't remember anything you say, they don't have their mental faculties, they can't process simple information, they don't understand what's going on around them, they get extremely emotional at the drop of a hat over nothing, and they tell you the same thing over and over again every night, sometimes multiple times in a row. Did I just describe my drunk dad or his mom dying of dementia? Both. It's exactly the same behavior, except he only had to go through it with his mom for a year before she passed, and I've been going through this with him every day since I started making conscious memories.
It just makes me incredibly uncomfortable and I'm only able to give short quick irritated answers that go nowhere because I don't want to talk to him in that state, and there's no reason to go anywhere with it because he's not really in there and he's not really hearing me anyway, and he's definitely not capable of having a normal conversation. Like, tonight for example; I get off work at the same time every day. I usually go to my friend's house to hang out with him after work until my dad passes out so I don't have to talk to him. Tonight, though, as usually happens at least once or twice a week, my friend was already asleep, so I went straight home. So then I have to answer the same stupid questions that I've already answered before, over and over, from my dad; "How'd you get here so early!" -'my friend was asleep' "....yeah but it's still early..." -'I got off work at the same time I always do, I just usually go hang out with him first' "Okay man well hell what's wrong?" (visibly irritated because I'm shortening this, it's a lot more repetitive in real life, but I respond trying to be as nice as possible) -'nothing's wrong, I'm just tired, I just got off work man'. "Alright. Well what's that?" -'a nintendo switch (he's seen it a million times before)' "Alright.... so what's that?" -'a game for the switch, thanks for getting it out of the mailbox for me'. And then he just shuffles off into the other room when he finally figures out I got nothing to say to him and that he wouldn't understand any of it if I did.
And I know you're probably feeling sympathetic right now, like "Well at least he's trying to have a relationship with you and he's actually trying to reach out, cut him some slack, it could be way worse" and that would be true and fair enough, but that doesn't account for the fact that every single person including myself and my mom, who left him, has asked him to stop drinking if he really wants to have a relationship with us, and he outright refuses, and so we just treat him like a stupid old fool, because he always drinks himself into a drunken stupor every single day and so that's exactly how he acts. He just gets emotional when he's drunk, and that's when he wants to reach out, and that's alright I guess, but how about reaching out when you're sober and when I can actually kinda talk to you a little bit? How about use the one brain cell you have before you start drinking and try to figure out that you're an absolute burden and an old loser who needs to get his shit together, and could've had his shit together decades ago if you'd just fucking listen to every single person around you in your entire life who tells you to stop drinking? How about rub a couple of brain cells together when you're sober and realize you're the reason that your kids are losers too because you're our role model? How about a little give and take, especially when it's for your own good? That's what a relationship is, and that's what responsible adults do. But he refuses.
We're talking about the type of person who doesn't know any of their own usernames, passwords, or even his own email address. Because he never sat down and logged into any online service for himself ever, because he can't remember what a username and password even is. So every time he needs anything, which is all the time because he's always so drunk he can't understand what the english words on the TV screen are trying to tell him, I gotta come do the whole forgot your password rigamarole for every single account he has just so I can log into it again and figure out whatever issue he's having. Last shit I want to do after working a 10 or 12 hour shift, I just want to chill. And I have to do it for him because he acts like a helpless baby, and he's drunk and dumb as hell so I mean he can't do it for himself anyway even if he did give it a try. The type of person who looks at a screen that says a simple one-sentence message and an "okay" prompt, takes five minutes to read it, and then turns to me and asks "Should I click okay?" It's just so annoying because I've told him about a million times that if he just stopped drinking and tried to practice using technology while he was sober, he would get the hang of it, and that if he made his own accounts and passwords instead of having people do it for him and tell him what they picked for him when he's drunk and forgets, that he wouldn't have any of these problems logging into stuff to begin with, because it'd be burned into his memory like it is for the rest of us normal people who do our own things for ourselves. And he says okay, but then he just never does it. In one ear and out the other. Just like when I asked him all those years ago again and again to stop drinking so we could have a decent relationship, in one ear and out the other.
We're talking about the type of person who was 100% behind and invested in Trump to the point where he even bought a few hats and regularly made ridiculous, racist, and braindead pro-republican propaganda posts on facebook. To the point where he'd get himself banned all the time and then come tell me about how he's in facebook jail again for trying to spread the truth. Or, well he used to, before I just started reacting with straight up anger and hatred towards conservatism every time anything political came up, and explained to him about a million times why it's not okay to support awful people, and now he's gone from "Trump 2020" to "well I never liked politics anyway and I suggest you stop paying attention to it or talking about it too because I'm a lot happier now that I don't". So it's like, the only victory I can get with this man, is "I give up and you should too". And that's a reflection of his entire life. He gave up a long time ago and I just want it to be over for him and for me, because that would be easier than telling him that what I really want is to just move across the country and never see or hear from him again, not buy a house where I gotta live with him and keep dealing with this shit until he dies. This doesn't even address any of our personality clashes, like how I'm quiet and he's loud, I hate dumb shit but he literally cranks up the most low-intellect brain dead dadrock unironically because that's what speaks to him, I like to read and think and he can barely read and barely think, all he wants to do is not pay taxes on his mom's inheritance that he's going to get soon and buy a boat and a truck to haul it so he can sit on the water and drink beer, all I want is to be financially responsible and pay my bills and taxes and be fucking quiet and do the right thing, and maybe raise a kid that has respect for me.
I'm angry and bitter and I've probably said some very mean things here, but it's just how I feel. I've brought up all of this to him in person several times in explicit detail, and he just doesn't have the brainpower or memory or willpower, or simply doesn't care enough, to address any of it. I'm at a loss as to how I should engage with this. Thanks in advance for any help, and yes, I know I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. I'm just not happy.
TLDR: My dad started drinking when he was 17 and hasn't been sober a day since, I personally think his brain is mush even when he's sober but it's especially bad when he's drunk, and he's not violent or mean or anything it's just like dealing with a slobbering toddler and it annoys the piss out of me for several reasons, and because it's my dad, I'm obligated to take care of him and even buy a house where I can take care of him and he's going to continue to annoy the piss out of me doing literally everything I hate about humanity right within my earshot and line of sight until he dies a messy death that I have to clean up. Any tips on how to deal with this without just hating my own father? I believe there's a good person somewhere underneath the alcohol, as he's somewhat coherent when I see him in the morning before work, and he has a job so they must think he's coherent as well, but as soon as he gets home and the not-bud-light (because it's gay now) gets cracked open, the brain flies out the window and it's back to braindead loud redneck wrestling and rock music and old shit he's seen a million times that wasn't even good back in the day, and hollering for me to come take a look at it, when I literally can't even hear my own TV over his (across the house) and I hate the shit and have no interest in it anyway.

My father was an alcoholic for many years before I was born. My brother and sister are much older than me and grew up with him during his alcoholism. My mother for insight is the sweetest, most empathetic person who only thinks about others before her self. During their marriage the alcoholism affected everyone (except me as I wasn’t born) my father became very verbally abusive towards my family. The torment and trauma he caused them they still carry to this day. That was 20 some years ago and he’s been sober that whole time. He’s grown tremendously and while still has lots of issues we saw him become a different person. The father I grew up with versus my siblings is night and day difference.
Today I got a phone call from my mother. Her voice was shaky as she proceeded to tell me I needed to come home. The anxiety in her voice filled into my chest as she explained something was going on with my father. I jumped into my car and raced to her. On my way there I saw a text saying “I found beer”. When I got there he was so wasted that he couldn’t even tell we knew. He thought he was hiding it so well even after falling down stairs do to his intoxication. Once we confronted him he came clean and confessed. He didn’t fight or become defensive as he would have in the past, infact he owned it. But we also learned he has been hiding it for a year. A year of deceit, secrecy, and eluding. The question of whether he would’ve ever come clean or the thought that he chose to return to the life that hurt so many others had us devastated. I’m not sure where everyone in our family stands as far as how we are gonna proceed except that my mother left to stay in a hotel and is unsure whether or not she can stay in this relationship. I guess more than anything I’m unsure of my feeling’s except for the fact that I’m hurt. Anyone have any advice or similar experiences that might provide me with some insight?

My father was an alcoholic for many years before I was born. My brother and sister are much older than me and grew up with him during his alcoholism. My mother for insight is the sweetest, most empathetic person who only thinks about others before her self. During their marriage the alcoholism affected everyone (except me as I wasn’t born) my father became very verbally abusive towards my family. The torment and trauma he caused them they still carry to this day. That was 20 some years ago and he’s been sober that whole time. He’s grown tremendously and while still has lots of issues we saw him become a different person. The father I grew up with versus my siblings is night and day difference.
Today I got a phone call from my mother. Her voice was shaky as she proceeded to tell me I needed to come home. The anxiety in her voice filled into my chest as she explained something was going on with my father. I jumped into my car and raced to her. On my way there I saw a text saying “I found beer”. When I got there he was so wasted that he couldn’t even tell we knew. He thought he was hiding it so well even after falling down stairs do to his intoxication. Once we confronted him he came clean and confessed. He didn’t fight or become defensive as he would have in the past, infact he owned it. But we also learned he has been hiding it for a year. A year of deceit, secrecy, and eluding. The question of whether he would’ve ever come clean or the thought that he chose to return to the life that hurt so many others had us devastated. I’m not sure where everyone in our family stands as far as how we are gonna proceed except that my mother left to stay in a hotel and is unsure whether or not she can stay in this relationship. I guess more than anything I’m unsure of my feeling’s except for the fact that I’m hurt. Anyone have any advice or similar experiences that might provide me with some insight?