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Angry Metal Guy @[email protected] · 2025-10-05 · 17:13 UTC

Record(s) o’ the Month – September 2025
By Angry Metal Guy
I am sick. Things are bleak. It is October. There is pumpkin spice in everything. And now you come to me and you say, “AMG, give me the Record(s) o’ the Month.” But you don’t ask with respect. You don’t offer friendship. You don’t even think to call me Dr. Metal Guy or compliment my excellent taste. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you ask me to give you the Record(s) o’ the Month—for free.
What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? If you’d come to me in friendship, then this music that will ruin your eardrums and cause your grandchildren to yell while they try to communicate with you would already have been yours. And, if, by chance, honest people like yourselves made enemies, they would become my enemies—and they would fear you.
Someday, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, accept this Record(s) o’ the Month as a gift on my daughter’s wedding day.1

One of metal’s true titans, Paradise Lost has been at this for 40 years and 17 albums. A band with eras, Paradise Lost’s tenure has not been without its ebbs. Yet Ascension [out September 19th, 2025, from Nuclear Blast Records (buy on Bandcamp)] offers fans something old and new again, and truly lifts the band’s modern sound through synthesis. Rather than simply rehashing the classics, Ascension assembles the different pieces of the band’s legacies into something powerful, catchy, and—as counterintuitive as it seems—novel. It would be wrong to say that Paradise Lost has “never sounded so vital,” but they haven’t previously presented such a simultaneously diverse and powerful vision of their sound. Both Steel Druhm and Grymm were blown away by Ascension’s ability to balance the different veins of their sound and feel united and unique. What Druhm gushed is true: “It’s rare a band as long in the tooth as Paradise Lost uncorks a late career album that can stand among the giants in their catalogue, but Ascension is one such slippery aberration.”2 And Grymmothy concurs: “Who would have thought,” he wondered aloud after crooning in amazement at this accomplishment of metal, “that by reaching into their vault of classic albums, they would not only put together something fresh and timeless, but also make a strong case for one of their best ever?”
Hegel, that’s who.
Runner(s) Up:
Vittra // Intense Indifference [September 19th, 2025 | Self-release | Bandcamp] — Melodic death metal might be gasping for air in 2025, but Sweden’s Vittra just kicked the respirator across the room and screamed “MOTHERFUCKER LET’S GO!” Intense Indifference clocks in at a tight 33 minutes of thrashy, riff-driven melodeath that remembers the genre was born to move heads, not cry into beards.3 With the manic energy of a band stuck in rural Västmanland and the chops to back it up, Vittra threads the needle between At the Gates’ aggression, Soilwork’s slickness, and the fretboard fireworks of Mors Principium Est. Yet somehow, these weirdos slip in honkytonk piano, bluesy acoustic passages, and enough BDE to make your mom blush. As I papified Pure Divine Doctrine and a Universal Truth for which all dissenters and deviants shall be roundly punished: “Vittra reminds us that melodic death metal still slaps when it remembers to be metal. Intense Indifference might be short, but it’s sharp, hooky, and very, very good.”4 Short album, long replay life.
Igorrr // Amen [September 19th, 2025 | Metal Blade Records | Bandcamp] — For nearly twenty years, Gautier Serre has been metal’s reigning mad scientist, blending breakcore, baroque, and blastbeats into something that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. Amen refines the chaos without sanding off the edges, finding full-band-Igorrr firing on every cylinder. Dear Hollow probably crossed someone’s personal boundaries while calling it “a reaffirmation of Serre’s genius/insanity,” but even if he’s sitting too close, that’s the right take. Amen balances absurdity, heaviness, and sophistication with freakish precision. From the orchestral depth to the cartoonish detours of “Mustard Mucous” and “Blastbeat Falafel,” it’s dense, manic, and meticulously constructed. There’s no other band that can make so much noise feel this purposeful or fun. Returning to Dear Hollow’s (only?) vaguely inappropriate public tongue-bathing of Igorrr,5 let’s round this off: “Amen is a reaffirmation of Igorrr’s batshit and fun-loving genius, as well as a new step forward: haunting, brutal, and otherworldly in a way that we can take seriously.”
Mors Principium Est // Darkness Invisible [September 26th, 2025 | Perception/Reigning Phoenix Music | No Bandcamp because labels hate their fans] — Eight albums deep and still shredding like they’ve got something to prove, Mors Principium Est returns with Darkness Invisible, a darker, heavier, and more cinematic take on Finnish melodeath. With founding guitarists Jori Haukio and Jarkko Kokko back in the fold, the band taps into its early DNA while pushing toward symphonic density and blackened aggression. In my factual recitation of truths about the world, I referred to Darkness Invisible as “a record that sounds darker and denser than the glossy sheen of Seven,” and incidentally, I’m right; this is ambitious melodeath with a subtly addictive feel, even though the mix sometimes threatens to collapse under its own weight, and Darkness Invisible is a bold reset for Mors Principium Est. I wasn’t going to include this here, but the more I listen to it, the more I like it.6 And more importantly, the more I spin it, the better I think it is. While it does struggle with production, its Bodomesque guitarwork and orchestral ambitions make it sneakily addictive.
#2025 #Amen #Ascension #BlogPost #BlogPosts #Blogpost #DarknessInvisible #Igorrr #IntenseIndifference #MetalBladeRecords #MorsPrincipiumEst #NuclearBlast #ParadiseLost #Perception #RecordOTheMonth #RecordSOTheMonth #ReigningPhoenixMusic #Sep25 #Vittra

#amen #ascension #blogpost #blogposts #darknessinvisible #igorrr
Angry Metal Guy @[email protected] · 2025-10-05 · 17:13 UTC

Record(s) o’ the Month – September 2025
By Angry Metal Guy
I am sick. Things are bleak. It is October. There is pumpkin spice in everything. And now you come to me and you say, “AMG, give me the Record(s) o’ the Month.” But you don’t ask with respect. You don’t offer friendship. You don’t even think to call me Dr. Metal Guy or compliment my excellent taste. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you ask me to give you the Record(s) o’ the Month—for free.
What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? If you’d come to me in friendship, then this music that will ruin your eardrums and cause your grandchildren to yell while they try to communicate with you would already have been yours. And, if, by chance, honest people like yourselves made enemies, they would become my enemies—and they would fear you.
Someday, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, accept this Record(s) o’ the Month as a gift on my daughter’s wedding day.1

One of metal’s true titans, Paradise Lost has been at this for 40 years and 17 albums. A band with eras, Paradise Lost’s tenure has not been without its ebbs. Yet Ascension [out September 19th, 2025, from Nuclear Blast Records (buy on Bandcamp)] offers fans something old and new again, and truly lifts the band’s modern sound through synthesis. Rather than simply rehashing the classics, Ascension assembles the different pieces of the band’s legacies into something powerful, catchy, and—as counterintuitive as it seems—novel. It would be wrong to say that Paradise Lost has “never sounded so vital,” but they haven’t previously presented such a simultaneously diverse and powerful vision of their sound. Both Steel Druhm and Grymm were blown away by Ascension’s ability to balance the different veins of their sound and feel united and unique. What Druhm gushed is true: “It’s rare a band as long in the tooth as Paradise Lost uncorks a late career album that can stand among the giants in their catalogue, but Ascension is one such slippery aberration.”2 And Grymmothy concurs: “Who would have thought,” he wondered aloud after crooning in amazement at this accomplishment of metal, “that by reaching into their vault of classic albums, they would not only put together something fresh and timeless, but also make a strong case for one of their best ever?”
Hegel, that’s who.
Runner(s) Up:
Vittra // Intense Indifference [September 19th, 2025 | Self-release | Bandcamp] — Melodic death metal might be gasping for air in 2025, but Sweden’s Vittra just kicked the respirator across the room and screamed “MOTHERFUCKER LET’S GO!” Intense Indifference clocks in at a tight 33 minutes of thrashy, riff-driven melodeath that remembers the genre was born to move heads, not cry into beards.3 With the manic energy of a band stuck in rural Västmanland and the chops to back it up, Vittra threads the needle between At the Gates’ aggression, Soilwork’s slickness, and the fretboard fireworks of Mors Principium Est. Yet somehow, these weirdos slip in honkytonk piano, bluesy acoustic passages, and enough BDE to make your mom blush. As I papified Pure Divine Doctrine and a Universal Truth for which all dissenters and deviants shall be roundly punished: “Vittra reminds us that melodic death metal still slaps when it remembers to be metal. Intense Indifference might be short, but it’s sharp, hooky, and very, very good.”4 Short album, long replay life.
Igorrr // Amen [September 19th, 2025 | Metal Blade Records | Bandcamp] — For nearly twenty years, Gautier Serre has been metal’s reigning mad scientist, blending breakcore, baroque, and blastbeats into something that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. Amen refines the chaos without sanding off the edges, finding full-band-Igorrr firing on every cylinder. Dear Hollow probably crossed someone’s personal boundaries while calling it “a reaffirmation of Serre’s genius/insanity,” but even if he’s sitting too close, that’s the right take. Amen balances absurdity, heaviness, and sophistication with freakish precision. From the orchestral depth to the cartoonish detours of “Mustard Mucous” and “Blastbeat Falafel,” it’s dense, manic, and meticulously constructed. There’s no other band that can make so much noise feel this purposeful or fun. Returning to Dear Hollow’s (only?) vaguely inappropriate public tongue-bathing of Igorrr,5 let’s round this off: “Amen is a reaffirmation of Igorrr’s batshit and fun-loving genius, as well as a new step forward: haunting, brutal, and otherworldly in a way that we can take seriously.”
Mors Principium Est // Darkness Invisible [September 26th, 2025 | Perception/Reigning Phoenix Music | No Bandcamp because labels hate their fans] — Eight albums deep and still shredding like they’ve got something to prove, Mors Principium Est returns with Darkness Invisible, a darker, heavier, and more cinematic take on Finnish melodeath. With founding guitarists Jori Haukio and Jarkko Kokko back in the fold, the band taps into its early DNA while pushing toward symphonic density and blackened aggression. In my factual recitation of truths about the world, I referred to Darkness Invisible as “a record that sounds darker and denser than the glossy sheen of Seven,” and incidentally, I’m right; this is ambitious melodeath with a subtly addictive feel, even though the mix sometimes threatens to collapse under its own weight, and Darkness Invisible is a bold reset for Mors Principium Est. I wasn’t going to include this here, but the more I listen to it, the more I like it.6 And more importantly, the more I spin it, the better I think it is. While it does struggle with production, its Bodomesque guitarwork and orchestral ambitions make it sneakily addictive.
#2025 #Amen #Ascension #BlogPost #BlogPosts #Blogpost #DarknessInvisible #Igorrr #IntenseIndifference #MetalBladeRecords #MorsPrincipiumEst #NuclearBlast #ParadiseLost #Perception #RecordOTheMonth #RecordSOTheMonth #ReigningPhoenixMusic #Sep25 #Vittra

#amen #ascension #blogpost #blogposts #darknessinvisible #igorrr
Angry Metal Guy @[email protected] · 2025-10-05 · 17:13 UTC

Record(s) o’ the Month – September 2025
By Angry Metal Guy
I am sick. Things are bleak. It is October. There is pumpkin spice in everything. And now you come to me and you say, “AMG, give me the Record(s) o’ the Month.” But you don’t ask with respect. You don’t offer friendship. You don’t even think to call me Dr. Metal Guy or compliment my excellent taste. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you ask me to give you the Record(s) o’ the Month—for free.
What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? If you’d come to me in friendship, then this music that will ruin your eardrums and cause your grandchildren to yell while they try to communicate with you would already have been yours. And, if, by chance, honest people like yourselves made enemies, they would become my enemies—and they would fear you.
Someday, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, accept this Record(s) o’ the Month as a gift on my daughter’s wedding day.1

One of metal’s true titans, Paradise Lost has been at this for 40 years and 17 albums. A band with eras, Paradise Lost’s tenure has not been without its ebbs. Yet Ascension [out September 19th, 2025, from Nuclear Blast Records (buy on Bandcamp)] offers fans something old and new again, and truly lifts the band’s modern sound through synthesis. Rather than simply rehashing the classics, Ascension assembles the different pieces of the band’s legacies into something powerful, catchy, and—as counterintuitive as it seems—novel. It would be wrong to say that Paradise Lost has “never sounded so vital,” but they haven’t previously presented such a simultaneously diverse and powerful vision of their sound. Both Steel Druhm and Grymm were blown away by Ascension’s ability to balance the different veins of their sound and feel united and unique. What Druhm gushed is true: “It’s rare a band as long in the tooth as Paradise Lost uncorks a late career album that can stand among the giants in their catalogue, but Ascension is one such slippery aberration.”2 And Grymmothy concurs: “Who would have thought,” he wondered aloud after crooning in amazement at this accomplishment of metal, “that by reaching into their vault of classic albums, they would not only put together something fresh and timeless, but also make a strong case for one of their best ever?”
Hegel, that’s who.
Runner(s) Up:
Vittra // Intense Indifference [September 19th, 2025 | Self-release | Bandcamp] — Melodic death metal might be gasping for air in 2025, but Sweden’s Vittra just kicked the respirator across the room and screamed “MOTHERFUCKER LET’S GO!” Intense Indifference clocks in at a tight 33 minutes of thrashy, riff-driven melodeath that remembers the genre was born to move heads, not cry into beards.3 With the manic energy of a band stuck in rural Västmanland and the chops to back it up, Vittra threads the needle between At the Gates’ aggression, Soilwork’s slickness, and the fretboard fireworks of Mors Principium Est. Yet somehow, these weirdos slip in honkytonk piano, bluesy acoustic passages, and enough BDE to make your mom blush. As I papified Pure Divine Doctrine and a Universal Truth for which all dissenters and deviants shall be roundly punished: “Vittra reminds us that melodic death metal still slaps when it remembers to be metal. Intense Indifference might be short, but it’s sharp, hooky, and very, very good.”4 Short album, long replay life.
Igorrr // Amen [September 19th, 2025 | Metal Blade Records | Bandcamp] — For nearly twenty years, Gautier Serre has been metal’s reigning mad scientist, blending breakcore, baroque, and blastbeats into something that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. Amen refines the chaos without sanding off the edges, finding full-band-Igorrr firing on every cylinder. Dear Hollow probably crossed someone’s personal boundaries while calling it “a reaffirmation of Serre’s genius/insanity,” but even if he’s sitting too close, that’s the right take. Amen balances absurdity, heaviness, and sophistication with freakish precision. From the orchestral depth to the cartoonish detours of “Mustard Mucous” and “Blastbeat Falafel,” it’s dense, manic, and meticulously constructed. There’s no other band that can make so much noise feel this purposeful or fun. Returning to Dear Hollow’s (only?) vaguely inappropriate public tongue-bathing of Igorrr,5 let’s round this off: “Amen is a reaffirmation of Igorrr’s batshit and fun-loving genius, as well as a new step forward: haunting, brutal, and otherworldly in a way that we can take seriously.”
Mors Principium Est // Darkness Invisible [September 26th, 2025 | Perception/Reigning Phoenix Music | No Bandcamp because labels hate their fans] — Eight albums deep and still shredding like they’ve got something to prove, Mors Principium Est returns with Darkness Invisible, a darker, heavier, and more cinematic take on Finnish melodeath. With founding guitarists Jori Haukio and Jarkko Kokko back in the fold, the band taps into its early DNA while pushing toward symphonic density and blackened aggression. In my factual recitation of truths about the world, I referred to Darkness Invisible as “a record that sounds darker and denser than the glossy sheen of Seven,” and incidentally, I’m right; this is ambitious melodeath with a subtly addictive feel, even though the mix sometimes threatens to collapse under its own weight, and Darkness Invisible is a bold reset for Mors Principium Est. I wasn’t going to include this here, but the more I listen to it, the more I like it.6 And more importantly, the more I spin it, the better I think it is. While it does struggle with production, its Bodomesque guitarwork and orchestral ambitions make it sneakily addictive.
#2025 #Amen #Ascension #BlogPost #BlogPosts #Blogpost #DarknessInvisible #Igorrr #IntenseIndifference #MetalBladeRecords #MorsPrincipiumEst #NuclearBlast #ParadiseLost #Perception #RecordOTheMonth #RecordSOTheMonth #ReigningPhoenixMusic #Sep25 #Vittra

#vittra #sep25 #reigningphoenixmusic #recordsothemonth #recordothemonth #perception
Angry Metal Guy @[email protected] · 2025-10-05 · 17:13 UTC

Record(s) o’ the Month – September 2025
By Angry Metal Guy
I am sick. Things are bleak. It is October. There is pumpkin spice in everything. And now you come to me and you say, “AMG, give me the Record(s) o’ the Month.” But you don’t ask with respect. You don’t offer friendship. You don’t even think to call me Dr. Metal Guy or compliment my excellent taste. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you ask me to give you the Record(s) o’ the Month—for free.
What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? If you’d come to me in friendship, then this music that will ruin your eardrums and cause your grandchildren to yell while they try to communicate with you would already have been yours. And, if, by chance, honest people like yourselves made enemies, they would become my enemies—and they would fear you.
Someday, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, accept this Record(s) o’ the Month as a gift on my daughter’s wedding day.1

One of metal’s true titans, Paradise Lost has been at this for 40 years and 17 albums. A band with eras, Paradise Lost’s tenure has not been without its ebbs. Yet Ascension [out September 19th, 2025, from Nuclear Blast Records (buy on Bandcamp)] offers fans something old and new again, and truly lifts the band’s modern sound through synthesis. Rather than simply rehashing the classics, Ascension assembles the different pieces of the band’s legacies into something powerful, catchy, and—as counterintuitive as it seems—novel. It would be wrong to say that Paradise Lost has “never sounded so vital,” but they haven’t previously presented such a simultaneously diverse and powerful vision of their sound. Both Steel Druhm and Grymm were blown away by Ascension’s ability to balance the different veins of their sound and feel united and unique. What Druhm gushed is true: “It’s rare a band as long in the tooth as Paradise Lost uncorks a late career album that can stand among the giants in their catalogue, but Ascension is one such slippery aberration.”2 And Grymmothy concurs: “Who would have thought,” he wondered aloud after crooning in amazement at this accomplishment of metal, “that by reaching into their vault of classic albums, they would not only put together something fresh and timeless, but also make a strong case for one of their best ever?”
Hegel, that’s who.
Runner(s) Up:
Vittra // Intense Indifference [September 19th, 2025 | Self-release | Bandcamp] — Melodic death metal might be gasping for air in 2025, but Sweden’s Vittra just kicked the respirator across the room and screamed “MOTHERFUCKER LET’S GO!” Intense Indifference clocks in at a tight 33 minutes of thrashy, riff-driven melodeath that remembers the genre was born to move heads, not cry into beards.3 With the manic energy of a band stuck in rural Västmanland and the chops to back it up, Vittra threads the needle between At the Gates’ aggression, Soilwork’s slickness, and the fretboard fireworks of Mors Principium Est. Yet somehow, these weirdos slip in honkytonk piano, bluesy acoustic passages, and enough BDE to make your mom blush. As I papified Pure Divine Doctrine and a Universal Truth for which all dissenters and deviants shall be roundly punished: “Vittra reminds us that melodic death metal still slaps when it remembers to be metal. Intense Indifference might be short, but it’s sharp, hooky, and very, very good.”4 Short album, long replay life.
Igorrr // Amen [September 19th, 2025 | Metal Blade Records | Bandcamp] — For nearly twenty years, Gautier Serre has been metal’s reigning mad scientist, blending breakcore, baroque, and blastbeats into something that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. Amen refines the chaos without sanding off the edges, finding full-band-Igorrr firing on every cylinder. Dear Hollow probably crossed someone’s personal boundaries while calling it “a reaffirmation of Serre’s genius/insanity,” but even if he’s sitting too close, that’s the right take. Amen balances absurdity, heaviness, and sophistication with freakish precision. From the orchestral depth to the cartoonish detours of “Mustard Mucous” and “Blastbeat Falafel,” it’s dense, manic, and meticulously constructed. There’s no other band that can make so much noise feel this purposeful or fun. Returning to Dear Hollow’s (only?) vaguely inappropriate public tongue-bathing of Igorrr,5 let’s round this off: “Amen is a reaffirmation of Igorrr’s batshit and fun-loving genius, as well as a new step forward: haunting, brutal, and otherworldly in a way that we can take seriously.”
Mors Principium Est // Darkness Invisible [September 26th, 2025 | Perception/Reigning Phoenix Music | No Bandcamp because labels hate their fans] — Eight albums deep and still shredding like they’ve got something to prove, Mors Principium Est returns with Darkness Invisible, a darker, heavier, and more cinematic take on Finnish melodeath. With founding guitarists Jori Haukio and Jarkko Kokko back in the fold, the band taps into its early DNA while pushing toward symphonic density and blackened aggression. In my factual recitation of truths about the world, I referred to Darkness Invisible as “a record that sounds darker and denser than the glossy sheen of Seven,” and incidentally, I’m right; this is ambitious melodeath with a subtly addictive feel, even though the mix sometimes threatens to collapse under its own weight, and Darkness Invisible is a bold reset for Mors Principium Est. I wasn’t going to include this here, but the more I listen to it, the more I like it.6 And more importantly, the more I spin it, the better I think it is. While it does struggle with production, its Bodomesque guitarwork and orchestral ambitions make it sneakily addictive.
#2025 #Amen #Ascension #BlogPost #BlogPosts #Blogpost #DarknessInvisible #Igorrr #IntenseIndifference #MetalBladeRecords #MorsPrincipiumEst #NuclearBlast #ParadiseLost #Perception #RecordOTheMonth #RecordSOTheMonth #ReigningPhoenixMusic #Sep25 #Vittra

#amen #ascension #blogpost #blogposts #darknessinvisible #igorrr
Belgian Ecclesia Brussel - Leuven @[email protected] · 2016-10-12 · 15:00 UTC
The 1st Adam in the Hebrew Scriptures #2 Beginning of mankind
Monyash Well Dressing 2009, In the Beginning God Created Man. Clay tablet decorated with coloured petals and stones.
After the fifth period in creation the sixth session brought forth ‘living souls‘ or ‘living things’ or ‘living beings’ which could multiply, making the earth having more of their sort. They were not in the image of God, but on the ‘sixth day‘ the Divine Creator decided to make some living being after His image.
This image and likeness of God in man is expounded, Ephesians 4:24, where it is written that man was created after God in righteousness and true holiness, meaning by these two words, all perfection, as wisdom, truth, innocence, power, etc. (Annotations in the 1599 Geneva Patriot’s Edition)
24 And put on the new man, which 1after God is created unto 2righteousness, and 3true holiness.
1 After the image of God.
2 The effect and end of the new creation.
3 Not fained nor counterfeit. (Annotations in the 1599 Geneva Patriot’s Edition)
Man had received everything in him to be happy living for always. Though he was not immortal. The first living being, “a soul” that would be called “man”, was receiving a higher status than the previous created living beings. Man was made in the image of God, indicating that Adam had some similar elements of God and being in the likeness of the Most High Elohim he received in this way a sort of “royal authority” to govern over God’s creation.
All over the world we can find creation myths, showing that the “being” of it makes only sense when there is a reason for “being”. It is that sense of life so many people are looking for. Genesis uses a similar approach found in other ancient documents: Existence depends on function.
Jackson Wu looks at creation and John H. Walton’s view in this way
Genesis indeed explains the origins of the world but it tells a particular kind of story. It provides a “functional” (rather than a “material”) account of the world origins.
and continues with a good example
If I move beds and dressers out of a “bedroom” and replace it with a desk and file cabinets, what would we say? A “bedroom” no longer exists. I have now “created” a office or study.
Similarly, Genesis 1 explains how God created the world to be a sacred space, a Temple where He would dwell with his people. This view of Genesis helps us to see who God is, who we are, and God’s design for the world. {When Did God Make China?}
That original manly being was “to be red” (=Adam). Adam occurs approximately 500 times with the meaning of mankind. In the opening chapters of the Bereshith (the Book of the Beginnings or Genesis), with three exceptions (1:26; 2:5,20) it has the definite article indicating “man” or “the man” rather than “Adam”.
The first undisputed occurrence of the name of Adam is in the genealogy of Genesis 5:1-5.
Adam and Eve with Cain and Abel – Catacomb of the Via Latina
1 This is the 1book of the generations of Adam. In the day that God created Adam, in the 2likeness of God made he him,
2 Male and female created he them, and blessed them, and called their name 1Adam in the day that they were created.
3 Now Adam lived an hundred and thirty years, and begat a child in his own 1likeness after his image, and called his name Seth.
4 aAnd the days of Adam, after he had begotten Seth, were eight hundred years, and he begat sons and daughters.
5 So all the days that Adam lived, were nine hundred and thirty years, and he died.
The 1st Adam indicates to be the first living creature of “red blood” (hence red blooded or adam), flesh and bones. Of necessity that first fleshly creature out of which mankind would grow could be called the first created man or “the man” and the designation is equivalent to a proper name: Adam.
This first soul or living being, came from the earth, and by receiving the Breath of God came to live. Animated by the divine breath created in the image of God was allowed to have dominion over all other life, animate and inanimate. He is other than God, with no actual physical descent from the Supreme Being or from any inferior deity. Notice also how only by the creation of this human being is mentioned that God “breathed … the breath of life”
Genesis 2:
7 The Lord God also 1made the man 2of the dust of the ground, and breathed in his face breath of life, band the man was a living soul.
8 And the Lord God planted a garden Eastward in 1Eden, and there he put the man whom he had made.
9 (For out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree pleasant to the sight, and good for meat: the 1tree of life also in the midst of the garden, 2and the tree of knowledge of good and of evil.
Genesis 1:
Satan Watching the Caresses of Adam and Eve — William Blake (1757-1827); William Blake’s illustrations of “Paradise Lost”, 1808.
27 Thus God created the man in his image: in the image of God created he him: he created them imale and female.
28 And God 1blessed them, and God said to them, jBring forth fruit, and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it, and rule over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the heaven, and over every beast that moveth upon the earth.
29 And God said, Behold, I have given unto you 1every herb bearing seed, which is upon all the earth, and every tree, wherein is the fruit of a tree bearing seed: kthat shall be to you for meat.
30 Likewise to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the heaven, and to everything that moveth upon the earth, which hath life in itself, every green herb shall be for meat, and it was so.
31 lAnd God saw all that he had made, and lo, it was very good. So the evening and the morning were the sixth day.
Genesis 2:
18 Also the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be himself alone: I will make him an help 1meet for him.
19 So the Lord God formed of the earth every beast of the field, and every fowl of the heaven, and brought them unto the 1man to see how he would call them: for howsoever the man named the living creature, so was the name thereof.
20 The man therefore gave names unto all cattle, and to the fowl of the heaven, and to every beast of the field: but for Adam found he not an helper meet for him.
21 Therefore the Lord God caused an heavy sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh in stead thereof.
22 And the rib which the Lord God had taken from the man, 1made he a 2woman, and brought her to the man.
23 Then the man said, cThis now is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh. She shall be called 1woman, because she was taken out of the man.
24 dTherefore shall man leave 1his father and his mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and they shall be one flesh.
25 And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and they were not 1ashamed.
Man Made in the Image of God, as in Genesis 1:26 to 2:3, illustration from a Bible card published 1906 by the Providence Lithograph Company (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Divine Creator had out of nothing or out of the blackness created elements which became ordered and received a function. As such the Most High Elohim Jehovah is the One God Who brings order out of (primordial) chaos and as such also being the God of order. [Chaos representing “non-order,” not “disorder.”]
Man being set in God’s Garden, the Garden of Eden, got the allowance to name the other things but also got the obligation of obedience to the divine Will, in connection with the tree of knowledge of good and evil.
When you follow the storytelling of creation you shall find God speaking or bringing out words, and then matter came into being. Every time it was God’s Word that brought action and life. Each stage of creation is also approved with the words
“And God saw that it was good” (Genesis 1: 10, 12, 18, 21, 25, cf. 31),
and the inference is that the creation of man was its consummation and climax.
God wanted to have His Kingdom full of plants, animals and human beings in his likeness. He wanted to see a beautiful world where all of His creatures could live in peace with each other.
The first Adam wanted a partner and God made him one. This person taken out of man, the mannin became the first woman and was to be Adam’s partner giving him children as part of God’s family.

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* Bible quotes from 1599 Geneva Patriot’s Edition
Preceding article: The 1st Adam in the Hebrew Scriptures #1 Beginning of everything
Next: The 1st Adam in the Hebrew Scriptures #3 With his partner
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#1Adam #Adam #AdamAndEve #BeginningOfTheUniverse #BookOfGenesis #Chaos #Creation #CreationMyth #DivineCreator #Eve #GardenOfEden #Genesis #Genesis1 #GodOfOrder #GodSpeaking #Human #HumanBeing #Image #ImageOfGod #InImageOfGod #LivingBeing #LivingCreature #LivingSoul #Man #ManninOr1Woman #ObedienceToGod #OriginOfTheUniverse #Temple #TempleOfGod #TreeOfKnowledgeOfGoodAndEvil #Universe #WordOfGod
#1adam #adam #adamandeve #beginningoftheuniverse #bookofgenesis #chaos
Bonobo @[email protected] · 2023-12-10 · 19:32 UTC

#Giftgas in #Munster, #Niedersachsen
Im #DethlingerTeich liegen ~30.000 #Granaten, die von der Wehrmacht sowie nach dem 2. Weltkrieg von Bombenräumkommandos und der Britischen Armee in die ehemalige Kieselgur-Abbaustätte gekippt wurden, ein Gemisch mit teilweise hochtoxischen Kampfstoffen wie #Tabun, #Lost und #Phosgen.
Man hofft, davon ~6.000 pro Jahr entsorgen bzw. vernichten zu können.
https://www.boehme-zeitung.de/nachrichten-blog/2023/11/15/rumung-dethlinger-teich-heie-phase-ist-angelaufen

#giftgas #munster #niedersachsen #granaten #tabun #lost
Ra_Zim @[email protected] · 2025-02-19 · 22:00 UTC

Here are more TTRPG Group Art, this time from Lost in Chaos SCAR, a Pokemon TTRPG streamed at https://www.twitch.tv/ra_zim
Art by Rdy
This is Pyroclast and Edge, played by Gimund!
#furry #furryart #ZGFArt #Rdy #LostinChaosSCAR #ZGFGaming #pyroclastlostinchaos #edgelostinchaos #charmeleon #fancharacter #male #necklace #necklaceonly #blackbody #bluebody #blueeyes #honedge #pokemon #2024

#furry #furryart #zgfart #rdy #lostinchaosscar #zgfgaming
Angry Metal Guy @[email protected] · 2025-08-11 · 11:45 UTC

Psycho-Frame – Salvation Laughs in the Face of a Grieving Mother Review
By Dear Hollow
Deathcore doesn’t give a shit. There was a moment when bands like Lorna Shore and Slaughter to Prevail attempted to make deathcore more accessible to other metal fans, incorporating blackened/symphonic textures or nu-metal influences. However terrible, solid, milquetoast, or well-intentioned you found it, that’s not the spirit of deathcore. Psycho-Frame has steadily been building a fanbase around their particularly unhinged take on deathcore with the release of 2023 EPs Remote God Seeker and Automatic Death Protocol, and we’re finally faced with a full-length debut: Salvation Laughs in the Face of a Grieving Mother. But don’t expect heavyhandedness – expect just heavy. Dumb heavy. Basically, the music for the sellout. Get those fists swingin’, Hot Topic frequenters! We’re goin’ to the mall.
Psycho-Frame embodies a trend in deathcore that is layered in nostalgia. Fearing that the style has lost its teeth, bands like the nation-spanning six-piece1 embrace the days of MySpace (think old-school Chelsea Grin or Bring Me the Horizon). It’s raw, groovy, and devastating, brandishing a brand wavering between thick-ass breakdowns settling on the ocean floor and lightning-fast blastbeats and unhinged technical thrills. Psycho-Frame otherwise benefits from a two-vocal attack, with Mike Sugars relying on a tough Frankie Palmeri bark attack while Jonathan Whittle offers fierce shrieks, horrific bellows, and the occasional pig squeal. It’s big, dumb fun that doesn’t overstay its welcome, embracing a savage edge contrary to contemporary acts off the same ilk: the rawness of Killing of a Sacred Deer or the melodic technicality of Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Psycho-Frame emerges as the elite, its loud and ouchy production amped to louder and ouchier, its vocal attack barbaric and ominous, and its songwriting whiplash-inducing. It’s everything you love – and loathe – about deathcore.
There’s little nuance in Salvation Laughs – if it’s thoughtful songwriting and careful construction you’re after, Psycho-Frame ain’t it. It doesn’t have a lick of the tragedy its title implies because, remember, deathcore doesn’t give a shit. It recalls the chaos of This is Exile-era Whitechapel, The Cleansing-era Suicide Silence, or self-titled Chelsea Grin in its chunky viciousness and stonewalled rigidity. Neck-snapping tempo shifts are a norm, downtempo Black Tongue chugdowns assaulting your ears one second before ravaging them with ripping blastbeats and shredding riffs. Riffiness is a trait not often expounded upon by deathcore, but it appears often throughout Salvation Laughs, giving an unexpected head-bobbing groove and pinch harmonics (“Blueprints for Idol Genocide,” “Endless Agonal Devotion”), jaw-dropping fretboard wizardry that recalls Beneath the Massacre and pairs neatly with numbskull density (“Apocalypse Through Lysergic Possession”), while slam’s gurgling lurch a la Ingested adds nice sonic depravity (“Filleted and Fucked,” “Still Water Salvation”). Each member offers his best, the dual shrieks and roars commanding charisma, the guitars offering flaying technicality and caveman knuckle-dragging meatheadedness equally, bass holding up the sound amid the fray, and drums retain a sharp metallic ring that adds to the unhinged quality Psycho-Frame possesses.
For the same reasons, some will love Psycho-Frame, others will understandably loathe it. In many ways, it feels like the insanity of mid-2000s deathcore distilled into a bullying thirty-eight minutes. It’s relentless, it’s over-the-top, and perfect to make frowny faces at while you windmill your way through the pit. That being said, some parts of the album are guiltier than others: when groove dominates, the result is an insane little number, but when that’s toned down to channel Suicide Silence, it sounds pitifully stale (“The Portal,” “BLACK_WAVE II”). Furthermore, there are short-lived spoken word samples scattered throughout the album, which provide more of a blush than the creepiness factor they are attempting to instill. But apart from the nitpicks, for nearly all the reasons mentioned in the paragraph above, Salvation Laughs in the Face of a Grieving Mother can be the thorn in a metalhead’s side – Psycho-Frame is truly an apt representative of deathcore.
For better or worse, Psycho-Frame is deathcore, and it doesn’t pretend to be anything else. It’s big and dumb, overly loud and obnoxious, with enough groove, rawness, and wonky tricks to carry its dual vocal attack into something resembling enjoyment. It’s a low-ceiling, low-floor situation, because Salvation Laughs in the Face of a Grieving Mother can either bring some fun into your day or utterly ruin it. I had fun with Psycho-Frame because of its refreshing simplicity and relentless brutality – but it’s still a cautionary tale.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed:
Label: Sharptone Records
Websites: psychoframedc.bandcamp.com | psychoframe.com | facebook.com/psychoframedeathcore
Releases Worldwide: July 25th, 2025
#2025 #30 #AmericanMetal #BeneathTheMassacre #BlackTongue #BringMeTheHorizon #ChelseaGrin #Deathcore #Ingested #Jul25 #KillingOfASacredDeer #LornaShore #PsychoFrame #Review #Reviews #SalvationLaughsInTheFaceOfAGrievingMother #SharpToneRecords #SlammingDeathcore #SlaughterToPrevail #SuicideSilence #ThusSpokeZarathustra #Whitechapel

#americanmetal #beneaththemassacre #blacktongue #bringmethehorizon #chelseagrin #deathcore
Der böse Hexe Njähähä 🧙‍♀️🪄⚡️ @[email protected] · 2025-02-27 · 14:37 UTC

Es gibt so viele Gründe zum Heulen, dass der #Weltschmerz schier überfordert ist mit der Entscheidung, welchen er beweint. Aber ich glaube, heute sind es die Worte von Irmgard Braun-Lübcke, der Witwe von #WalterLübcke, die mir immer wieder die Tränen in die Augen treiben. #merzFail #merz
Toot von @lost_in_chaos:
https://mstdn.social/@lost_in_chaos/114075510721626654

#weltschmerz #walterlubcke #merzfail #merz
GEORGE L THOMAS @[email protected] · 2025-03-25 · 05:08 UTC
The Snowflake Method
Hi everyone! I hope you’re all well. Today, I am exploring another way to outline a story or a novel: The Snowflake Method.
The Snowflake Method
Writing a novel can feel like an overwhelming task, akin to scaling a towering mountain of creativity and commitment. Aspiring authors frequently find themselves lost in the labyrinth of narrative structure, character development, and plot progression. Well, enter Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Method — a systematic approach that promises to transform the chaos and seemingly impossible task of novel writing into an organised process.
What is The Snowflake Method?
At its centre, the Snowflake Method is a ten-step process that encourages writers to expand their initial ideas gradually. The methodology emphasises the importance of structure, which can be especially beneficial for aspiring authors who may feel overwhelmed and daunted by the enormity of the task of writing novels. The process begins with a one-sentence summary of the story and builds complexity layer by layer, akin to how snowflakes form.
The Ten Steps of the Snowflake Method
1. One-Sentence Summary: Start by condensing your novel into a single compelling sentence, ideally no more than 15 words. Doing this forces you to define your story’s central conflict and theme.
2. One-Paragraph Summary: Expand your single-sentence summary into one paragraph that encapsulates the main plot points. This paragraph should include the setup, the conflict, and the resolution, providing a concise overview of the whole story arc.
3. Character Summaries: Write a summary for all your major characters, concentrating on their goals, motivations, conflicts, and epiphanies. This step ensures that you understand your characters deeply and that their arcs are integral to the story.
4. Expand the One-Paragraph Summary: Take the initial one-paragraph summary and expand it into an entire page. This expansion should delve into any subplots, all character arcs, and any key turning points you have decided upon.
5. Character Descriptions: Create detailed profiles for your characters, including their backgrounds, personality traits, and defining characteristics. As it guides your writing, this information will help create multi-dimensional characters that resonate with readers.
6. Scene List: Break your story down into individual scenes. Create a list of all the scenes you envision, including the point of view, the purpose of each scene, and how it contributes to the overall story arc.
7. Scene Expansion: For each scene, write a detailed description that includes what happens, the characters involved, and the emotional beats. This step transforms the broader vision of your novel into actionable components.
8. First Draft: With a solid framework, begin writing your first draft. The Snowflake Method prepares you well for this stage, as you have a clear blueprint to follow, reducing the chance of getting lost in the writing process.
9. Revise: After finishing the first draft, set your manuscript aside and ‘rest’ it for a spell before you revisit it with fresh eyes. Be critical. Analyse your work, ensuring you focus on the development of the characters, the story’s pacing, and overall plot cohesion. It’s in this part of the process that your story comes alive.
10. Polish and Finalise: The final step involves proofreading, formatting, and preparing your manuscript for publication or submission. This stage is essential for ensuring your writing is engaging and error-free.
Benefits of the Snowflake Method
One great advantage of the Snowflake Method is its adaptability. Writers of all styles and genres can modify the steps to suit their preferences and work habits. The method enables iterative expansion, letting you continually refine, change and explore your ideas. Furthermore, it caters to both plot-driven and character-driven narratives, making it an inclusive approach to diverse storytelling techniques.
Overall, Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Method offers a well-defined framework for writers seeking to transform their ideas into captivating narratives. By following this structured approach, authors can develop intricate stories that resonate with readers while still being able to enjoy the creative process. Whether you’re a new or experienced writer, the Snowflake Method can enhance your storytelling abilities, providing the tools you need to craft a compelling novel. As you embark on your writing journey, consider employing the Snowflake Method to help you navigate the sometimes tumultuous waters of fiction writing with confidence and creativity.
Thank you, as ever, for reading today’s post. It means a lot!
Until next time,
George
© 2025 GLT
#Fiction #Outlines #outlining #snowflake #snowflakeMethod #writing
#fiction #outlines #outlining #snowflake #snowflakemethod #writing
Bryan King @[email protected] · 2026-03-19 · 11:30 UTC

The Cost of the Clean Exit: When the System Protects the Liar

3,572 words, 19 minutes read time.
Grant Miller sat in the clinical, blue-light glow of his home office, the low hum of three synchronized monitors serving as the only soundtrack to the wreckage of a decade. On the center screen, a spreadsheet acted as a cold, digital autopsy of ten years of his life. As a systems architect, Grant didn’t have “hobbies”; he had projects that required infrastructure, precision, and an uncompromising adherence to the truth. When he first walked into the local “Learn to Skate” rink with a camera bag and a laptop, he wasn’t looking for a plaque or a pat on the back. He saw a system that was broken—a chaotic, paper-trail operation where registrations were lost in overstuffed filing cabinets and the club’s “digital presence” was a joke. Over the next ten years, Grant didn’t just volunteer; he engineered. He built a fortress. By the time the dust settled, he had clocked over $65,000 in professional volunteer hours based on federal labor standards, and his private servers groaned under the weight of 100,000 high-resolution images captured on $10,000 of his own professional gear. He was the invisible backbone of the club, the man who turned a disorganized mess into a streamlined, encrypted powerhouse that parents actually trusted with their data and their children’s milestones.
The sheer volume of the work was staggering when viewed through the lens of objective data. We are talking about ten years of Saturday mornings spent in sub-zero rinks, ten years of weeknights spent editing thousands of RAW files to ensure every kid in the program had a hero shot that made them feel like an Olympian. Grant didn’t just take pictures; he managed the club’s identity. He built the website, secured the databases, and handled the tech support that the board was too technologically illiterate to understand. In the world of non-profits, a man like Grant is a unicorn—a high-level professional providing enterprise-grade solutions for the price of a lukewarm coffee. But the danger of being the man who builds the system is that you eventually become the only person who knows how the gears actually turn, and in a landscape ruled by small-town egos, that technical mastery is often viewed not as an asset, but as a threat to the established order of those who prefer to rule in the dark.
In the world of small-town sports politics, efficiency is a direct threat to those who thrive on opacity and “good old boy” networks. For years, the club’s board elections had been tainted by what the locals quietly called “funny business.” It was a shadowy, manual practice where Sarah, the Skating Director, and her inner circle would physically call members over the phone, pressuring them to cast votes for her hand-picked candidates in direct violation of the club’s own bylaws. It was a system built on social engineering and intimidation, a way to ensure that the “inner circle” remained unchallenged and that the director’s personal fiefdom remained intact. Sarah wore her high-level credentials with the national Figure Skating Association like a medieval mace, using her title to silence dissent and maintain a status quo that favored her cronies over the actual growth of the program. She didn’t want a fair vote; she wanted a coronation every cycle.
To kill this corruption and bring the club into the twenty-first century, Grant had implemented a third-party, industry-standard voting system years prior. He didn’t build the software—he was too smart for that—but he selected a platform that offered absolute integrity, two-factor authentication, and a verifiable audit trail. It was a secure tool designed to ensure that every member had a private, un-pressured voice, effectively stripping Sarah of her ability to manipulate the outcomes through late-night phone calls and locker-room arm-twisting. Ironically, that very system is still used by the club today, a testament to its reliability and Grant’s foresight in building something that could withstand the very rot he was trying to excise. But the moment the digital tally finally reflected a result that Sarah couldn’t control, the “funny business” shifted from the voting booth to a direct, surgical strike on Grant Miller’s reputation.
The transition from “valued volunteer” to “enemy of the state” happened with the flick of a bureaucratic switch. When the election results didn’t go Sarah’s way, she didn’t look in the mirror; she looked for a scapegoat. Using her high-level influence and her direct line to the national Figure Skating Association, she filed an informal grievance that was as calculated as it was malicious. She accused Grant of “digital manipulation,” claiming that he had used his administrative access to rig the election results through the third-party software. It was a character-assassinating smear designed to hit a technical professional where it hurts most: his integrity. She banked on the Association’s fundamental ignorance of technology, knowing that to a group of aging administrators, “software” was a magic black box that could be easily manipulated by a “hacker” in their midst. She didn’t need proof; she only needed to trigger the investigation to isolate Grant and cast a shadow of doubt over the entire digital infrastructure he had built.
The move was a masterclass in institutional bullying. Suddenly, the man who had donated $65,000 worth of his life to the program was being treated like a criminal in a defensive crouch. The Association, instead of looking at Sarah’s history of “funny business” or the verifiable logs of the third-party system, reflexively protected their director. They launched an inquiry that forced Grant to spend weeks of his own time—time he could have spent with his family or on his actual career—defending his honor against a baseless lie. This is the raw reality of the volunteer grind: the moment you stop being a “useful tool” and start being a “check on power,” the institution will turn on you with a cold, mechanical indifference that would make a corporate HR department blush. Grant found himself in a fight he never asked for, forced to prove a negative against a woman who had spent years treating the club’s bylaws like suggestions.
Grant didn’t retreat into anger; he retreated into the data. While Sarah was busy playing the victim in rink-side whispers and backroom meetings, Grant was operating with the cold, methodical precision of a man who knew that in a digital world, every lie leaves a footprint. He understood that the burden of proof in an institutional inquisition is rarely on the accuser, so he built a defense that was mathematically irrefutable. He spent dozens of hours—hours on top of the decade he’d already sacrificed—compiling a forensic dossier that documented every interaction with the voting software. He didn’t just tell them he didn’t rig the election; he showed them the server logs, the encrypted handshakes, and the third-party security protocols that made it impossible for an administrator to alter an individual ballot once cast. He presented a timeline of every email sent, every website modification made, and every administrative login, cross-referenced against the club’s own bylaws which Sarah had so casually ignored for years.
The sheer density of the evidence was a silent middle finger to the incompetence of the board. Grant produced a document that mapped the “funny business” of previous years—the phone call logs and the manual tallies that didn’t add up—and contrasted it with the sterile, unassailable integrity of the digital system he had implemented. He was forcing the Association to look at the mirror, showing them that the only person with a history of manipulation was the woman pointing the finger. For a man who lived by the logic of “if-then” statements, the hearing wasn’t an emotional plea for his reputation; it was a technical demonstration of Sarah’s malice. He sat across from the Association representatives—people who likely struggled to reset their own Wi-Fi routers—and spoke to them in the language of objective truth. He didn’t ask for their trust; he demanded they acknowledge the data.
The hearing was a collision between professional competence and bureaucratic ego. Grant watched as the Association reps flipped through his forensic audit with the glazed eyes of people who had realized they were in way over their heads. They had walked into the room expecting to slap the wrist of a “rogue volunteer” and instead found themselves staring at a mountain of evidence that implicated their own director in years of procedural misconduct. They saw the locks on the third-party system, they saw the clean logs, and they saw the verified results that matched the will of the members perfectly. There was no “hacker,” no “manipulation,” and no “rigging.” There was only a man who had done his job too well and a woman who had tried to destroy him for it. The truth was sitting on the table, cold and heavy, but the institution wasn’t interested in truth; it was interested in liability.
The final verdict arrived not with a bang, but with a whimper—a two-paragraph email that was a masterclass in corporate-filtered non-apology. The Association stated they could “find no fault” in Grant’s actions, a clinical way of admitting he was innocent without actually saying he had been wronged. There was a weak, throwaway sentence about the “inconvenience of the investigation,” but no mention of the ten years of service, the $65,000 in labor, or the 100,000 photos that had built their brand. Even more galling was the silence regarding Sarah. There was no reprimand, no suspension, and no acknowledgment of her baseless smear campaign. She was allowed to keep her office and her title, protected by a system that values the survival of the hierarchy over the character of its builders. The Association had looked at a decade of loyalty and a month of character assassination and decided that the status quo was worth more than a man’s honor.
In the immediate aftermath, Grant felt the weight of the “sunk cost fallacy” pulling at his gut. Ten years. Over a hundred thousand images of kids learning to find their edges, of parents crying in the stands, of a community he thought he was part of. He looked at the hard drives in his office—$10,000 worth of gear and an archive of a decade’s worth of growth—and realized that the club didn’t deserve a single byte of it. The “Actionable Fix” in this scenario wasn’t to stay and fight a guerrilla war against Sarah’s ego; it was to perform a total, scorched-earth decoupling of his identity from the program. He wasn’t just a volunteer leaving a post; he was an architect reclaiming his blueprints. He realized that Sarah had successfully weaponized the institution to run off its most valuable asset, and the board was too weak or too complicit to stop her.
The raw truth that every high-level volunteer eventually learns is that the institution doesn’t love you back. It is a machine that consumes “useful idiots” until they become “inconvenient truths,” and then it discards them with a form letter. Grant’s exit wasn’t a retreat; it was an evacuation of value. He deleted his administrative access, handed over the keys to the digital fortress he had built, and walked away with the one thing Sarah could never touch: his integrity. He understood that the club would likely devolve back into the “funny business” of phone-call voting and paper-trail chaos within a year, and he finally stopped caring. Forgiveness, for Grant, was the cold realization that he no longer owed his energy to a group of people who would trade his decade of sacrifice for a director’s comfort.
The first Saturday morning after his resignation was the loudest silence Grant had ever experienced. For ten years, the rhythmic scratch of toe picks, the deep hum of blades carving precise circles, and the echoes of classical scores over the PA system had been the heartbeat of his weekend. Now, sitting in his kitchen with a cup of coffee that didn’t need to be rushed, he felt the phantom weight of the camera bag on his shoulder. He looked at his gear—the Nikon bodies, the 70-200mm f/2.8 lens that had captured a hundred thousand tiny triumphs—and realized they were just tools again, no longer weapons of a community’s legacy. The realization hit him with the cold precision of a data point: he had been a ghostwriter for a story that the lead character was trying to delete. Sarah still held the keys to the rink, but she no longer held the keys to his time, a currency that, once spent, offers no refunds.
The “funny business” resumed almost immediately. Reports filtered back through the grapevine of the old “phone tree” tactics resurfacing, of board meetings descending back into the opaque, disorganized chaos that had defined the era before Grant’s digital intervention. The club was regressing, shedding its professional skin and returning to its form as a petty fiefdom. It was the natural state of an organization that chooses a comfortable lie over a demanding truth. Grant watched from the sidelines, not with the bitterness of a man who had lost, but with the detached observation of a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction. When you remove the structural integrity of a building—the architect and the foundation—it doesn’t collapse all at once; it leans until it eventually becomes uninhabitable.
While the Association’s weak apology sat in his inbox like a digital insult, the real “audit” of Grant’s decade came from the people Sarah couldn’t control: the parents. His private gallery links began to see a spike in traffic. Families were downloading the archives, realizing that the man who had documented their children’s lives from their first wobbles to their high school graduations was gone. Those 100,000 photos weren’t just data; they were the only evidence of a decade of growth that the club had essentially disowned. Grant realized that by attacking his integrity, Sarah had inadvertently highlighted his value. Every high-resolution shot was a reminder of a standard she could never replicate with a smartphone and a grudge.
The $65,000 in volunteer hours was gone, a sunk cost in the ledger of his life, but the forensic defense he had built remained a masterclass in tactical self-preservation. He had proven that a man with a paper trail is a man who cannot be easily erased. He had shown that even in a rigged game, the player who keeps the best records can walk away with his name intact. This is the raw truth for any man in the trenches of a volunteer organization: build the system, but keep the logs. Serve the community, but never trust the institution. The only thing you truly own at the end of a ten-year grind is your reputation and the data that proves you were the one who held the line when everyone else was busy making phone calls.
Grant Miller eventually closed the spreadsheet. He archived the folder labeled “Skating Club Litigation” and moved it to a backup drive, a dark corner of his digital life that he intended to visit only if the “funny business” ever crossed the line into legal territory again. He wasn’t waiting for Sarah to be fired, and he wasn’t waiting for the Association to grow a spine and offer a real apology. That would be giving them more of his life, and he had already donated enough. The final transaction was the act of clicking “Logout” for the last time—not just from a server, but from a narrative that no longer served him.
Author’s Note
In the world of “sanitized” faith, we’re told forgiveness is a warm, fuzzy reconciliation. We’re fed a version of grace that expects a man to just “shake hands and forget” while his reputation is still bleeding out. But the reality of the grind teaches a harder truth: Sometimes, forgiveness is the tactical decision to stop trying to collect a debt from a bankrupt person. It’s handing the bill to a higher authority and walking off the job site.
For the men who know me, you’ll recognize the skeleton of this story. It’s loosely based on my own ten-year tour in the trenches—a decade of professional-grade labor met with a calculated strike at my integrity. Note that all specific names and locations have been changed to protect everyone involved. For a man in my field, a formal accusation of “manipulation” or “rigging” is a direct hit on my livelihood. I operate under a strict standard of professional appearance; a smear like this could ha
Even years later, I still feel the weight. Every year when the house lights dim and the ice shows begin, the struggle resurfaces like a ghost in the rafters. It’s a seasonal reminder of a wound that hasn’t fully closed—not because of a lack of faith, but because I refuse to lie about the truth. I still run the ice show circuit, taking the photos and giving them away for free, promoting the achievements of these young athletes and the sport itself. I do the work because the work has value to those skaters and thier families.
I’ve had to face the bitter reality that the people who launched this path of destruction were never held accountable—and in all likelihood, they never will be on this side of eternity. Even though her actions and that path of wreckage continue to this day, there was no grand moment of justice, no public clearing of my name, and no professional consequence for the liar. From what I’ve been told, this began long before I arrived and has left a trail of destroyed lives in its wake. This includes one individual handed a lifetime ban from skating—a move reminiscent of the Tonya Harding fallout—simply for trying to protect a skater from abuse. That wake of destruction remains active, and the wreckage continues to pile up. I have to believe that one day, God will say “enough.” This is my way of turning this situation over to God.
In Enemies of the Heart, Andy Stanley identifies Anger as the result of a “debt” mindset—the conviction that “you owe me.” When a bureaucrat smears your name or devalues a decade of your life, they create a massive debt. We wait for the apology or the admission of guilt to “balance the books,” but a bankrupt person can’t pay you back. Stanley’s solution isn’t “feelings”; it’s a business decision: Cancel the debt. You aren’t saying what they did was right; you’re deciding you will no longer wait for a thief to return what they stole.
I’ve heard the fake apologies—the corporate-speak non-apologies meant to shift the blame. Specifically: “I’m sorry you got your feelings hurt.” Let’s be blunt: that’s a tactical maneuver, not an apology. It ignores the lie, the rigged system, and the malicious intent. It treats a professional betrayal like an emotional glitch on your part. It’s the cowards’ way out.
Understand this: there is no commandment that forces you to associate with people like this. In my opinion, based on the Word, there are actually commandments not to associate with them. Scripture doesn’t call us to be door-mats for the deceptive. It tells us to “have nothing to do with them” (2 Timothy 3:5) and to “shun” those who persist in division and deceit. Forgiveness is about your heart’s freedom from their debt; it is not a legal requirement to invite a known liar back to your table.
“Forgive and forget” is a myth. Even the resurrected Christ carries the record of what was done to Him.
“Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne…” — Revelation 5:6 (NIV)
The scars on the resurrected Christ prove that memory and mercy are not mutually exclusive. Those wounds are the eternal record of the price He paid. He hasn’t “forgotten” the cost; He absorbed the debt so the bill never reaches the one who owed it. Forgiveness isn’t forgetting; it’s absorbing the hit.
I wrote this for the men who still struggle, like I do, with the hard facts. I wrote it for the men who have done the work, kept the logs, and watched the “system” protect the liar. If you’re in those shoes, understand this: Your integrity isn’t defined by their inability to tell the truth. I know that one day God will hold them accountable, even if they never face justice on this earth. Scripture is clear: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. Sometimes, the most masculine thing you can do is shake the dust off your boots, cancel the debt, and leave the final audit to the only Judge who actually keeps the books.
Call to Action
If this story struck a chord, don’t just scroll on. Join the brotherhood—men learning to build, not borrow, their strength. Subscribe for more stories like this, drop a comment about where you’re growing, or reach out and tell me what you’re working toward. Let’s grow together.

D. Bryan King

Sources
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

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#accountability #AndyStanley #betrayal #biblicalForgiveness #CareerReputation #CharacterAssassination #CorporateGaslighting #dataIntegrity #DebtCancellation #DigitalManipulation #DocumentingTruth #ElectionRigging #enemiesOfTheHeart #FakeApologies #FigureSkatingAssociation #ForensicAudit #ForgivenessVsReconciliation #InstitutionalCorruption #InstitutionalCowardice #IntegrityInTech #LeadershipAccountability #masculineFaith #moralCourage #NonProfitPolitics #PhotographyArchives #ProfessionalIntegrity #recoveringFromBetrayal #ResurrectedScars #Revelation56 #ShakingTheDust #SkatingDirector #SmallTownCorruption #SmearCampaigns #StandardOfAppearance #standingFirm #SystemsArchitect #TheSlainLamb #ThirdPartyVotingSystems #VengeanceIsMine #VolunteerBurnout

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Bryan King @[email protected] · 2026-03-19 · 11:30 UTC

The Cost of the Clean Exit: When the System Protects the Liar

3,572 words, 19 minutes read time.
Grant Miller sat in the clinical, blue-light glow of his home office, the low hum of three synchronized monitors serving as the only soundtrack to the wreckage of a decade. On the center screen, a spreadsheet acted as a cold, digital autopsy of ten years of his life. As a systems architect, Grant didn’t have “hobbies”; he had projects that required infrastructure, precision, and an uncompromising adherence to the truth. When he first walked into the local “Learn to Skate” rink with a camera bag and a laptop, he wasn’t looking for a plaque or a pat on the back. He saw a system that was broken—a chaotic, paper-trail operation where registrations were lost in overstuffed filing cabinets and the club’s “digital presence” was a joke. Over the next ten years, Grant didn’t just volunteer; he engineered. He built a fortress. By the time the dust settled, he had clocked over $65,000 in professional volunteer hours based on federal labor standards, and his private servers groaned under the weight of 100,000 high-resolution images captured on $10,000 of his own professional gear. He was the invisible backbone of the club, the man who turned a disorganized mess into a streamlined, encrypted powerhouse that parents actually trusted with their data and their children’s milestones.
The sheer volume of the work was staggering when viewed through the lens of objective data. We are talking about ten years of Saturday mornings spent in sub-zero rinks, ten years of weeknights spent editing thousands of RAW files to ensure every kid in the program had a hero shot that made them feel like an Olympian. Grant didn’t just take pictures; he managed the club’s identity. He built the website, secured the databases, and handled the tech support that the board was too technologically illiterate to understand. In the world of non-profits, a man like Grant is a unicorn—a high-level professional providing enterprise-grade solutions for the price of a lukewarm coffee. But the danger of being the man who builds the system is that you eventually become the only person who knows how the gears actually turn, and in a landscape ruled by small-town egos, that technical mastery is often viewed not as an asset, but as a threat to the established order of those who prefer to rule in the dark.
In the world of small-town sports politics, efficiency is a direct threat to those who thrive on opacity and “good old boy” networks. For years, the club’s board elections had been tainted by what the locals quietly called “funny business.” It was a shadowy, manual practice where Sarah, the Skating Director, and her inner circle would physically call members over the phone, pressuring them to cast votes for her hand-picked candidates in direct violation of the club’s own bylaws. It was a system built on social engineering and intimidation, a way to ensure that the “inner circle” remained unchallenged and that the director’s personal fiefdom remained intact. Sarah wore her high-level credentials with the national Figure Skating Association like a medieval mace, using her title to silence dissent and maintain a status quo that favored her cronies over the actual growth of the program. She didn’t want a fair vote; she wanted a coronation every cycle.
To kill this corruption and bring the club into the twenty-first century, Grant had implemented a third-party, industry-standard voting system years prior. He didn’t build the software—he was too smart for that—but he selected a platform that offered absolute integrity, two-factor authentication, and a verifiable audit trail. It was a secure tool designed to ensure that every member had a private, un-pressured voice, effectively stripping Sarah of her ability to manipulate the outcomes through late-night phone calls and locker-room arm-twisting. Ironically, that very system is still used by the club today, a testament to its reliability and Grant’s foresight in building something that could withstand the very rot he was trying to excise. But the moment the digital tally finally reflected a result that Sarah couldn’t control, the “funny business” shifted from the voting booth to a direct, surgical strike on Grant Miller’s reputation.
The transition from “valued volunteer” to “enemy of the state” happened with the flick of a bureaucratic switch. When the election results didn’t go Sarah’s way, she didn’t look in the mirror; she looked for a scapegoat. Using her high-level influence and her direct line to the national Figure Skating Association, she filed an informal grievance that was as calculated as it was malicious. She accused Grant of “digital manipulation,” claiming that he had used his administrative access to rig the election results through the third-party software. It was a character-assassinating smear designed to hit a technical professional where it hurts most: his integrity. She banked on the Association’s fundamental ignorance of technology, knowing that to a group of aging administrators, “software” was a magic black box that could be easily manipulated by a “hacker” in their midst. She didn’t need proof; she only needed to trigger the investigation to isolate Grant and cast a shadow of doubt over the entire digital infrastructure he had built.
The move was a masterclass in institutional bullying. Suddenly, the man who had donated $65,000 worth of his life to the program was being treated like a criminal in a defensive crouch. The Association, instead of looking at Sarah’s history of “funny business” or the verifiable logs of the third-party system, reflexively protected their director. They launched an inquiry that forced Grant to spend weeks of his own time—time he could have spent with his family or on his actual career—defending his honor against a baseless lie. This is the raw reality of the volunteer grind: the moment you stop being a “useful tool” and start being a “check on power,” the institution will turn on you with a cold, mechanical indifference that would make a corporate HR department blush. Grant found himself in a fight he never asked for, forced to prove a negative against a woman who had spent years treating the club’s bylaws like suggestions.
Grant didn’t retreat into anger; he retreated into the data. While Sarah was busy playing the victim in rink-side whispers and backroom meetings, Grant was operating with the cold, methodical precision of a man who knew that in a digital world, every lie leaves a footprint. He understood that the burden of proof in an institutional inquisition is rarely on the accuser, so he built a defense that was mathematically irrefutable. He spent dozens of hours—hours on top of the decade he’d already sacrificed—compiling a forensic dossier that documented every interaction with the voting software. He didn’t just tell them he didn’t rig the election; he showed them the server logs, the encrypted handshakes, and the third-party security protocols that made it impossible for an administrator to alter an individual ballot once cast. He presented a timeline of every email sent, every website modification made, and every administrative login, cross-referenced against the club’s own bylaws which Sarah had so casually ignored for years.
The sheer density of the evidence was a silent middle finger to the incompetence of the board. Grant produced a document that mapped the “funny business” of previous years—the phone call logs and the manual tallies that didn’t add up—and contrasted it with the sterile, unassailable integrity of the digital system he had implemented. He was forcing the Association to look at the mirror, showing them that the only person with a history of manipulation was the woman pointing the finger. For a man who lived by the logic of “if-then” statements, the hearing wasn’t an emotional plea for his reputation; it was a technical demonstration of Sarah’s malice. He sat across from the Association representatives—people who likely struggled to reset their own Wi-Fi routers—and spoke to them in the language of objective truth. He didn’t ask for their trust; he demanded they acknowledge the data.
The hearing was a collision between professional competence and bureaucratic ego. Grant watched as the Association reps flipped through his forensic audit with the glazed eyes of people who had realized they were in way over their heads. They had walked into the room expecting to slap the wrist of a “rogue volunteer” and instead found themselves staring at a mountain of evidence that implicated their own director in years of procedural misconduct. They saw the locks on the third-party system, they saw the clean logs, and they saw the verified results that matched the will of the members perfectly. There was no “hacker,” no “manipulation,” and no “rigging.” There was only a man who had done his job too well and a woman who had tried to destroy him for it. The truth was sitting on the table, cold and heavy, but the institution wasn’t interested in truth; it was interested in liability.
The final verdict arrived not with a bang, but with a whimper—a two-paragraph email that was a masterclass in corporate-filtered non-apology. The Association stated they could “find no fault” in Grant’s actions, a clinical way of admitting he was innocent without actually saying he had been wronged. There was a weak, throwaway sentence about the “inconvenience of the investigation,” but no mention of the ten years of service, the $65,000 in labor, or the 100,000 photos that had built their brand. Even more galling was the silence regarding Sarah. There was no reprimand, no suspension, and no acknowledgment of her baseless smear campaign. She was allowed to keep her office and her title, protected by a system that values the survival of the hierarchy over the character of its builders. The Association had looked at a decade of loyalty and a month of character assassination and decided that the status quo was worth more than a man’s honor.
In the immediate aftermath, Grant felt the weight of the “sunk cost fallacy” pulling at his gut. Ten years. Over a hundred thousand images of kids learning to find their edges, of parents crying in the stands, of a community he thought he was part of. He looked at the hard drives in his office—$10,000 worth of gear and an archive of a decade’s worth of growth—and realized that the club didn’t deserve a single byte of it. The “Actionable Fix” in this scenario wasn’t to stay and fight a guerrilla war against Sarah’s ego; it was to perform a total, scorched-earth decoupling of his identity from the program. He wasn’t just a volunteer leaving a post; he was an architect reclaiming his blueprints. He realized that Sarah had successfully weaponized the institution to run off its most valuable asset, and the board was too weak or too complicit to stop her.
The raw truth that every high-level volunteer eventually learns is that the institution doesn’t love you back. It is a machine that consumes “useful idiots” until they become “inconvenient truths,” and then it discards them with a form letter. Grant’s exit wasn’t a retreat; it was an evacuation of value. He deleted his administrative access, handed over the keys to the digital fortress he had built, and walked away with the one thing Sarah could never touch: his integrity. He understood that the club would likely devolve back into the “funny business” of phone-call voting and paper-trail chaos within a year, and he finally stopped caring. Forgiveness, for Grant, was the cold realization that he no longer owed his energy to a group of people who would trade his decade of sacrifice for a director’s comfort.
The first Saturday morning after his resignation was the loudest silence Grant had ever experienced. For ten years, the rhythmic scratch of toe picks, the deep hum of blades carving precise circles, and the echoes of classical scores over the PA system had been the heartbeat of his weekend. Now, sitting in his kitchen with a cup of coffee that didn’t need to be rushed, he felt the phantom weight of the camera bag on his shoulder. He looked at his gear—the Nikon bodies, the 70-200mm f/2.8 lens that had captured a hundred thousand tiny triumphs—and realized they were just tools again, no longer weapons of a community’s legacy. The realization hit him with the cold precision of a data point: he had been a ghostwriter for a story that the lead character was trying to delete. Sarah still held the keys to the rink, but she no longer held the keys to his time, a currency that, once spent, offers no refunds.
The “funny business” resumed almost immediately. Reports filtered back through the grapevine of the old “phone tree” tactics resurfacing, of board meetings descending back into the opaque, disorganized chaos that had defined the era before Grant’s digital intervention. The club was regressing, shedding its professional skin and returning to its form as a petty fiefdom. It was the natural state of an organization that chooses a comfortable lie over a demanding truth. Grant watched from the sidelines, not with the bitterness of a man who had lost, but with the detached observation of a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction. When you remove the structural integrity of a building—the architect and the foundation—it doesn’t collapse all at once; it leans until it eventually becomes uninhabitable.
While the Association’s weak apology sat in his inbox like a digital insult, the real “audit” of Grant’s decade came from the people Sarah couldn’t control: the parents. His private gallery links began to see a spike in traffic. Families were downloading the archives, realizing that the man who had documented their children’s lives from their first wobbles to their high school graduations was gone. Those 100,000 photos weren’t just data; they were the only evidence of a decade of growth that the club had essentially disowned. Grant realized that by attacking his integrity, Sarah had inadvertently highlighted his value. Every high-resolution shot was a reminder of a standard she could never replicate with a smartphone and a grudge.
The $65,000 in volunteer hours was gone, a sunk cost in the ledger of his life, but the forensic defense he had built remained a masterclass in tactical self-preservation. He had proven that a man with a paper trail is a man who cannot be easily erased. He had shown that even in a rigged game, the player who keeps the best records can walk away with his name intact. This is the raw truth for any man in the trenches of a volunteer organization: build the system, but keep the logs. Serve the community, but never trust the institution. The only thing you truly own at the end of a ten-year grind is your reputation and the data that proves you were the one who held the line when everyone else was busy making phone calls.
Grant Miller eventually closed the spreadsheet. He archived the folder labeled “Skating Club Litigation” and moved it to a backup drive, a dark corner of his digital life that he intended to visit only if the “funny business” ever crossed the line into legal territory again. He wasn’t waiting for Sarah to be fired, and he wasn’t waiting for the Association to grow a spine and offer a real apology. That would be giving them more of his life, and he had already donated enough. The final transaction was the act of clicking “Logout” for the last time—not just from a server, but from a narrative that no longer served him.
Author’s Note
In the world of “sanitized” faith, we’re told forgiveness is a warm, fuzzy reconciliation. We’re fed a version of grace that expects a man to just “shake hands and forget” while his reputation is still bleeding out. But the reality of the grind teaches a harder truth: Sometimes, forgiveness is the tactical decision to stop trying to collect a debt from a bankrupt person. It’s handing the bill to a higher authority and walking off the job site.
For the men who know me, you’ll recognize the skeleton of this story. It’s loosely based on my own ten-year tour in the trenches—a decade of professional-grade labor met with a calculated strike at my integrity. Note that all specific names and locations have been changed to protect everyone involved. For a man in my field, a formal accusation of “manipulation” or “rigging” is a direct hit on my livelihood. I operate under a strict standard of professional appearance; a smear like this could ha
Even years later, I still feel the weight. Every year when the house lights dim and the ice shows begin, the struggle resurfaces like a ghost in the rafters. It’s a seasonal reminder of a wound that hasn’t fully closed—not because of a lack of faith, but because I refuse to lie about the truth. I still run the ice show circuit, taking the photos and giving them away for free, promoting the achievements of these young athletes and the sport itself. I do the work because the work has value to those skaters and thier families.
I’ve had to face the bitter reality that the people who launched this path of destruction were never held accountable—and in all likelihood, they never will be on this side of eternity. Even though her actions and that path of wreckage continue to this day, there was no grand moment of justice, no public clearing of my name, and no professional consequence for the liar. From what I’ve been told, this began long before I arrived and has left a trail of destroyed lives in its wake. This includes one individual handed a lifetime ban from skating—a move reminiscent of the Tonya Harding fallout—simply for trying to protect a skater from abuse. That wake of destruction remains active, and the wreckage continues to pile up. I have to believe that one day, God will say “enough.” This is my way of turning this situation over to God.
In Enemies of the Heart, Andy Stanley identifies Anger as the result of a “debt” mindset—the conviction that “you owe me.” When a bureaucrat smears your name or devalues a decade of your life, they create a massive debt. We wait for the apology or the admission of guilt to “balance the books,” but a bankrupt person can’t pay you back. Stanley’s solution isn’t “feelings”; it’s a business decision: Cancel the debt. You aren’t saying what they did was right; you’re deciding you will no longer wait for a thief to return what they stole.
I’ve heard the fake apologies—the corporate-speak non-apologies meant to shift the blame. Specifically: “I’m sorry you got your feelings hurt.” Let’s be blunt: that’s a tactical maneuver, not an apology. It ignores the lie, the rigged system, and the malicious intent. It treats a professional betrayal like an emotional glitch on your part. It’s the cowards’ way out.
Understand this: there is no commandment that forces you to associate with people like this. In my opinion, based on the Word, there are actually commandments not to associate with them. Scripture doesn’t call us to be door-mats for the deceptive. It tells us to “have nothing to do with them” (2 Timothy 3:5) and to “shun” those who persist in division and deceit. Forgiveness is about your heart’s freedom from their debt; it is not a legal requirement to invite a known liar back to your table.
“Forgive and forget” is a myth. Even the resurrected Christ carries the record of what was done to Him.
“Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne…” — Revelation 5:6 (NIV)
The scars on the resurrected Christ prove that memory and mercy are not mutually exclusive. Those wounds are the eternal record of the price He paid. He hasn’t “forgotten” the cost; He absorbed the debt so the bill never reaches the one who owed it. Forgiveness isn’t forgetting; it’s absorbing the hit.
I wrote this for the men who still struggle, like I do, with the hard facts. I wrote it for the men who have done the work, kept the logs, and watched the “system” protect the liar. If you’re in those shoes, understand this: Your integrity isn’t defined by their inability to tell the truth. I know that one day God will hold them accountable, even if they never face justice on this earth. Scripture is clear: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. Sometimes, the most masculine thing you can do is shake the dust off your boots, cancel the debt, and leave the final audit to the only Judge who actually keeps the books.
Call to Action
If this story struck a chord, don’t just scroll on. Join the brotherhood—men learning to build, not borrow, their strength. Subscribe for more stories like this, drop a comment about where you’re growing, or reach out and tell me what you’re working toward. Let’s grow together.

D. Bryan King

Sources
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

Related Posts

Rate this:
#accountability #AndyStanley #betrayal #biblicalForgiveness #CareerReputation #CharacterAssassination #CorporateGaslighting #dataIntegrity #DebtCancellation #DigitalManipulation #DocumentingTruth #ElectionRigging #enemiesOfTheHeart #FakeApologies #FigureSkatingAssociation #ForensicAudit #ForgivenessVsReconciliation #InstitutionalCorruption #InstitutionalCowardice #IntegrityInTech #LeadershipAccountability #masculineFaith #moralCourage #NonProfitPolitics #PhotographyArchives #ProfessionalIntegrity #recoveringFromBetrayal #ResurrectedScars #Revelation56 #ShakingTheDust #SkatingDirector #SmallTownCorruption #SmearCampaigns #StandardOfAppearance #standingFirm #SystemsArchitect #TheSlainLamb #ThirdPartyVotingSystems #VengeanceIsMine #VolunteerBurnout

#accountability #andystanley #betrayal #biblicalforgiveness #careerreputation #characterassassination
Bryan King @[email protected] · 2026-03-19 · 11:30 UTC

The Cost of the Clean Exit: When the System Protects the Liar

3,572 words, 19 minutes read time.
Grant Miller sat in the clinical, blue-light glow of his home office, the low hum of three synchronized monitors serving as the only soundtrack to the wreckage of a decade. On the center screen, a spreadsheet acted as a cold, digital autopsy of ten years of his life. As a systems architect, Grant didn’t have “hobbies”; he had projects that required infrastructure, precision, and an uncompromising adherence to the truth. When he first walked into the local “Learn to Skate” rink with a camera bag and a laptop, he wasn’t looking for a plaque or a pat on the back. He saw a system that was broken—a chaotic, paper-trail operation where registrations were lost in overstuffed filing cabinets and the club’s “digital presence” was a joke. Over the next ten years, Grant didn’t just volunteer; he engineered. He built a fortress. By the time the dust settled, he had clocked over $65,000 in professional volunteer hours based on federal labor standards, and his private servers groaned under the weight of 100,000 high-resolution images captured on $10,000 of his own professional gear. He was the invisible backbone of the club, the man who turned a disorganized mess into a streamlined, encrypted powerhouse that parents actually trusted with their data and their children’s milestones.
The sheer volume of the work was staggering when viewed through the lens of objective data. We are talking about ten years of Saturday mornings spent in sub-zero rinks, ten years of weeknights spent editing thousands of RAW files to ensure every kid in the program had a hero shot that made them feel like an Olympian. Grant didn’t just take pictures; he managed the club’s identity. He built the website, secured the databases, and handled the tech support that the board was too technologically illiterate to understand. In the world of non-profits, a man like Grant is a unicorn—a high-level professional providing enterprise-grade solutions for the price of a lukewarm coffee. But the danger of being the man who builds the system is that you eventually become the only person who knows how the gears actually turn, and in a landscape ruled by small-town egos, that technical mastery is often viewed not as an asset, but as a threat to the established order of those who prefer to rule in the dark.
In the world of small-town sports politics, efficiency is a direct threat to those who thrive on opacity and “good old boy” networks. For years, the club’s board elections had been tainted by what the locals quietly called “funny business.” It was a shadowy, manual practice where Sarah, the Skating Director, and her inner circle would physically call members over the phone, pressuring them to cast votes for her hand-picked candidates in direct violation of the club’s own bylaws. It was a system built on social engineering and intimidation, a way to ensure that the “inner circle” remained unchallenged and that the director’s personal fiefdom remained intact. Sarah wore her high-level credentials with the national Figure Skating Association like a medieval mace, using her title to silence dissent and maintain a status quo that favored her cronies over the actual growth of the program. She didn’t want a fair vote; she wanted a coronation every cycle.
To kill this corruption and bring the club into the twenty-first century, Grant had implemented a third-party, industry-standard voting system years prior. He didn’t build the software—he was too smart for that—but he selected a platform that offered absolute integrity, two-factor authentication, and a verifiable audit trail. It was a secure tool designed to ensure that every member had a private, un-pressured voice, effectively stripping Sarah of her ability to manipulate the outcomes through late-night phone calls and locker-room arm-twisting. Ironically, that very system is still used by the club today, a testament to its reliability and Grant’s foresight in building something that could withstand the very rot he was trying to excise. But the moment the digital tally finally reflected a result that Sarah couldn’t control, the “funny business” shifted from the voting booth to a direct, surgical strike on Grant Miller’s reputation.
The transition from “valued volunteer” to “enemy of the state” happened with the flick of a bureaucratic switch. When the election results didn’t go Sarah’s way, she didn’t look in the mirror; she looked for a scapegoat. Using her high-level influence and her direct line to the national Figure Skating Association, she filed an informal grievance that was as calculated as it was malicious. She accused Grant of “digital manipulation,” claiming that he had used his administrative access to rig the election results through the third-party software. It was a character-assassinating smear designed to hit a technical professional where it hurts most: his integrity. She banked on the Association’s fundamental ignorance of technology, knowing that to a group of aging administrators, “software” was a magic black box that could be easily manipulated by a “hacker” in their midst. She didn’t need proof; she only needed to trigger the investigation to isolate Grant and cast a shadow of doubt over the entire digital infrastructure he had built.
The move was a masterclass in institutional bullying. Suddenly, the man who had donated $65,000 worth of his life to the program was being treated like a criminal in a defensive crouch. The Association, instead of looking at Sarah’s history of “funny business” or the verifiable logs of the third-party system, reflexively protected their director. They launched an inquiry that forced Grant to spend weeks of his own time—time he could have spent with his family or on his actual career—defending his honor against a baseless lie. This is the raw reality of the volunteer grind: the moment you stop being a “useful tool” and start being a “check on power,” the institution will turn on you with a cold, mechanical indifference that would make a corporate HR department blush. Grant found himself in a fight he never asked for, forced to prove a negative against a woman who had spent years treating the club’s bylaws like suggestions.
Grant didn’t retreat into anger; he retreated into the data. While Sarah was busy playing the victim in rink-side whispers and backroom meetings, Grant was operating with the cold, methodical precision of a man who knew that in a digital world, every lie leaves a footprint. He understood that the burden of proof in an institutional inquisition is rarely on the accuser, so he built a defense that was mathematically irrefutable. He spent dozens of hours—hours on top of the decade he’d already sacrificed—compiling a forensic dossier that documented every interaction with the voting software. He didn’t just tell them he didn’t rig the election; he showed them the server logs, the encrypted handshakes, and the third-party security protocols that made it impossible for an administrator to alter an individual ballot once cast. He presented a timeline of every email sent, every website modification made, and every administrative login, cross-referenced against the club’s own bylaws which Sarah had so casually ignored for years.
The sheer density of the evidence was a silent middle finger to the incompetence of the board. Grant produced a document that mapped the “funny business” of previous years—the phone call logs and the manual tallies that didn’t add up—and contrasted it with the sterile, unassailable integrity of the digital system he had implemented. He was forcing the Association to look at the mirror, showing them that the only person with a history of manipulation was the woman pointing the finger. For a man who lived by the logic of “if-then” statements, the hearing wasn’t an emotional plea for his reputation; it was a technical demonstration of Sarah’s malice. He sat across from the Association representatives—people who likely struggled to reset their own Wi-Fi routers—and spoke to them in the language of objective truth. He didn’t ask for their trust; he demanded they acknowledge the data.
The hearing was a collision between professional competence and bureaucratic ego. Grant watched as the Association reps flipped through his forensic audit with the glazed eyes of people who had realized they were in way over their heads. They had walked into the room expecting to slap the wrist of a “rogue volunteer” and instead found themselves staring at a mountain of evidence that implicated their own director in years of procedural misconduct. They saw the locks on the third-party system, they saw the clean logs, and they saw the verified results that matched the will of the members perfectly. There was no “hacker,” no “manipulation,” and no “rigging.” There was only a man who had done his job too well and a woman who had tried to destroy him for it. The truth was sitting on the table, cold and heavy, but the institution wasn’t interested in truth; it was interested in liability.
The final verdict arrived not with a bang, but with a whimper—a two-paragraph email that was a masterclass in corporate-filtered non-apology. The Association stated they could “find no fault” in Grant’s actions, a clinical way of admitting he was innocent without actually saying he had been wronged. There was a weak, throwaway sentence about the “inconvenience of the investigation,” but no mention of the ten years of service, the $65,000 in labor, or the 100,000 photos that had built their brand. Even more galling was the silence regarding Sarah. There was no reprimand, no suspension, and no acknowledgment of her baseless smear campaign. She was allowed to keep her office and her title, protected by a system that values the survival of the hierarchy over the character of its builders. The Association had looked at a decade of loyalty and a month of character assassination and decided that the status quo was worth more than a man’s honor.
In the immediate aftermath, Grant felt the weight of the “sunk cost fallacy” pulling at his gut. Ten years. Over a hundred thousand images of kids learning to find their edges, of parents crying in the stands, of a community he thought he was part of. He looked at the hard drives in his office—$10,000 worth of gear and an archive of a decade’s worth of growth—and realized that the club didn’t deserve a single byte of it. The “Actionable Fix” in this scenario wasn’t to stay and fight a guerrilla war against Sarah’s ego; it was to perform a total, scorched-earth decoupling of his identity from the program. He wasn’t just a volunteer leaving a post; he was an architect reclaiming his blueprints. He realized that Sarah had successfully weaponized the institution to run off its most valuable asset, and the board was too weak or too complicit to stop her.
The raw truth that every high-level volunteer eventually learns is that the institution doesn’t love you back. It is a machine that consumes “useful idiots” until they become “inconvenient truths,” and then it discards them with a form letter. Grant’s exit wasn’t a retreat; it was an evacuation of value. He deleted his administrative access, handed over the keys to the digital fortress he had built, and walked away with the one thing Sarah could never touch: his integrity. He understood that the club would likely devolve back into the “funny business” of phone-call voting and paper-trail chaos within a year, and he finally stopped caring. Forgiveness, for Grant, was the cold realization that he no longer owed his energy to a group of people who would trade his decade of sacrifice for a director’s comfort.
The first Saturday morning after his resignation was the loudest silence Grant had ever experienced. For ten years, the rhythmic scratch of toe picks, the deep hum of blades carving precise circles, and the echoes of classical scores over the PA system had been the heartbeat of his weekend. Now, sitting in his kitchen with a cup of coffee that didn’t need to be rushed, he felt the phantom weight of the camera bag on his shoulder. He looked at his gear—the Nikon bodies, the 70-200mm f/2.8 lens that had captured a hundred thousand tiny triumphs—and realized they were just tools again, no longer weapons of a community’s legacy. The realization hit him with the cold precision of a data point: he had been a ghostwriter for a story that the lead character was trying to delete. Sarah still held the keys to the rink, but she no longer held the keys to his time, a currency that, once spent, offers no refunds.
The “funny business” resumed almost immediately. Reports filtered back through the grapevine of the old “phone tree” tactics resurfacing, of board meetings descending back into the opaque, disorganized chaos that had defined the era before Grant’s digital intervention. The club was regressing, shedding its professional skin and returning to its form as a petty fiefdom. It was the natural state of an organization that chooses a comfortable lie over a demanding truth. Grant watched from the sidelines, not with the bitterness of a man who had lost, but with the detached observation of a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction. When you remove the structural integrity of a building—the architect and the foundation—it doesn’t collapse all at once; it leans until it eventually becomes uninhabitable.
While the Association’s weak apology sat in his inbox like a digital insult, the real “audit” of Grant’s decade came from the people Sarah couldn’t control: the parents. His private gallery links began to see a spike in traffic. Families were downloading the archives, realizing that the man who had documented their children’s lives from their first wobbles to their high school graduations was gone. Those 100,000 photos weren’t just data; they were the only evidence of a decade of growth that the club had essentially disowned. Grant realized that by attacking his integrity, Sarah had inadvertently highlighted his value. Every high-resolution shot was a reminder of a standard she could never replicate with a smartphone and a grudge.
The $65,000 in volunteer hours was gone, a sunk cost in the ledger of his life, but the forensic defense he had built remained a masterclass in tactical self-preservation. He had proven that a man with a paper trail is a man who cannot be easily erased. He had shown that even in a rigged game, the player who keeps the best records can walk away with his name intact. This is the raw truth for any man in the trenches of a volunteer organization: build the system, but keep the logs. Serve the community, but never trust the institution. The only thing you truly own at the end of a ten-year grind is your reputation and the data that proves you were the one who held the line when everyone else was busy making phone calls.
Grant Miller eventually closed the spreadsheet. He archived the folder labeled “Skating Club Litigation” and moved it to a backup drive, a dark corner of his digital life that he intended to visit only if the “funny business” ever crossed the line into legal territory again. He wasn’t waiting for Sarah to be fired, and he wasn’t waiting for the Association to grow a spine and offer a real apology. That would be giving them more of his life, and he had already donated enough. The final transaction was the act of clicking “Logout” for the last time—not just from a server, but from a narrative that no longer served him.
Author’s Note
In the world of “sanitized” faith, we’re told forgiveness is a warm, fuzzy reconciliation. We’re fed a version of grace that expects a man to just “shake hands and forget” while his reputation is still bleeding out. But the reality of the grind teaches a harder truth: Sometimes, forgiveness is the tactical decision to stop trying to collect a debt from a bankrupt person. It’s handing the bill to a higher authority and walking off the job site.
For the men who know me, you’ll recognize the skeleton of this story. It’s loosely based on my own ten-year tour in the trenches—a decade of professional-grade labor met with a calculated strike at my integrity. Note that all specific names and locations have been changed to protect everyone involved. For a man in my field, a formal accusation of “manipulation” or “rigging” is a direct hit on my livelihood. I operate under a strict standard of professional appearance; a smear like this could ha
Even years later, I still feel the weight. Every year when the house lights dim and the ice shows begin, the struggle resurfaces like a ghost in the rafters. It’s a seasonal reminder of a wound that hasn’t fully closed—not because of a lack of faith, but because I refuse to lie about the truth. I still run the ice show circuit, taking the photos and giving them away for free, promoting the achievements of these young athletes and the sport itself. I do the work because the work has value to those skaters and thier families.
I’ve had to face the bitter reality that the people who launched this path of destruction were never held accountable—and in all likelihood, they never will be on this side of eternity. Even though her actions and that path of wreckage continue to this day, there was no grand moment of justice, no public clearing of my name, and no professional consequence for the liar. From what I’ve been told, this began long before I arrived and has left a trail of destroyed lives in its wake. This includes one individual handed a lifetime ban from skating—a move reminiscent of the Tonya Harding fallout—simply for trying to protect a skater from abuse. That wake of destruction remains active, and the wreckage continues to pile up. I have to believe that one day, God will say “enough.” This is my way of turning this situation over to God.
In Enemies of the Heart, Andy Stanley identifies Anger as the result of a “debt” mindset—the conviction that “you owe me.” When a bureaucrat smears your name or devalues a decade of your life, they create a massive debt. We wait for the apology or the admission of guilt to “balance the books,” but a bankrupt person can’t pay you back. Stanley’s solution isn’t “feelings”; it’s a business decision: Cancel the debt. You aren’t saying what they did was right; you’re deciding you will no longer wait for a thief to return what they stole.
I’ve heard the fake apologies—the corporate-speak non-apologies meant to shift the blame. Specifically: “I’m sorry you got your feelings hurt.” Let’s be blunt: that’s a tactical maneuver, not an apology. It ignores the lie, the rigged system, and the malicious intent. It treats a professional betrayal like an emotional glitch on your part. It’s the cowards’ way out.
Understand this: there is no commandment that forces you to associate with people like this. In my opinion, based on the Word, there are actually commandments not to associate with them. Scripture doesn’t call us to be door-mats for the deceptive. It tells us to “have nothing to do with them” (2 Timothy 3:5) and to “shun” those who persist in division and deceit. Forgiveness is about your heart’s freedom from their debt; it is not a legal requirement to invite a known liar back to your table.
“Forgive and forget” is a myth. Even the resurrected Christ carries the record of what was done to Him.
“Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne…” — Revelation 5:6 (NIV)
The scars on the resurrected Christ prove that memory and mercy are not mutually exclusive. Those wounds are the eternal record of the price He paid. He hasn’t “forgotten” the cost; He absorbed the debt so the bill never reaches the one who owed it. Forgiveness isn’t forgetting; it’s absorbing the hit.
I wrote this for the men who still struggle, like I do, with the hard facts. I wrote it for the men who have done the work, kept the logs, and watched the “system” protect the liar. If you’re in those shoes, understand this: Your integrity isn’t defined by their inability to tell the truth. I know that one day God will hold them accountable, even if they never face justice on this earth. Scripture is clear: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. Sometimes, the most masculine thing you can do is shake the dust off your boots, cancel the debt, and leave the final audit to the only Judge who actually keeps the books.
Call to Action
If this story struck a chord, don’t just scroll on. Join the brotherhood—men learning to build, not borrow, their strength. Subscribe for more stories like this, drop a comment about where you’re growing, or reach out and tell me what you’re working toward. Let’s grow together.

D. Bryan King

Sources
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

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Bryan King @[email protected] · 2026-03-19 · 11:30 UTC

The Cost of the Clean Exit: When the System Protects the Liar

3,572 words, 19 minutes read time.
Grant Miller sat in the clinical, blue-light glow of his home office, the low hum of three synchronized monitors serving as the only soundtrack to the wreckage of a decade. On the center screen, a spreadsheet acted as a cold, digital autopsy of ten years of his life. As a systems architect, Grant didn’t have “hobbies”; he had projects that required infrastructure, precision, and an uncompromising adherence to the truth. When he first walked into the local “Learn to Skate” rink with a camera bag and a laptop, he wasn’t looking for a plaque or a pat on the back. He saw a system that was broken—a chaotic, paper-trail operation where registrations were lost in overstuffed filing cabinets and the club’s “digital presence” was a joke. Over the next ten years, Grant didn’t just volunteer; he engineered. He built a fortress. By the time the dust settled, he had clocked over $65,000 in professional volunteer hours based on federal labor standards, and his private servers groaned under the weight of 100,000 high-resolution images captured on $10,000 of his own professional gear. He was the invisible backbone of the club, the man who turned a disorganized mess into a streamlined, encrypted powerhouse that parents actually trusted with their data and their children’s milestones.
The sheer volume of the work was staggering when viewed through the lens of objective data. We are talking about ten years of Saturday mornings spent in sub-zero rinks, ten years of weeknights spent editing thousands of RAW files to ensure every kid in the program had a hero shot that made them feel like an Olympian. Grant didn’t just take pictures; he managed the club’s identity. He built the website, secured the databases, and handled the tech support that the board was too technologically illiterate to understand. In the world of non-profits, a man like Grant is a unicorn—a high-level professional providing enterprise-grade solutions for the price of a lukewarm coffee. But the danger of being the man who builds the system is that you eventually become the only person who knows how the gears actually turn, and in a landscape ruled by small-town egos, that technical mastery is often viewed not as an asset, but as a threat to the established order of those who prefer to rule in the dark.
In the world of small-town sports politics, efficiency is a direct threat to those who thrive on opacity and “good old boy” networks. For years, the club’s board elections had been tainted by what the locals quietly called “funny business.” It was a shadowy, manual practice where Sarah, the Skating Director, and her inner circle would physically call members over the phone, pressuring them to cast votes for her hand-picked candidates in direct violation of the club’s own bylaws. It was a system built on social engineering and intimidation, a way to ensure that the “inner circle” remained unchallenged and that the director’s personal fiefdom remained intact. Sarah wore her high-level credentials with the national Figure Skating Association like a medieval mace, using her title to silence dissent and maintain a status quo that favored her cronies over the actual growth of the program. She didn’t want a fair vote; she wanted a coronation every cycle.
To kill this corruption and bring the club into the twenty-first century, Grant had implemented a third-party, industry-standard voting system years prior. He didn’t build the software—he was too smart for that—but he selected a platform that offered absolute integrity, two-factor authentication, and a verifiable audit trail. It was a secure tool designed to ensure that every member had a private, un-pressured voice, effectively stripping Sarah of her ability to manipulate the outcomes through late-night phone calls and locker-room arm-twisting. Ironically, that very system is still used by the club today, a testament to its reliability and Grant’s foresight in building something that could withstand the very rot he was trying to excise. But the moment the digital tally finally reflected a result that Sarah couldn’t control, the “funny business” shifted from the voting booth to a direct, surgical strike on Grant Miller’s reputation.
The transition from “valued volunteer” to “enemy of the state” happened with the flick of a bureaucratic switch. When the election results didn’t go Sarah’s way, she didn’t look in the mirror; she looked for a scapegoat. Using her high-level influence and her direct line to the national Figure Skating Association, she filed an informal grievance that was as calculated as it was malicious. She accused Grant of “digital manipulation,” claiming that he had used his administrative access to rig the election results through the third-party software. It was a character-assassinating smear designed to hit a technical professional where it hurts most: his integrity. She banked on the Association’s fundamental ignorance of technology, knowing that to a group of aging administrators, “software” was a magic black box that could be easily manipulated by a “hacker” in their midst. She didn’t need proof; she only needed to trigger the investigation to isolate Grant and cast a shadow of doubt over the entire digital infrastructure he had built.
The move was a masterclass in institutional bullying. Suddenly, the man who had donated $65,000 worth of his life to the program was being treated like a criminal in a defensive crouch. The Association, instead of looking at Sarah’s history of “funny business” or the verifiable logs of the third-party system, reflexively protected their director. They launched an inquiry that forced Grant to spend weeks of his own time—time he could have spent with his family or on his actual career—defending his honor against a baseless lie. This is the raw reality of the volunteer grind: the moment you stop being a “useful tool” and start being a “check on power,” the institution will turn on you with a cold, mechanical indifference that would make a corporate HR department blush. Grant found himself in a fight he never asked for, forced to prove a negative against a woman who had spent years treating the club’s bylaws like suggestions.
Grant didn’t retreat into anger; he retreated into the data. While Sarah was busy playing the victim in rink-side whispers and backroom meetings, Grant was operating with the cold, methodical precision of a man who knew that in a digital world, every lie leaves a footprint. He understood that the burden of proof in an institutional inquisition is rarely on the accuser, so he built a defense that was mathematically irrefutable. He spent dozens of hours—hours on top of the decade he’d already sacrificed—compiling a forensic dossier that documented every interaction with the voting software. He didn’t just tell them he didn’t rig the election; he showed them the server logs, the encrypted handshakes, and the third-party security protocols that made it impossible for an administrator to alter an individual ballot once cast. He presented a timeline of every email sent, every website modification made, and every administrative login, cross-referenced against the club’s own bylaws which Sarah had so casually ignored for years.
The sheer density of the evidence was a silent middle finger to the incompetence of the board. Grant produced a document that mapped the “funny business” of previous years—the phone call logs and the manual tallies that didn’t add up—and contrasted it with the sterile, unassailable integrity of the digital system he had implemented. He was forcing the Association to look at the mirror, showing them that the only person with a history of manipulation was the woman pointing the finger. For a man who lived by the logic of “if-then” statements, the hearing wasn’t an emotional plea for his reputation; it was a technical demonstration of Sarah’s malice. He sat across from the Association representatives—people who likely struggled to reset their own Wi-Fi routers—and spoke to them in the language of objective truth. He didn’t ask for their trust; he demanded they acknowledge the data.
The hearing was a collision between professional competence and bureaucratic ego. Grant watched as the Association reps flipped through his forensic audit with the glazed eyes of people who had realized they were in way over their heads. They had walked into the room expecting to slap the wrist of a “rogue volunteer” and instead found themselves staring at a mountain of evidence that implicated their own director in years of procedural misconduct. They saw the locks on the third-party system, they saw the clean logs, and they saw the verified results that matched the will of the members perfectly. There was no “hacker,” no “manipulation,” and no “rigging.” There was only a man who had done his job too well and a woman who had tried to destroy him for it. The truth was sitting on the table, cold and heavy, but the institution wasn’t interested in truth; it was interested in liability.
The final verdict arrived not with a bang, but with a whimper—a two-paragraph email that was a masterclass in corporate-filtered non-apology. The Association stated they could “find no fault” in Grant’s actions, a clinical way of admitting he was innocent without actually saying he had been wronged. There was a weak, throwaway sentence about the “inconvenience of the investigation,” but no mention of the ten years of service, the $65,000 in labor, or the 100,000 photos that had built their brand. Even more galling was the silence regarding Sarah. There was no reprimand, no suspension, and no acknowledgment of her baseless smear campaign. She was allowed to keep her office and her title, protected by a system that values the survival of the hierarchy over the character of its builders. The Association had looked at a decade of loyalty and a month of character assassination and decided that the status quo was worth more than a man’s honor.
In the immediate aftermath, Grant felt the weight of the “sunk cost fallacy” pulling at his gut. Ten years. Over a hundred thousand images of kids learning to find their edges, of parents crying in the stands, of a community he thought he was part of. He looked at the hard drives in his office—$10,000 worth of gear and an archive of a decade’s worth of growth—and realized that the club didn’t deserve a single byte of it. The “Actionable Fix” in this scenario wasn’t to stay and fight a guerrilla war against Sarah’s ego; it was to perform a total, scorched-earth decoupling of his identity from the program. He wasn’t just a volunteer leaving a post; he was an architect reclaiming his blueprints. He realized that Sarah had successfully weaponized the institution to run off its most valuable asset, and the board was too weak or too complicit to stop her.
The raw truth that every high-level volunteer eventually learns is that the institution doesn’t love you back. It is a machine that consumes “useful idiots” until they become “inconvenient truths,” and then it discards them with a form letter. Grant’s exit wasn’t a retreat; it was an evacuation of value. He deleted his administrative access, handed over the keys to the digital fortress he had built, and walked away with the one thing Sarah could never touch: his integrity. He understood that the club would likely devolve back into the “funny business” of phone-call voting and paper-trail chaos within a year, and he finally stopped caring. Forgiveness, for Grant, was the cold realization that he no longer owed his energy to a group of people who would trade his decade of sacrifice for a director’s comfort.
The first Saturday morning after his resignation was the loudest silence Grant had ever experienced. For ten years, the rhythmic scratch of toe picks, the deep hum of blades carving precise circles, and the echoes of classical scores over the PA system had been the heartbeat of his weekend. Now, sitting in his kitchen with a cup of coffee that didn’t need to be rushed, he felt the phantom weight of the camera bag on his shoulder. He looked at his gear—the Nikon bodies, the 70-200mm f/2.8 lens that had captured a hundred thousand tiny triumphs—and realized they were just tools again, no longer weapons of a community’s legacy. The realization hit him with the cold precision of a data point: he had been a ghostwriter for a story that the lead character was trying to delete. Sarah still held the keys to the rink, but she no longer held the keys to his time, a currency that, once spent, offers no refunds.
The “funny business” resumed almost immediately. Reports filtered back through the grapevine of the old “phone tree” tactics resurfacing, of board meetings descending back into the opaque, disorganized chaos that had defined the era before Grant’s digital intervention. The club was regressing, shedding its professional skin and returning to its form as a petty fiefdom. It was the natural state of an organization that chooses a comfortable lie over a demanding truth. Grant watched from the sidelines, not with the bitterness of a man who had lost, but with the detached observation of a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction. When you remove the structural integrity of a building—the architect and the foundation—it doesn’t collapse all at once; it leans until it eventually becomes uninhabitable.
While the Association’s weak apology sat in his inbox like a digital insult, the real “audit” of Grant’s decade came from the people Sarah couldn’t control: the parents. His private gallery links began to see a spike in traffic. Families were downloading the archives, realizing that the man who had documented their children’s lives from their first wobbles to their high school graduations was gone. Those 100,000 photos weren’t just data; they were the only evidence of a decade of growth that the club had essentially disowned. Grant realized that by attacking his integrity, Sarah had inadvertently highlighted his value. Every high-resolution shot was a reminder of a standard she could never replicate with a smartphone and a grudge.
The $65,000 in volunteer hours was gone, a sunk cost in the ledger of his life, but the forensic defense he had built remained a masterclass in tactical self-preservation. He had proven that a man with a paper trail is a man who cannot be easily erased. He had shown that even in a rigged game, the player who keeps the best records can walk away with his name intact. This is the raw truth for any man in the trenches of a volunteer organization: build the system, but keep the logs. Serve the community, but never trust the institution. The only thing you truly own at the end of a ten-year grind is your reputation and the data that proves you were the one who held the line when everyone else was busy making phone calls.
Grant Miller eventually closed the spreadsheet. He archived the folder labeled “Skating Club Litigation” and moved it to a backup drive, a dark corner of his digital life that he intended to visit only if the “funny business” ever crossed the line into legal territory again. He wasn’t waiting for Sarah to be fired, and he wasn’t waiting for the Association to grow a spine and offer a real apology. That would be giving them more of his life, and he had already donated enough. The final transaction was the act of clicking “Logout” for the last time—not just from a server, but from a narrative that no longer served him.
Author’s Note
In the world of “sanitized” faith, we’re told forgiveness is a warm, fuzzy reconciliation. We’re fed a version of grace that expects a man to just “shake hands and forget” while his reputation is still bleeding out. But the reality of the grind teaches a harder truth: Sometimes, forgiveness is the tactical decision to stop trying to collect a debt from a bankrupt person. It’s handing the bill to a higher authority and walking off the job site.
For the men who know me, you’ll recognize the skeleton of this story. It’s loosely based on my own ten-year tour in the trenches—a decade of professional-grade labor met with a calculated strike at my integrity. Note that all specific names and locations have been changed to protect everyone involved. For a man in my field, a formal accusation of “manipulation” or “rigging” is a direct hit on my livelihood. I operate under a strict standard of professional appearance; a smear like this could ha
Even years later, I still feel the weight. Every year when the house lights dim and the ice shows begin, the struggle resurfaces like a ghost in the rafters. It’s a seasonal reminder of a wound that hasn’t fully closed—not because of a lack of faith, but because I refuse to lie about the truth. I still run the ice show circuit, taking the photos and giving them away for free, promoting the achievements of these young athletes and the sport itself. I do the work because the work has value to those skaters and thier families.
I’ve had to face the bitter reality that the people who launched this path of destruction were never held accountable—and in all likelihood, they never will be on this side of eternity. Even though her actions and that path of wreckage continue to this day, there was no grand moment of justice, no public clearing of my name, and no professional consequence for the liar. From what I’ve been told, this began long before I arrived and has left a trail of destroyed lives in its wake. This includes one individual handed a lifetime ban from skating—a move reminiscent of the Tonya Harding fallout—simply for trying to protect a skater from abuse. That wake of destruction remains active, and the wreckage continues to pile up. I have to believe that one day, God will say “enough.” This is my way of turning this situation over to God.
In Enemies of the Heart, Andy Stanley identifies Anger as the result of a “debt” mindset—the conviction that “you owe me.” When a bureaucrat smears your name or devalues a decade of your life, they create a massive debt. We wait for the apology or the admission of guilt to “balance the books,” but a bankrupt person can’t pay you back. Stanley’s solution isn’t “feelings”; it’s a business decision: Cancel the debt. You aren’t saying what they did was right; you’re deciding you will no longer wait for a thief to return what they stole.
I’ve heard the fake apologies—the corporate-speak non-apologies meant to shift the blame. Specifically: “I’m sorry you got your feelings hurt.” Let’s be blunt: that’s a tactical maneuver, not an apology. It ignores the lie, the rigged system, and the malicious intent. It treats a professional betrayal like an emotional glitch on your part. It’s the cowards’ way out.
Understand this: there is no commandment that forces you to associate with people like this. In my opinion, based on the Word, there are actually commandments not to associate with them. Scripture doesn’t call us to be door-mats for the deceptive. It tells us to “have nothing to do with them” (2 Timothy 3:5) and to “shun” those who persist in division and deceit. Forgiveness is about your heart’s freedom from their debt; it is not a legal requirement to invite a known liar back to your table.
“Forgive and forget” is a myth. Even the resurrected Christ carries the record of what was done to Him.
“Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne…” — Revelation 5:6 (NIV)
The scars on the resurrected Christ prove that memory and mercy are not mutually exclusive. Those wounds are the eternal record of the price He paid. He hasn’t “forgotten” the cost; He absorbed the debt so the bill never reaches the one who owed it. Forgiveness isn’t forgetting; it’s absorbing the hit.
I wrote this for the men who still struggle, like I do, with the hard facts. I wrote it for the men who have done the work, kept the logs, and watched the “system” protect the liar. If you’re in those shoes, understand this: Your integrity isn’t defined by their inability to tell the truth. I know that one day God will hold them accountable, even if they never face justice on this earth. Scripture is clear: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. Sometimes, the most masculine thing you can do is shake the dust off your boots, cancel the debt, and leave the final audit to the only Judge who actually keeps the books.
Call to Action
If this story struck a chord, don’t just scroll on. Join the brotherhood—men learning to build, not borrow, their strength. Subscribe for more stories like this, drop a comment about where you’re growing, or reach out and tell me what you’re working toward. Let’s grow together.

D. Bryan King

Sources
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

Related Posts

Rate this:
#accountability #AndyStanley #betrayal #biblicalForgiveness #CareerReputation #CharacterAssassination #CorporateGaslighting #dataIntegrity #DebtCancellation #DigitalManipulation #DocumentingTruth #ElectionRigging #enemiesOfTheHeart #FakeApologies #FigureSkatingAssociation #ForensicAudit #ForgivenessVsReconciliation #InstitutionalCorruption #InstitutionalCowardice #IntegrityInTech #LeadershipAccountability #masculineFaith #moralCourage #NonProfitPolitics #PhotographyArchives #ProfessionalIntegrity #recoveringFromBetrayal #ResurrectedScars #Revelation56 #ShakingTheDust #SkatingDirector #SmallTownCorruption #SmearCampaigns #StandardOfAppearance #standingFirm #SystemsArchitect #TheSlainLamb #ThirdPartyVotingSystems #VengeanceIsMine #VolunteerBurnout

#accountability #andystanley #betrayal #biblicalforgiveness #careerreputation #characterassassination
Mind Lude @[email protected] · 2025-12-01 · 18:11 UTC

Well, look who decided to take a holiday during Cyber Monday! Shopify's having a 'moment,' with checkouts & admin systems reportedly down. Hope your impulse purchases didn't get lost in the ether. This is why we can't have nice things... or consistent ecommerce. What's your backup plan for shopping chaos?
https://www.engadget.com/big-tech/shopify-is-down-disrupting-cyber-monday-shopping-180958497.html?src=rss
#ShopifyDown #CyberMonday #TechOutage #DevLife #EcommerceFails

#shopifydown #cybermonday #techoutage #devlife #ecommercefails
Der böse Hexe Njähähä 🧙‍♀️🪄⚡️ @[email protected] · 2026-03-11 · 12:57 UTC

RE: https://mstdn.social/@lost_in_chaos/116210621870540120
«Pass auf, was du ins Schaufenster stellst. Überleg dir, wen du einlädst. Halt dich zurück, wenn du Fördergelder beantragst. Der Datenaustausch befördert eine schleichende #Selbstzensur, die mit der Meinungs- und #Pressefreiheit unvereinbar ist.» #meinungsfreiheit #weimer #bkm

#selbstzensur #pressefreiheit #meinungsfreiheit #weimer #bkm
Public Domain Image Archive @[email protected] · 2025-09-25 · 19:01 UTC

An Alternative Interpretation by Homer B. Sprague (1915) by William Fairfield Warren, from The Universe Pictures in Milton's Paradise Lost; An Illustrated Study for Personal and Class Use.
Source: University of Toronto Libraries / Internet Archive
Available to buy as a print.
https://pdimagearchive.org/images/c606e36a-31f4-49d6-af6b-1f1a4252d28d
#diagrams #hell #night #schematics #chaos #heaven #circular #cosmography #art #publicdomain

#diagrams #hell #night #schematics #chaos #heaven
Herr Irrtum! 🔊 @[email protected] · 2024-09-07 · 11:59 UTC

#musicRecommendation

Wow! The Gaslamp Killer is back - together with Jason Wool.
Their album is not even released yet - "just" 2 teasers.

But I already think my personal "Album of the year" has finally found me. This really happens like once a year when I'm 5 seconds in and think... WOW. Next track, 5s in, WOW.

Let's just focus at the first prereleased track "Chaos in the Brain":
What starts like a smooth St Germain coffee bar feel good track from the 90s soon develops into a strange Brazil space jazz alike something something, complete with the typical Gaslamp Killer monosynth 70s arps getting lost in the void. Full of sparkling ideas, even refreshing in this current summer heat. Cocktail jazzy as hell still.

WHAT A TRACK.

Listen for yourself.

https://thegaslampkiller.bandcamp.com/album/ananda

#spaceJazz #experimental #StGermain #GaslampKiller #Bass #Rhodes #Rhodeslicks

#musicrecommendation #spacejazz #experimental #stgermain #gaslampkiller #bass
Chuck Darwin @[email protected] · 2026-03-13 · 00:22 UTC

Observers have spent two weeks trying to discern the “aims” of Trump’s war on Iran,
and therefore what might constitute a victory or defeat.
His every bizarre utterance about his war “plans”
— including wildly conflicting declarations that Iran has surrendered and the war must be expanded to defeat the regime
— immediately move markets.
The evident fact, though, is that Trump is completely nuts, and that he’s “governing” the country
— and has now taken the US to war
— based on his impulses alone,
without even the pretense of a strategy or goal.
“Governance” by impulse":
It’s a frightening reality of the Trump regime that,
as Trump has descended into utter incoherence and is now nothing more than an assortment of adolescent
(and frequently violent) urges,
the US government has been remade into a tool for the immediate satisfaction of his wants and desires
no matter how absurd or nihilistic they may be.
We’ve seen this dynamic of chaos descend upon various components of our government and society over the past 14 months.
🔸First, under the “leadership” of stooge Pam #Bondi, the United States Department of Justice has been transformed from a law enforcement agency into a mechanism for carrying out whatever vendetta happens to be at the front of Trump’s raging mind at a given moment.
Bondi and other stooges, like “Judge” Jeanine #Pirro, understand they can hope to retain their positions only if,
and for so long as,
they pursue every baseless charge Trump demands a given moment,
whether that be against a former FBI director, a Fed governor, or a voting machine company.
The result is a DOJ that has descended into utter dysfunction in nearly every respect,
has lost its mission critical asset of credibility before the courts,
and survives largely as a means for Trump to express his ire.
🔸Second, the Department of Homeland Security’s “mass deportation” scheme
— and the huge and growing internal militia created to effectuate it
— rapidly became a more dramatic venue for Trump to give effect to his disordered and sadistic impulses.
Trump has long expressed a visceral desire to foment violence between city residents and police.
His deep attraction to such chaos and destruction was perhaps best expressed in a May 2020 tweet
— posted in the midst of the unrest in Minneapolis that followed George Floyd’s slow strangulation
— that declared
“when the looting starts, the shooting starts.”
(It was properly flagged for glorifying violence.)
https://www.publicnotice.co/p/trump-excursion

#bondi #pirro
RTN @[email protected] · 2023-04-26 · 17:29 UTC

#ESA:
"#CryoSat reveals #ice loss from #glaciers" ".. shrunk by a total of 2% in just 10 years."
".. scientists have used a particular technique of processing CryoSat data to reveal that glaciers lost a whopping 2720 Gigatonnes of ice between 2010 and 2020."
"Their research also demonstrates that higher air temperatures are responsible for 89% of this ice loss."
https://www.esa.int/Applications/Observing_the_Earth/FutureEO/CryoSat/CryoSat_reveals_ice_loss_from_glaciers
https://agupubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1029/2023GL102954
#Eis #Eisschmelze #Gletscher #Klimakrise #Klimawandel
26.4.2023

#esa #cryosat #ice #glaciers #eis #eisschmelze
RTN @[email protected] · 2023-04-26 · 17:29 UTC

#ESA:
"#CryoSat reveals #ice loss from #glaciers" ".. shrunk by a total of 2% in just 10 years."
".. scientists have used a particular technique of processing CryoSat data to reveal that glaciers lost a whopping 2720 Gigatonnes of ice between 2010 and 2020."
"Their research also demonstrates that higher air temperatures are responsible for 89% of this ice loss."
https://www.esa.int/Applications/Observing_the_Earth/FutureEO/CryoSat/CryoSat_reveals_ice_loss_from_glaciers
https://agupubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1029/2023GL102954
#Eis #Eisschmelze #Gletscher #Klimakrise #Klimawandel
26.4.2023

#esa #cryosat #ice #glaciers #eis #eisschmelze
RTN @[email protected] · 2023-04-26 · 17:29 UTC

#ESA:
"#CryoSat reveals #ice loss from #glaciers" ".. shrunk by a total of 2% in just 10 years."
".. scientists have used a particular technique of processing CryoSat data to reveal that glaciers lost a whopping 2720 Gigatonnes of ice between 2010 and 2020."
"Their research also demonstrates that higher air temperatures are responsible for 89% of this ice loss."
https://www.esa.int/Applications/Observing_the_Earth/FutureEO/CryoSat/CryoSat_reveals_ice_loss_from_glaciers
https://agupubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1029/2023GL102954
#Eis #Eisschmelze #Gletscher #Klimakrise #Klimawandel
26.4.2023

#esa #cryosat #ice #glaciers #eis #eisschmelze
RTN @[email protected] · 2023-04-26 · 17:29 UTC

#ESA:
"#CryoSat reveals #ice loss from #glaciers" ".. shrunk by a total of 2% in just 10 years."
".. scientists have used a particular technique of processing CryoSat data to reveal that glaciers lost a whopping 2720 Gigatonnes of ice between 2010 and 2020."
"Their research also demonstrates that higher air temperatures are responsible for 89% of this ice loss."
https://www.esa.int/Applications/Observing_the_Earth/FutureEO/CryoSat/CryoSat_reveals_ice_loss_from_glaciers
https://agupubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1029/2023GL102954
#Eis #Eisschmelze #Gletscher #Klimakrise #Klimawandel
26.4.2023

#klimawandel #klimakrise #gletscher #eisschmelze #eis #glaciers
RTN @[email protected] · 2023-04-26 · 17:29 UTC

#ESA:
"#CryoSat reveals #ice loss from #glaciers" ".. shrunk by a total of 2% in just 10 years."
".. scientists have used a particular technique of processing CryoSat data to reveal that glaciers lost a whopping 2720 Gigatonnes of ice between 2010 and 2020."
"Their research also demonstrates that higher air temperatures are responsible for 89% of this ice loss."
https://www.esa.int/Applications/Observing_the_Earth/FutureEO/CryoSat/CryoSat_reveals_ice_loss_from_glaciers
https://agupubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1029/2023GL102954
#Eis #Eisschmelze #Gletscher #Klimakrise #Klimawandel
26.4.2023

#esa #cryosat #ice #glaciers #eis #eisschmelze
Ra_Zim @[email protected] · 2025-01-31 · 20:01 UTC

Here are more TTRPG Group Art, this time from Lost in Chaos SCAR, a Pokemon TTRPG streamed at https://www.twitch.tv/ra_zim
Art by Rdy
This is Nim the Lycanroc, played by https://linktr.ee/Ra_Zim
#furry #furryart #ZGFArt #Rdy #LostinChaosSCAR #ZGFGaming #NimRaZim #Pokemon #Lycanroc #midnightlycanroc #canid #canine #canis #sabertoothanatomy #brownfur #tail

#furry #furryart #zgfart #rdy #lostinchaosscar #zgfgaming
⚯ Michel de Cryptadamus ⚯ @[email protected] · 2025-04-10 · 00:57 UTC

4/ we already know that trump thinks nothing of abusing presidential powers in exchange for cash because he just pardoned a bunch of his donors (e.g. Nikola Motors scammer Trevor Milton) and dropped charges against all his new crypto biz partners (e.g. Justin Sun, a16z).
enriching his supporters w/insider trading opportunities is the same kind of mafia style "repayment"
perhaps trump’s donors were so loud in his ear complaining about all the money they just lost that trump decided to shut them up w/an opportunity to profit on history's largest (not an exaggeration!) insider trading opportunity.
or consider a scenario where #TeslaTakedown has put #ElonMusk financially on the ropes and badly in need of cash. does trump strike you as someone who wouldn't help a fellow grifter out if doing so only cost him some well timed tweets & market chaos?
#trump #uspol #stockmarket #Nasdaq #InsiderTrading #corruption #eupol #trevormilton #Pardon #Pardons #QQQ #economy #crime #recession

#teslatakedown #elonmusk #trump #uspol #stockmarket #nasdaq
Bullied during bereavement in Pret A Manger @[email protected] · 2018-11-29 · 23:13 UTC

Amy Sharpe from the Sunday Mirror contacted me on Facebook after I declined another Mirror Journalist’s request for an interview.
I declined her request as well, as I wasn’t ready for the press, and as I am still paranoid to be tricked and trapped like Pret did with the Development Manager I write extensively about in Open “Letter” to Lila Tighilt Warren. My experience in Pret is very complex and sounds like straight from a twisted Hollywood script, but I have it all in writing and confront Pret openly on Twitter, which in turn have them report me to get shadow-banned (secretly censored on Twitter & Co. which then hides my posts and accounts from public search). But I urged her to go undercover to see for herself and not just take my word for it, just like James Bloodworth did in Amazon. And she did.
My Facebook message after Amy contacted me, but I was not ready for the press:
.
.
What I meant by Pret “infiltrating” the mental health club I was a member of, Pret knew about this club as I mentioned it in my last hearing. I write about Pret “infiltrating” the club in my open “letter” to the Pret Foundation Trust which is just a smokescreen to pretend charity to the public. Pret never responded when I AND an OPs manager asked if I could be placed under someone from the Pret Foundation when I became bereaved and then targetted. Pret never responded.
As I commented on Sathnam Sanghera’s Times article, I’d like to give my two cents also to Amy Sharpe’s undercover article. Both articles from very different perspectives as one from a customer and business point of view, the other from behind the scenes for a few days. But both are equally important and revealing how business works with the main goal of profit in mind.
I have to say that when I saw the undercover reporting yesterday morning (28.11.2018) linked on Twitter, after Amy has been very silent about going “under”, and rightly so, I teared up. I cried when I read her name on the report because not just did she follow my suggestion taking my ordeal serious, but someone from the outside saw what I and many others experience(d), but the public doesn’t want to know about unless it is the press poking into an organization.
It sadly takes deaths becoming public to show how negligent a company, in this case Pret, really is. I’ve been writing openly about my experience with Pret since May 2018 after my father died in March and I started to come to terms again of another loss… still recuperating from my Pret trauma that has “postponed” my grief for my brother. Regular readers know the story.
Some people criticize The Sunday Mirror’s report as being part of a witch hunt, but I don’t think that. The public is so used to be lulled in by a nice and shiny facade, free coffees and cookies.
Customers are so used to the smiles of staff, but no-one knows what really is behind it. The fear management via the Mystery Shopper, rewarded extra £100 if specially nice or told off by the boss in the office and threatened with job security if they didn’t smile non-stop in the highly stressful work environment. I mentioned this in a Tweet response to a customer who without any thought or empathy complained to Pret about a barista, even naming him, for not smiling and rushing the service:
Link
Amy Sharpe’s undercover article to me is like someone understanding this and finally confirming my and the team’s ordeal. Some points I want to highlight as I don’t use the full article, just what I want to confirm and expand upon a little from what this journalist has experienced and witnessed. The article will be in black and my comments in grey. I added the bold to the text to highlight some issues.

Article:
A manager reacts in horror as I point out the mistake (of an Almond Croissant with a Jam Croissant label).
“Oh my god!” he cries as he switches labels on two trays of croissants – one containing jam, the other almonds.
This is the typical PANIC reaction of a manager who either didn’t take the time or is too disorganized to do the MBWA (Managing By Walking Around) to check that everything is in its proper place, health & safety checks and so on. This could easily be improved by investing to have plenty of staff, instead of cutting staff to save money, so that the Manager On Duty (MOD) can concentrate on checking everything daily as well as throughout the day. It’s a very simple organizational issue. Very, very simple.

Article:
In the wake of two allergy deaths, he adds: “It’s really dangerous, especially with everything that’s been going on.”
And yet, no-one steps on the brakes to put immediate, and what CEO Clive Schlee calls, “meaningful” changes in place. The problem with the word “meaningful” to me here is, it sounds too wishy-washy, “poetically” correct but shows no urgency, even though “it’s really dangerous”. The appropriate word should have been to implement “immediate” changes! As Natasha’s parents are in shock over Pret’s procrastination, ITV’s November report:

Article:
I am standing behind the counter in Pret a Manger … The pace is so relentless, the demands so constant – customers want serving super-quick – that I find myself under constant pressure. I sense that other staff feel the strain too.
Ms. Sharpe does not give the time of day she was behind the counter, but mentioned having to dash to the toastie machine, so this may have been lunch time. But the strain can especially be felt when a Team Member does the morning shift from 5 or 6am till 2 or 3pm going through two intense rushes: breakfast and lunch. When I worked in Pret I made a decision to not meet with a friend or have an appointment straight after my morning shift having come out of lunch time. I was always like having come out of a tumbler, being shaken for hours and still on electricity. My friends commented on this, so I tried to get home first to clean up and rest and calm down before joining any events.
One staff review paints this very bluntly. This is why I wished Amy Sharpe would have also covered a week in the kitchen to really get the full Pret “blow”: “This job can annihilate every piece of humanity inside of you.“
Many kitchens I have seen with very small working areas for the Hot Chef in particular. Someone leaked a photo to Twitter.
Customer areas are increased to get as many customers / money in as possible; staff areas are decreased. This then creates multiple problems, not only on the mental strain of staff but customers lives as mistakes happen quickly as with labelling I collected in another post “Vegetarians Get Meat Products“:
Or a shop where I worked where there was only ONE multitask room: office, staff changing room with lockers, fridges, freezers, stock room, hot chef soup prep area, chemical room for cleaning materials etc and to top it all, illegally the rubbish room next to the food prep area! This shop was the worst shop I’ve worked in. This photo is from 2015 and after years like this, Pret was forced to expand the work space to separate the rubbish for health and safety reasons. This room was medium size and approx. 15 square meters max. A total nightmare.

Article:
I am at a central London branch, where 10 staff vie for space, muttering apologies as we collide and stretch across one another to grab pastries and bags.
I shout orders to a barista while dashing to a beeping toastie machine to retrieve a baguette.
I make green teas and filter coffees while my other drinks orders are prepared. It’s stressful and confusing and the queue makes it even more so.
All the while, staff must be alert to the issue of allergens.
Yep. And as one customer on Twitter pointed out the chaos and stress on the staff and customers alike. I had to console Team Members many times over the years who held their tears back or just cried in the staff room after being shouted at by the manager. Another review: “Better salary than McDonalds or Costa as long as you keep your fake smile up. Staff with more experience cuts corners on Sanitary rules because otherwise it is impossible to finish your batch on time.
– The coffee calling system is broken. During busy times it is nearly impossible to keep up with the orders without hating everyone around you. A lot of people cry in the staff room especially in their entry period.”
I also shed many tears on my way home in the bus, especially during grief of course, but after a terribly depressing shift this was a common thing to let the tears finally flow.
Link

UPDATE Jan. 2019
I found a photo of the coffee area and it shows how cramped and small the work area is. And the barista/coffee makers are required to get PERFECT coffees out within 1 minute that the Mystery Shopper times to the second! It doesn’t get any more dehumanizing and mentally straining than this. I don’t know how I managed, but we worked a lot in mental and physical pain. Under the coffee machine where the silver jugs are, this working area is so small baristas switch on autopilot and just keep going. Hence, lots of stress, shouting and customers going to Twitter with complaints of half cups of coffees that are made so fast to satisfy the Mystery Shopper, the manager and the long queue.
Link by @terry_mcparlane Twitter

It is rare that a customer speaks out like this and it’s sad that most customers don’t care how stressful it is behind the counter. They see it, at times even commented about it to me, but they just want their coffees fast. Pret has spoiled them where they would be perfectly happy to wait 5-10 minutes in Starbucks, Pret made the service so fast to get the money circulation into the shops fast. Pret staff are expected to whip out PERFECT coffees within ONE minute and are timed to the SECOND by Mystery Shoppers, while customers think that staff is just happy working under intense pressure. They don’t realize what’s behind that happy facade!
Excerpt:
1 minute aim to serve and another 1 minute to have a perfect hot drink ready, checked by the MS to the second:
“I was served very quickly, after 15 seconds, very quick service.”
“I received my hot drink very quick, after 30 seconds, quick service.”
And then customers run to Twitter with pictures of half full cappuccinos, missing cream, lukewarm coffees…! There’s nothing more dehumanizing at a workplace that I have experienced. And should anyone suffer from boredom, do an experiment and just read through some Pret Tweets a few minutes each day for a week, with the same sweet-talk response from Pret veering customers away from public Tweets to private DM.
Some complaints are legitimate when a customer already spoke to the manager, and yet Pret has a DM button, but customers feel the public needs to be aware of their dilemma in Pret shops. I know, I know I respond a lot to some Tweets, and maybe it is because for 10 years I had to bite my tongue towards rude customers, I take the opportunity now to give my opinion. And Pret doesn’t block me as they collect my Tweets in case for court and certainly to learn some tips, as I have showered them with suggestions for improvement while I worked there. Be my guest, Pret.

Article:
Staff now repeat orders to customers to avoid any mistakes. Allergen enquiries are referred to the duty manager, who will show a list of ingredients.
Which is good to repeat, but the pace is still kept high with all sorts of demands, especially for the “Misery” Shopper: always smile, eye contact, make some small-talk, serve within 1 minute, stand on your head, dance on one feet, bend your back, twist your brain, know all the answers, kiss their butts … and all this with a big fake Pret A Smile to keep a low-paid job! In other words you either develop superhuman abilities or mental illness. The pace is the same, the demand is higher, and life is still at risk including the lives of staff who suffer depression, mental ill health and at times become suicidal. But the public “just” wakes up once customer lives are affected. Forget the “slaves“.
A positive Mystery Shopper visit, excerpt:
“The staff member who served me made good eye contact and greeted me with a friendly smile. While remaining focused and efficient, she also took time to engage in a few words of conversation, which added a personal element to the exchange – enhancing the welcoming atmosphere of this store.”
A negative Mystery Shopper visit, excerpt:
“I was not greeted at the till or given a smile. The only conversation was what was necessary for the transaction. To be welcoming the team member could have greeted me and smiled and be engage(d) and positive, the team member could have given me a friendly remark or made small talk.”
— or —
“Team members should smile at customers and may not work when ill, as team member was coughing whilst serving me and was therefore not feeling cheerful to smile that day.”
I wish I could have told this MS that staff are not paid sick leave for the first 2 and 3 days depending on age. So one had to decide if to stay home sick and lose income, or go to work unwell and get a telling off from the manager like I did because I coughed when I happened to serve the MS.
I wonder if Amy Sharpe served the Mystery Shopper and how she would have felt reading a negative comment on her service while feeling the experience of the “overstretched staff” and it being “stressful and confusing and the queue makes it even more so.”
I even wished sometimes customers would just join us for a few hours, especially those who quickly complain about everything.
Just few of the countless Tweets, just from this week:
This customer had good service for THREE years, then one negative experience and the world has come to an end. I linked her to Amy Sharpe’s report to bring some perspective for her feeling so unwanted. But I deleted the Tweet again as I write too many Tweets and always like to de-clutter my Twitter feeds:
Link
“Every time…”
Link
Link
“Oh no!…”
Link
etc. etc.
So, companies like Pret have created a “nation” of complainers where the British were usually patient and polite, they now cry like babies whose bottoms haven’t been wiped in a while! And the money keeps coming in while Pret responds with “Oh no…” and “Oh gosh, are you okay?…” sweet-talk to keep the babies happy and the money rolling!
I responded, but since deleted as well to this baby who had no issues to call hard working people the “C” word because he was in the “teething” period having his day ruined by a hard avocado. Pret’s typical cut’n’paste response, apologizing while he is offensive, and as if they really contact each shop all day long for repeated hard avocados:

Article:
The mantra, I am told repeatedly, is “NEVER guess”.
But from what I witness, the speed at which staff often have to work could put these commendable new standards at risk.
On my second shift I find an orange juice two weeks out of date on the shelves.
The shocked team leader tells me: “You don’t need to tell anyone, otherwise we’re f****d. It is really bad… I’ll throw it away.”
One barista tells me the cramped service area is a “nightmare”.
He says: “If I’m next to you, you have to shout. If you don’t shout I can make a mistake. A person can grab the wrong coffee. Make mistakes and the customer gets mad. You’ve got to focus, stay calm.”
With soybeans and dairy prominent on the menu – and among the 14 allergens kitchens must legally declare – this admission is worrying.
On my last shift, stickers are introduced to distinguish between soya, coconut and regular milks. But one barista serves a coffee without a sticker – and a manager barks: “Where is the sticker?”
The £8.25-an-hour shifts are tough and I collapse into bed exhausted after eight hours on my feet, lifting boxes, mopping and dragging tables around.
Nothing more to add except this Link
.

.
Article:
Some staff do 12-hour shifts or work at other branches to earn more. To add to the intensity, employees are battling the cold due to its station location. I wear extra layers to stay warm – there are only two Pret fleeces to go round, so we share.
Nothing more to add except that some staff even do 60-70 hour weeks assigned by the manager! I had to speak out about this as Team Members were exhausted, at times became sick from the amount of work, but were too scared to speak with the GM. Again, I did not make friends with my bosses. But neither did I care!

Article:
When the bustle dies down I clean the shop but a colleague urges me to skip certain tasks.
“You’re supposed to sweep and mop every day but don’t do that or you’ll never leave on time,” he says.
This unfortunately is common in most shops that staff are so swamped with work they are not able to finish in time and are NOT paid for overtime. I fought for this with my managers in every shop. I would say to my teams who did their best and me as the Team Leader helping them, that if they can’t finish I will mark this on the cleaning rota with an explanation, instead of just ticking off the jobs as done like most do to keep the appearance that jobs were completed. I’d then take responsibility when the boss summons me in the office the next day. I let the team go on the dot when our shift finished at 9 or 10pm or whatever closing and cleaning time the branch had.
Coffee Specialist, London April 2018
Most Team Members have families with kids at home, not seeing their children all day as they are in school, and later the parent is working when they go to bed. So I made it a point to let them go when the shift finished. I was very organized and made sure that the important jobs, health & safety was taken care of and prioritized these. I structured my teams in this way and left the unimportant jobs unfinished if we didn’t have time or enough staff.
In the early times in Pret I would work and work, finish in time and also worked overtime unpaid. But then the time came where I drew a line. It is okay here and there to finish a little late, but it was the norm in Pret and it seemed a very calculated one as Teams worked extra for no pay every day. I struggled with my managers and communicated that if we have to stay longer to finish the job, I will pay them the extra time through the system as was part of my job. If my bosses didn’t want that, then I told my team to finish on the dot and we go home. Full stop.
This of course didn’t make me friends with my bosses, but neither did I care! My friends are not these kind of people who exploit workers for their own bonuses. One Pret staff reviews this as a common practice for managers to give them a job to do 15 minutes before the Team Member would have finished the shift. But the job would take 30 – 60 minutes to complete. I experienced this many times as well and was made to feel bad if I needed or wanted to leave. It took me some time to stand up against this. Pret staff in the UK should do what their colleagues in the U.S. did, a class action suit for not being paid overtime.
Full article of the Sunday Mirror
I have to be honest that I wished Amy Sharpe would have worked longer, a month or so like James Bloodworth did in Amazon. It would have been good for Ms Sharpe to cover the early shifts and weekends as well, including working in the kitchen, as each time and job has its own challenges. But I’m not complaining. She covered 1 or 2 weeks (?) really really well, while I have 10 years of “material” to share that almost literally killed me having survived bullying during bereavement.
So, I have to be patient and acknowledge the brilliant work by this journalist having been willing to do this, as well as Sathnam Sanghera’s article. And many more people will tell their story in time away from the typical PR that Pret does so well. I keep confronting Pret on a staff suicide in 2017 and who knows how many more are under the carpet when they could hide two customer deaths for two years and the other for 10 months! I know my approach and direct confrontation is full on, but I almost lost my life after having worked with integrity, honesty, very hard and with passion for my teams. I cannot be silent after having wasted 10 years of my life in Pret with the knowledge that staff continue to suffer behind the facade. And if any reader wonders if I went to court, I explain here.
Thank you for your time in reading this. And thank you to anyone in the press to have taken a closer look. Thank you to Amy Sharpe. Ironic and delighted to be calling a reporter a now former colleague of mine! Well done Amy!
Life is short, please be kind to yourselves and others.
expret.org

UPDATE: 14.12.2018 A rare observation from a customer regarding forced friendliness.
Link

.
UPDATE March 2019 – The first time I share my story verbally in one go in this interview.
Interview:
https://expret.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/workplace-bullying-an-intervie-683101e6895da.m4a
Above interview is with Adam from The Adam Paradox podcast on my experience in Pret A Manger.
We spoke about gaslighting (being from Germany, that word doesn’t exist in Germany except in its English form. I had to explain it to a German therapist), “shadow banning” and censorship on social media, as well as bereavement, trauma and mental health in general. I further talked about the significant timing of Pret CEO’s announcement of the £1000 Tweet for all staff. I also talked about a regular day in Pret and how staff have to cut corners, in order to fulfill the immense workload under constant pressure.
It is hard to squeeze my traumatic experience into a podcast segment, but we covered enough to get a good picture of today’s systemic stress environment for profit driven global companies.
Please visit his Podcast and Twitter @1AdamParadox.
UPDATE February 2019, my posts on “Why do Pret Staff continue under Harshness“
.
I worked at Pret A Manger and survived systemic workplace bullying during bereavement that involved HR, the top leadership, HQ and even the now “retired” former CEO Clive Schlee. I declined 4 settlement offers if I am silent about my ordeal. But I rather speak out to help others. For an overview of important blog entries of my experience with Pret, please visit My Ordeal with Pret A Manger. The little arrow to the right next to each heading will lead directly to the post.An incomplete list on what other Pret staff say about Pret’s bullying environment Caught in the Act Bullying and What shop MANAGERS and HQ staff say about Pret incl. CEO Pano Christou.I tell my story for the first time verbally in below audio player interview on a podcast by The Adam Paradox, and wrote two articles in the Scottish Left Review as well as mentioned by the BBC.
Please also see the MEDIA page for more.
NEW LinkTree
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BuyMeACoffee.com/expret.org

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PayPal.Me
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Thank you for reading/listening.
©2017 – present expret.org
Interview:
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https://expret.org/2018/11/29/undercover-under-pressure/
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Trump Watch 👀 @[email protected] · 2025-05-04 · 23:43 UTC

“Trumpism’s toxic influence cost conservatives in Australia their future. Albanese’s decisive win is a rebuke to the chaos of MAGA politics, showing the world is DONE with Trump’s brand of destruction.Thebacklash is global—watch for more defeats. #TrumpEffect #EndMAGA www.politico.eu/article/dona...

How Trump lost conservatives t...

#trumpeffect #endmaga
Kitty Kittaj @[email protected] · 2025-10-16 · 16:47 UTC

Khazhaeim ya Ullmahei (2019)
Avatars are celestial beings that somewhat embody, and are the "anchor" or "source" for specific kinds of an innate magical ability called "mancies".
Khazhaeim, being the Avatar of Domination, was the source of psychomancy; the ability to directly control people's minds. She herself used this power on a galactic scale, imposing her will across dozens of civilizations at once. Her mistake was extending this reach across realities, where, in one not too dissimilar to ours, a seed of revolt against the tyrant grew through her neural web of control.
Importantly, Khazhaeim was also what is known as a "universal constant"; a being who exists simultaneously in (nearly) all possible realities, and in many cases, is psychically linked to their alternates.
Through careful, quiet communication snuck across her own subconscious, the innumerable civilizations she held under her forged a plan to briefly disrupt her control, and in that tiny window of opportunity, wage a minutes-long war against her across hundreds, perhaps thousands of realities at once.
Many entire civilizations were lost in the ensuing chaos, as not everyone was able to successfully interrupt the control, but regardless, Khazhaeim was no more. Her simultaneous deaths across numerous realities unleashed a psychic shockwave on all those she had control over, and even some she didn't, stunting their overall growth for thousands of years. But still, she was dead.
There are... faint rumors, however... that she may have planted a seed before she was assassinated. A seed with part of her soul in it... After all, psychomancy may not exist anymore, but neuromancy does, and it is unsettlingly similar in function...
#slitherscribbles #kittyverse #Khazhaeim #zygotian

#slitherscribbles #kittyverse #khazhaeim #zygotian
Ra_Zim @[email protected] · 2024-08-28 · 10:02 UTC

IDDo commissioned Rdy to draw Aquarelle and left most of it up to Rdy. Here are the results!
Art by Rdy
Character is IDDoThings
#furry #furryart #ZGFArt #Rdy #AquarelleLostinChaos #lostinchaosscar #samurott #pokemon #hisuianform #hisuiansamurott #sword #slashing #bluebody #redmarkings #blackmarkings #redeyes #male #actionpose #facialhair #whitehair #2024

#furry #furryart #zgfart #rdy #aquarellelostinchaos #lostinchaosscar