A canon autistic character, so much explicit gay sex, a trans male actor, early 2000s bangers, technically stunning shots and montages, yearning so good you’d think you were reading your mother’s Mills and Boon from the 80s. It’s about hockey and there’s barely any hockey.
This might be my favourite show of the last five years
Oh, for the 5 facts prompts, Buck and Tommy meet through Ravi at frisbee golf!
I want you to know I had to look up what frisbee golf was and then I went and made up a bunch of things about it anyway. Also it got away from me and went in a more, hm, poetical direction.
--
1. Covid had shrunk his life down to the essentials: work, grocery store, socially distance runs, home, video calls. Even with the vaccine roll out, Buck was being cautious.; the last thing he wanted to do was catch Covid and put Maddie and his soon to be born niece at risk. He was lonely and restless—Albert was great company when he was there, but he was grabbing as many deliveries as possible as he needed the money—which was why he didn’t laugh when Ravi said, “I have a weekly frisbee golf game with friends. You doing anything on Sunday?”
“Uh, not to sound ungrateful,” Buck said, resisting the urge to look behind him to see who Ravi was actually talking to, “but why are you inviting me? You pretend not to know us outside of work.”
With the mask covering his face, Ravi’s eyebrows were putting in overtime in the judgmental department. “It’s called having a work-life balance and actual boundaries. You should try it.”
“You’re still a probie,” Buck reminded him.
Ravi had a trick of conveying an eye roll without actually rolling his eyes. It was as impressive as it was deeply irritating. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“But why me?” Buck asked, refusing to take that bait. “I didn’t think you liked me.”
“I’m going to be honest,” Ravi said like he wasn’t that all of the time. “It seems like the pandemic has maybe sent you spiraling into madness.” He held up a hand when Buck went to protest. “You chased me with a saw last week.”
“Uh, I was trying to find you so I could demonstrate how to properly use and store the saw.”
“And the best way to do that was by pretending to be Michael Myers?” Ravi pulled out his phone. “I’m sending you the time and place. “Be there.”
His phone vibrated. “I appreciate this, but I don’t want to be your weird coworker who got a pity invite.” And, Buck added silently, he didn’t want to be the weird older guy pretending to be the same age as a bunch of twenty-somethings.
“You are my weird coworker,” Ravi said without a shred of pity, “but I’m inviting another weird coworker so you’ll have someone to be weird with.”
“Thanks?” Buck said. “Wait, what other coworker? Is it Eddie? Did you invite Eddie? Ravi!”
2. Ravi did not invite Eddie. Buck showed up to the park, compressor sleeve on his bad leg, and saw a tiny woman struggling to pull a giant cooler out of the back of her Subaru. Buck ran to help at the same time as another man hurried over, and they both managed to catch the cooler before it slipped and crushed the poor woman. The guy was masked, but his eyes were so blue and, judging by the way the corners creased, he must have had a hell of a smile.
“Nice catch,” the guy said as they navigated the cooler to safety. His voice was higher pitched than Buck was expecting for a guy that size, but it was, and there was no other word for it, melodious.
“You must be the Ravi’s weird coworkers,” she said. “Grab that and follow me.”
The guy’s eyebrows raised, but he obligingly picked up one end of the cooler and Buck took the other, and they followed the woman, who was named Skye and the co-founder of her college’s frisbee gold club. That was how she knew Ravi; they were old friends.
“Ravi, I found your weird work friends,” she called as they joined Ravi and the rest of the group at the course they were setting up.
“Most people are impressed by us being firefighters,” the guy said mildly.
Skye snorted. “Tell you what, kid, save a cat from a tree and I will personally throw you a parade.”
“It’s been a long time since I was called kid,” the guy mused, and Buck was treated to those laugh lines again. They were so deep; this guy must smile a lot. “I’m Tommy.”
“Buck. Buckley. I mean, Evan,” Buck said because apparently he lost control of his mouth. God, he wished he could see that smile. “Evan Buckley.”
“Good to meet you, Evan,” Tommy said.
“Glad you made it,” Ravi said. “We’re about to break into teams. Full warning, Skye gets physical.”
“Yeah, I do,” said Skye, and high fived another woman.
“I didn’t think this was a contact sport,” Buck said, who had spent last night reading the frisbee golf Wikipedia article and watching a couple of video of people trying to toss little discs into various baskets.
“Not the way we play it,” said Skye with a wolfish smile. “Are you ready?”
3. Buck was not, in fact, ready. The third time Skye laid him out, Buck just stayed and contemplated his mortality.
“Still alive down there?” Tommy asked, hands braced on his knees as he leaned over Buck.
“Unfortunately,” Buck said. “Do you think if I play dead they’ll forget I’m here?”
Tommy glanced at where a scrimmage was taking place further down the course. “I think it’s wrapping up. I heard a rumor that cooler we carried was full of snacks. Come on.”
Tommy offered a hand, and Buck was effortlessly pulled to his feet. “Oh,” he said, breathless. “I’m, uh, not used to people being able to lift me.”
“Benefits of being a big, strong firefighter,” Tommy said with those gorgeous laugh lines.
“Yeah, strong,” Buck agreed over the mad scramble happening at the last basket. It was either luck or skill that kept anyone from losing a mask. “This is not regulation play.”
“Yeah, it’s very Calvinball.” Tommy slid him a sly look. “I bet we can raid the cooler while they’re distracted.”
Buck was too old to get caught in the violent tangle of limbs that was happening. “Let’s do it.”
4. An incomplete list of things Buck learned about Tommy as they waited for the frisbee golf game to end:
Tommy was not just a firefighter but a firefighter pilot, which was one of the coolest jobs it was possible to have. (“That’s gotta be like having a super power,” he said way too earnest to be cool, but Tommy just smiled so wide that his nose scrunched and said, “A little bit, yeah.)
Tommy was Harbor’s sacrificial goat who got sent to the academy as a guest instructor (“I lost the final round of rock, paper, scissors,” he said in that dry tone that Buck suspected he used when he wanted to hide the truth as a joke.)
Tommy used to be at the 118 and had the best stories from Chim and Hen’s probie years (Tommy called him Howie, which was weirdly endearing)
Tommy learned to fly in the army (“The PTSD was almost worth it.”)
Tommy knew Muay Thai but had not joined an underground fight club because he was only slightly more well adjusted than Eddie
Tommy had the most beautiful smile Buck had ever seen
“So this is adorable,” Skye said, gesturing between them, “but if you don’t stop bogarting the snacks, I will take you both down.”
Tommy stepped aside and made a dorky little half-bow so Skye could get into the cooler. Apparently everyone contributed to the snack fund but Skye was the one who actually went out and bought everything because she had black market hook ups for the good chips and dip.
Once everyone had raided the cooler and they had all spaced out six feet so they could take off their masks to eat and drink, Ravi raised his can of flavored seltzer and said, “And now it’s time for the traditional poetry reading. Kay has chosen this week’s selection.
Kay, who had an undercut and a septum piercing, said, “You know I had to go with my girl Mary Oliver. You know it, you love it, it’s Wild Geese!”
Everyone cheered, and Buck found himself exchanging a bewildered look with Tommy and Tommy’s politely baffled eyebrows.
From their back pocket, Kay pulled out a phone and began to read. It was a short poem, but it filled him with a sweet ache, like the relief he felt when a wound had been sutured closed. Tommy’s face had softened with each line, and by the end he looked just like how Buck felt, like pain had given way to ease. And then it was over, and Buck wished he’d though to fix his mask back into place so he could have stood shoulder to shoulder with Tommy as they experienced the poem together.
“So,” Ravi said once they were once again masked up and reformed into a loose circle, “what did you think?”
“I wasn’t expecting to be tackled so much,” Tommy said dryly, smile once more hidden away, “but it was fun.”
“Yeah, fun,” Buck said. “Hey, what’s up with the poetry?”
What was up with the poetry was that Ravi’s college roommate was an extremely shy kid named Joshua who Ravi managed to, in the words of Skye, cajole into joining their frisbee golf club using sweet words and a muffin. Joshua hated frisbee golf, but he liked poetry and old books, and so would sit on the sidelines reading to them between plays. And soon everyone had their favorite poets and poems and started bringing them to share with Joshua until it became a tradition after every game for one member to read a new poem they found.
“He had to move back home when his dad got sick,” said Chad, who looked exactly like one of Buck’s roommates from back in the day who would howl without fail at three am every day but was in fact pursuing a masters in gender studies. “But we kept up the tradition, and we either facetime with him or send him the poem.”
“Oh, that’s really cool,” Buck said, who never had the kinds of friends who would do that. He didn’t even keep in touch with Connor, who he’d followed to LA like a lost puppy.
“It is,” said Beth, who was only slightly less violent than Skye, which was good since she was close to him and Tommy in height, “until Skye breaks up with her girlfriend of two years and does nothing but read Richard Siken poems for two straight months.”
Tommy winced, and Sky pointed an accusing finger at him and said, “I knew it! I knew you were one of us!”
Tommy’s eyebrows rose in a way that Buck could only describe as bitchy. “Kid, I was in the army under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. You’re one of me.”
“Wait, what does Don’t Ask Don’t Tell have to do with poetry?” Buck said two seconds before his brain caught up. “Oh, you’re—”
“Gay,” Tommy said, and now those bitchy eyebrows were trained fully on him.
“That’s cool! I mean, I’m an ally.” From outside his body, Buck watched as his raised his fist in the air in encouragement and wanted to die. But instead of death, he opened his mouth and said, “I put up a rainbow on my Instagram profile every June.”
Into the terrible silence that followed, Skye said, “So do you have a reminder about a flag programmed into your phone?”
“No,” he said quickly.
“Oh, he definitely does,” Chad said. “That’s adorable. Ravi, thank you for inviting him. He’s going into my thesis.”
Tommy leaned in close and said, “I think that means he likes you,” which almost made the mortification worth it.
Thank god a bunch of moms chased them to clean up and clear out so that their kids could kick around a soccer ball. He and Tommy carried the cooler back to Skye’s Subaru.
“You need to contribute to the snack fund,” Sky said, holding out a hand. “I only accept cash.”
Who carried cash anymore? Tommy apparently, and he handed over two crisp twenties. “You can get it next time,” he said, and gently knocked his knuckles into Buck’s shoulder.
“I’m adding you to the group chat,” Ravi said, and Buck was officially part of frisbee golf.
6. By the third meet up, Buck had given up on understanding the ever shifting rules and instead spent most of his time on the fringes talking to Tommy. They had started getting take out after the game and eating on Tommy’s back patio and then, because they were both fully vaccinated and careful, moving inside to watch the movies Tommy insisted he had to see.
“Do you miss going out to the movies?” Buck asked one day, perusing the two bookcases dedicated to DVDs and CDs.
“I don’t miss strangers breathing on me in the dark for two hours,” Tommy said dryly, “but, yeah, I miss it.”
“We should go when it’s safe.” Buck brushed his knuckles along Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll buy you Twizzlers.”
The first time Tommy came to the loft, Buck was mortifingly aware of how empty it was, especially compared to Tommy’s carefully curated house. He didn’t have a single shelf of movies or even books. The only personal touch was the bike hanging on the wall, and it had been years since he’d been cycling. Thank god Albert never cleaned up against himself; his mess was the only sign of life in the entire place.
“I get the appeal now,” Tommy said, gesturing to the two balconies. “That’s almost gotta be worth what you’re getting gouged on rent.”
“Spent a lot of nights out here when I can’t sleep,” he said, and they ate lunch out on the balcony and listened to the city.
But mostly they snuck away when Buck’s leg and Tommy’s knee started acting up after too many tackles. They were deep in a discussion of which weird 80s fantasy movie to see next—Tommy was adamant that Buck needed to experience Tim Curry as the shirtless devil, and Buck wanted to see Labrinyth since he had remembered seeing that with Maddie and loving all the pupped—when Skye said, “This is why we don’t let you be on the same team.” She had evidently clawed her way free from a pile up that, as first responders, he and Tommy should really break up. “At least we’re both equally down a player.”
Tommy pointed to Buck’s leg and then his own knee. “There’s no way our old man joints would survive that.”
“Aren’t you firefighters?” she asked.
“I’ve seen the elbows you throw in there,” Tommy said. “Our job is less dangerous.”
“Ha!” Skye said, and then immediately proved Tommy’s point by trying to take down Ravi.
Chad gestured between them. “Whatever is happening between you two is adorable, and I want an invite to the wedding.”
Where Buck had been expecting Tommy’s to do their bitchy thing, Tommy’s expression instead smoothed out so quickly and completely that it felt like a flinch, like Chad had inadvertently pressed on a tender bruise.
“I don’t think he was trying to be an asshole,” Buck said once Chad had been dragged back into the pile.
“It’s fine,” Tommy said in a tone that meant it was absolutely not fine. “I forget sometimes that’s an option for me. It wasn’t for a long time.”
Buck thought of Abby and Ali and the dating apps he hadn’t opened in months, and said, “Yeah, I get that.” He touched the back of Tommy’s hand. “Want to raid the cooler while they’re distracted?”
They had snacks and made an effort to talk to people who weren’t each other, and then it was time for the ceremonial poetry reading.
Tommy stepped forward and carefully pulled out a piece of paper that had gone soft along the creases, like Tommy had folded it and unfolded it many times. Tommy cleared his throat and, a little shy, said, “This is called the undone cowboy writes to his sweetheart.”
And Tommy began to read.
7. These were the poems Buck had heard since joining the group: an ee cummings poem he remembered reading in high school; Frank O’Hara writing about New York; Sky choosing a poem about Jesus in a gay bar that had made him and Tommy tear up; a poem about the women in Stop & Shop.
He had liked all of them, but none of them had been read in Tommy’s soft, careful voice, and none of them had felt like they were spreading his ribs apart to let in the sun. God, he thought as Tommy read the last line, god just take my heart in your palm.
“I knew you were one of us,” Skye said, and tapped friendly knuckles to his shoulder.
8. The shift had been quiet enough that Buck was able to sneak away and grab the good bunk in the corner with the mattress that didn’t sag and replayed the poem in his head: could you lasso my legs, darling, and press me tender to hay bale?
Buck had spent the better part of a year working on a ranch. Hay was a lot less romantic and a lot more irritating than people thought. It pricked and itched, even through a carefully laid blanket, and Buck had no desire to have it anywhere near his dick and balls again.
And yet he placed his palm against his sternum and thought of leaning against a bale. The hay would try to scratch through his clothes but he wouldn’t notice it, not with how close Tommy would be standing. They were the same height and near the same size, although Tommy had more breadth across the shoulders and carried more muscle. Tommy was immovable when he wanted to be, and Buck had felt the heat of him when they collided on the field.
He pressed down on his own breastbone. It wouldn’t be hard for Tommy to move him. It’d be so easy; Buck would go without a fight. God, he would have to spread his legs so wide to let Tommy get in close, and Tommy would kiss as sweetly as he read the poem.
“Oh,” Buck said, ribs cracked open and his sternum filled with sunlight, “I’m one of them.”
8. Buck was a firefighter and there was a time for evaluation and there was a time for action, and so he showed up to Tommy’s house and said, “Are you the undone cowboy? Can I be your sweetheart? I, uh, also brought lunch. Hi.”
“Hi,” Tommy said, and he was laughing but not at Buck. “You want to come in, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I really do,” Buck said.
9. Tommy kissed sweeter than the poem.
Buck sliced him an apple.
10. “I’ve got a poem,” Buck said, fumbling his phone out of his pocket. It wasn’t his frisbee gold reading, but this one was important. He wanted to get it right. “It’s from our girl Mary Oliver.”
“Yo Mary Oliver!” Kay shouted.
"It's I Did Think, Let's Go About This Slowly." He cleared his throat and began to read, and on the line, the important one, he met Tommy’s eyes and said, unafraid and full of joy, “‘But, bless us, we didn't.”
Tommy’s smile was still the most beautiful think Buck had ever seen.
11. They invited the entire frisbee golf club to the wedding.
hear me out: a lotr game but you play as the ring, throwing yourself wantonly into the path of unsuspecting folk and slowly corrupting their minds as the game progresses
There's people for whom "we're leaving in the morning" means "we ride at dawn motherfuckers, you can finish waking up and getting dressed in the car, we'll grab breakfast somewhere along the way", and there's people for whom it means "we'll get going somewhere before noon".
i love having the hubris to go 'sure i'll try that, how hard can it be' about every creative skill under the sun. jack of all trades master of shit fuck but who says you have to be a master??? maybe i want to sew a mediocre plushie and code a janky mod and write a bland song. im having fun. im in my lane. im learning and im thriving.
fog haters are weak. you are walking in a cloud and it's making everything look like a moody detective film! the veil is thin and there could be a faerie 20 metres directly ahead of you! appreciate it!!
Once upon a time when I was driving along Route 81 through the narrow hills of Pennsylvania, between college and home, in my old 1970 Monte Carlo, a fog descended which was so dense that I could barely see ten feet in front of my car. I was broke, and there weren't many places to pull off the road anyway, so all I could do was press on, barely above an idle, the aged yellow headlights completely ineffectual, while my car growled and shook like the nervous beast it was.
I love that four different people on my feed scheduled this joyous person to reblog by 8am on June 1. I look forward to seeing this a dozen more times today.
Okay but imagine being the team of Eridian scientists tasked with keeping Erid's Only Human alive for as long as possible while the whole planet's environment is literally trying to kill him. And then Rocky shows up and is like:
“Grace says he would like half of dome to be water.”
“Oh, is necessary for humans to have large amounts of water question?”
Small Eridian equivalent of a sigh. “No. Not needed for life. In fact Grace will die if he falls in water and does not get out.”
“Tell him we give him water in containers that won't kill him. Lots lots lots of water on Erid for Grace to drink.”
“No. Grace say he want water on ground. Also want it with excess sodium chloride compound so it will be unhealthy for drink.”
To celebrate Erid getting their sun back on track, Grace asks for some alcohol. There's a small amount left from the Hail Mary and Rocky offers to take it to the science Eridians to see if they can synthesise more.
“Grace want this liquid for celebration.”
“Of course.” They scan it. “You have wrong liquid. This contain compounds which are poisonous for humans.”
“Yes yes yes. Grace say humans like feeling of being slightly poisoned.”
When my mother forgets a word, she is the queen of coming up with new words. Words that would take a third National Treasure movie to fully decipher. I was talking to her yesterday, and she said this: “You know the time for los jibbities is coming up. You must be so excited!” Oh, is it time for los jibbities already? I must have missed it on my calendar. Are we celebrating something? “Of course! We should all be celebrating, shouldn’t we?” OK, so los jibbities is a happy thing. It’s not like something is giving you the heebie-jeebies, which would have been my one and only guess. “Los heebie-jeebies? Now you’re making things up...and this is my show.” You’re right. The time for los jibbities is coming up. Is this a season? “Yes, the season for love. The season for pride.” OK, los jibbities. “Yeah, sound it out.” Los…jibbities. LGBTs! “Sí, mira cuz you’re gay!” “You couldn’t just say pride season? You couldn’t just… *laughs*
you are not wasting time you are vibing. you are not being unproductive you are literally chilling. make a grill cheese with cheddar cheese and slather a piece of the bread with some honey and maybe you'll relax
Innes Keeper's Formula For Fantastic Grilled Cheeses
(for nearly no extra spoons!)
Are you hungry? Do you have a hankering for grilled cheese sandwiches like, way more than a normal person maybe? Great news! I am about to give you the secret knowledge I stole, like Prometheus himself, from the Akashic Records—to bring back to Prudencia! And I’m even doing it without a ten hour long lecture about how the Akashic Records makes me think of idfk, 9/11, and how that relates to sandwiches.
I will, however, briefly say this: You gotta trust me when I say cooking grilled cheeses via this formula WILL grant you Bloodborne Insight. There is no fucking reason that making a grilled cheese this fucking delicious should be this fucking easy. I feel like I’m cheating God every time I do it because it takes (nearly) no extra spoons. And here’s where I show you why.
INGREDIENTS — SEASONINGS
-butter, i usually use 2 or 3 tablespoons per sandwich
-garlic cloves, I use 3 usually
-a source of heat, like red pepper flakes, or szechuan peppers
-a source of spice OR a source of sweetness, such as dijon mustard or honey. slather that motherfucker on a slice of your bread.
-a source of herbiness, such as oregano, thyme, sage, rosemary, etc in any combination that goes well together or on its own. if someone tries to tell you that you need it fresh, they’re fucking lying, the 2$ crushed powdered sage is fucking great. experiment with other spices such as ground turmeric if you're spicy
INGREDIENTS - THE METAPHORICAL MEAT OF THE SANDWICH
-two slices of bread per sandwich. this is actually a massive influence on your sandwich taste and texture as a whole. a basic white or wheat will still be fucking delicious because like I said, I stole this from the Akashic Records cookbook section and found it under “fucking perfect grilled cheeses forever”. However, if you CAN—getting bread like brioche, texas toast, brown bread, rye, or sourdough will make a sandwich already being elevated super easily to “pay 23 dollars at a fancy restaurant” level of elevation.
-one to three types of cheese per sandwich. you can get away with one type but really try for two or three if you can swing it.
this is also one of those massive influences over the sandwich—listen, i know, that’s obvious, but stay with me—what matters
isn’t the SPECIES of cheese, it’s the TYPE of cheese. getting the deli at your local Safeway or Walmart or whatever and asking for the cheese they gotta cut (or just in general the fancier, better-quality cheeses) is literally the only major requirement that I ask of you. If you are on SNAP/EBT programs, me too, and I promise you: Please do this. Please trust me when I say do not get the cheap Kraft-type cheese because it’s less money. I know it’s a bit extra but it’s only a bit to get like 1/4 or 1/3lb and you have no idea how much I’m actually getting a little emotional about this, because the “rice with butter and beans or top ramen every single day” life is soulsucking and sickening and it is genuinely one of the greatest sources of suffering
to human beings I can imagine, I’m serious. Following this formula will genuinely change your life/mental health just a bit because you know that you have one meal that is super delicious, super filling, pretty damn cheap when it comes to how much you get, and super easy to make on days where the idea of doing more than just 15 minutes MAX is gonna make you wanna die.
super sorry for that paragraph btw i just really cannot overstate how this is a lifechanger especially when youre poor/low spoons/depressed. delicious food makes me not be as depressed. this is that.
METHOD
Take garlic cloves and crush them either with the meat of your palm or the flat of a knife or literally anything that would crush good. Take bread slices and put a source of spice or sweetness if you are using one. take a pan and put it on the stove on low-medium heat (aka a 2 out of 10).
Place the butter in the pan, as well as the garlic cloves, the source of heat, and the source of herbiness. Congratulations you have now literally done ALL the extra effort that you need to make a grilled cheese like this. That’s it. No extra dishes. No fussing with amounts or chopping or whatever. That’s it.
The butter will melt in the pan and soak up the delicious ingredients that you also put into the pan. Take each slice of bread and place it in the pan to butter it, OR just take one slice, place the cheese on it, and then put the other bread on. It’s really just a matter of extra effort.
When the bread is in the pan, turn it up to medium heat (5 out of 10) and just sorta let it sit for a bit. When you can see the cheese start to get visibly melty—or when you vibecheck it—flip it once and just do the same thing.
When you’ve grilled your cheese on both sides, take it out of the pan and put it on a plate (or just a paper towel to save on dish spoons. btw paper plates and plastic utensils are a fucking godsend if you hate dishes and/or can’t do them very easily/takes a lot of effort.)
oh. oh my god. holy fuck. what. how. why. this is delicious. i kinda burned my bread and my cheese didnt melt all the way but it's still the best thing ive ever tasted?????
oh my god. this is so fucking good. the butter melting and absorbing the spices and herbs already smelled amazing, but then i threw the bread on and it started smelling EVEN BETTER. then i took a bite. holy FUCK this is better than sex. i legitimately believe that Innes Keeper stole this shit from Prometheus, there's no other way to explain why this is so easy to make, yet so FUCKING good, other than cheating a god.
ok me and my partner went back and made this. exact words upon eating were “we’ve cheated god” and “i feel like my world just got rocked” and then we were both energized to get back to drawing. proof:
I want to fuck Uncle Iroh so bad man. It would be so good. It would be SO GOOD. he's got heated hands. He can BREATHE FIRE. Fucker has lung control like fuckin woah. He's experimental. He's been around the world and picked up shit from all over the place. He likes to have fun. And he's obviously still fit and interested enough like. IT WOULD BE W I L D and would probably ruin sex for a while and
Oh?? Oh you thought you escaped this?? Oh you scrolled past and were done with it?? NO I need it to be SEEN this is a critically under-discussed aspect of his character and I WILL put it out there. Forcefully, if need be
AND HE'S MAKE YOU TEA AFTER!!!! BANGIN TEA!!!! AWARD-WINNING BEST-IN-THE-COUNTRY TEA!!!!!!!!! WHAT IS THERE TO LOSE. NOTHING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AND EVERYTHING TO FUCKIN GAIN
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