The Coop

The album's done and up. GO GET IT!

Eighteen of these. Eighteen years. Holy shitballs, Batman! Another album is in the books. This year we have seven songs of various moods, genres and tempos, all set for everyone to listen to and as you get deep into the holiday spirit. While we wait for Dyne to update the site, I'll be hosting the zip file. Once he's done, I'll change the link here to go there. Make sense? Good. A big thanks to the remixers who joined up, and to Dyne for hosting these albums for yet another year. And on behalf of everyone involved, Merry Christmas! https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/h38xbepspwtd7oo0fo91y/Final-AOCC18-Album.7z?rlkey=8vsnooq9wi4bcvisxk5xl4ki0&st=fph8zglt&dl=0

Less then 24 hours to go. Anyone who hasn't handed in their homework, check your PMs.

It's that time of year once again, where I bombard you with many, many rhymes. It's December 18, which means another "Twas" has arrived. So grab a drink, take a pee if you have to, and let's do this... Twas XXIII: Not So Good To The Last Drop by The Coop Twas the night before Christmas, and things were not well. The house was filled with Yukon Jack's familiar smell. Tara sat in her room without making a sound. She just sat on her bed and looked sadly around at the room she'd called home for the last eighteen years; her vision a bit blurred due to the building tears. A duffel bag filled with all the clothes she could put into it quickly, rested beside her right foot. As she sat quietly, she thought of how the day had started out just fine, yet ended up this way. She had gone to the mall with her old friend Sophie. They'd been walking about and acting so carefree after they'd had some lunch and went from store to store, looking at clothes, CDs, DVDs and much more. It was as they passed by where the mall's Santa was, that they saw how all the kids in line were abuzz with excitement as they waited for their turn to ask Santa for a present; maybe, even two. “Let's get in line,” Sophie said, a smile on her face. “Say what?” Tara chuckled. “We'd be so out of place “standing with those kids that are already in line.” “Oh come on,” Sophie laughed. “Let's go. It'll be fine.” With a sigh, Tara was soon being dragged along, as the mall echoed with that familiar old song of Rudolph the reindeer who had a bright red nose. “You hyped?” Sophie asked. Tara replied, “I suppose.” “That's the spirit,” Sophie grinned as she shook her head. The two of them then got into the line that lead to the wintry scene where Santa and an elf were. And the next half hour became something of a blur as the children's chattering continued non-stop and drowned out the noises from any nearby shop. Soon, Tara and Sophie were the next two in line. “Got your ideas?” Sophie asked. “Cuz I've got mine.” “You're way too into this,” Tara said with a smirk. Sophie stuck out her tongue with, “Don't wreck my fun, jerk.” They shared a laugh before Santa's elf came up to Sophie and asked flatly, “Seriously you two?” “Yep!” Sophie smiled. “I'm here to see Santa and see if he'll get your friends to make something nice for me.” The elf rolled his eyes with a muttered, “Fine. Let's go. Just please behave, huh? There are children here you know.” “I'm not that bad,” Sophie grinned. “Well, usually.” The elf let out a sigh with, “C'mon. Follow me.” Tara watched as Sophie went to Santa and sat across the man's lap and had a very short chat with him about how she'd been good most of the year and how all she wanted was to give him good cheer. She then kissed him on the cheek and smiled at the man, which made him smile warmly; as only a kiss can. She then got up and left and moved off to the side with a silly smile that she didn't try to hide. “Your turn,” the elf said as he neared where Tara stood. “I'll behave too,” she grinned. The elf replied, “That's good.” It wasn't long before she had reached Santa's chair, clearly feeling awkward as she was standing there. “Hello there young lady,” Santa smiled up at her. “Would I be out of line if I was to infer “that the woman I just spoke with came here with you? If I'm right, are you going to kiss my cheek too?” With a small chuckle and smile, “No,” Tara replied. With a smile of his own, “Then feel free to confide “in me what it is that you'd like to get this year.” When she gave no response, “Tell me, what's your name, dear?” “It's Tara,” she said as she continued to stand next to Santa's chair as he gently took her hand. “Well Tara,” he smiled, “what is it that you'd like to have created by my skilled and handy elf crew?” Tara said nothing at first, but her attention was quickly pulled away by the cries of someone. She looked around and saw a woman on one knee, next to a little girl who was looking sadly at the doll in her hands that was missing its head. It wasn't on the doll, but on the floor instead. The woman comforted the child as the girl cried, and held the young one until her tears did subside. The woman then picked up the doll's head before she held out a caring hand and got up from her knee. Holding the girl's hand, the two of them walked away, and Tara stood there without anything to say. Santa saw how Tara was lost in her own head. With some concern in his eyes, “Young lady?” he said. His voice pulled Tara back into reality. She looked at him and gave a quieted, “Sorry.” He could see in her eyes that her thoughts had gone to someplace unpleasant she didn't want to wade through. “You OK?” Santa asked. Tara nodded a bit and said, “Yeah, but I think it's best if I just split.” “Before you leave,” Santa said, “just tell me one thing. For Christmas, what is it that you'd like me to bring?” Tara stayed silent for a short time until she began to speak in a saddened voice quietly. “Bring me a new childhood where I'm not the one who has to play adult when I wasn't ready to. “Or maybe a redo for last year's Christmas day, when some people came to take my father away. “Or at least make it so I don't have to take care of someone who'd be found dead if I wasn't there.” Tara's face saddened as she closed her eyes and said, “But that won't happen, so that Christmas wish is dead.” With a disheartened frown, she took her hand away as her words left Santa unsure of what to say. Without another word, Tara rejoined her friend and their trip to the mall came to an abrupt end. Tara said bye to Sophie and then went back home. Once there, she found her mother had begun to roam around the house looking for some liquor to drink. And the sight of this made Tara's heart quickly sink. That was hours ago, and it made Tara decide that she had to get away and so chose to hide away in her room and pack up the things that she couldn't leave behind as she got ready to flee. And so now there she sat, waiting for when she could get away and leave it all behind her for good. Tara closed her eyes for a few moments until, the smell of that liquor hit and made her feel ill. She could hear her mother Pam, shut the bathroom door. The harsh sounds that came next, Tara tried to ignore. She heard her mother mumble incoherently, and then heard the woman vomit rather loudly. Tara grimaced at the sound; her eyes still closed tight. “C'mon Ray,” she uttered. “I wanna leave tonight.” As if she'd been heard, a pair of honks from outside brought relief to her face as “Oh, thank God,” she sighed. With a quieted quickness, she got to her feet and then snuck down the hall, trying to be discrete. She stepped from the house and gently shut the front door, while the first tears of the night looked ready to pour from her eyes as she made a beeline for the truck, whose passenger door was open so she could chuck her duffel bag in, which Tara did right away. And as she climbed in, she said, “Get me out of here, Ray.” “Sure,” the guy said as he put the truck into gear. “Let's go to my place and get the hell out of here.” The engine revved up and they drove into the night. It was then that Tara finally lost the fight with all the emotions that wanted out of her. Her tears at last fell and the world became a blur as she cried where she sat beside the person who she'd been dating for three years and who'd helped her through ev'rything she'd been forced to witness and endure. Through her tears, Tara said, “Thanks.” And Ray asked, “What for?” “For getting me out of that goddamned house,” she said. “For helping me not have to find my mother dead. “I know this was sudden, and I'm sorry for how you've been pulled into this.” Ray then said, “C'mon now. “You've gone through some shit, and now that shit's hit the fan. You're my girlfriend, and I'll help however I can.” She looked over at him; a sad smile on her face. “So just relax,” he said. “Soon, we'll be at my place.” Back in her mother's house that Tara had just left, the whole place seemed empty and was oddly bereft of any of the sounds that had been there before. It took a few minutes, but soon the bathroom door opened up slowly and out staggered Tara's mom; her hair all messed up, like it had endured a bomb. Pam looked rather drained as she stepped into the hall, her words slurred a little as “Tara?” she did call. When she got no answer, she went to Tara's door. “Tara?” she repeated, her word slurred a bit more. She pushed the door open with, “Tara, I need more Yukon 'cuz I'm out. Will you get some from the store?” It took a few seconds, but she soon noticed there was no sign of Tara in the room anywhere. “Tara?” she called again and when no reply came, “I really not in the mood for this stupid game.” But all that she heard was the silence of her home. It was shortly after that, she'd begun to roam as she tried to find where Tara was in the place. As she did this, anger quickly came to her face. “Goddamn it,” she slurred with a slight shake of her head. She returned to Tara's room and there on the bed sat a folded piece of paper she hadn't seen. Pam went up to the bed of her now missing teen. Pam picked up the paper and opened it to find it was a written note Tara had left behind. “Mom,” it began, “I've decided to move away. Way too much has happened and I just cannot stay “in the house with you anymore, so I've moved in with someone I can trust. Why? Where do I begin? “I was eight when I looked after both you and Dad for the first time after that ev'ning you both had. “My birthday party had just ended when you two chose to get completely trashed by burning right through “all the liquor you had in the house at that time. Someone puked on the floor, and left behind that slime. “I came out and saw it, while you both were in bed. Did I go back to sleep? No. What I did instead “was clean up that mess and keep watch over you two in case someone choked on any vomit that they'd spew. “The next day, you saw the stain and blamed me for what one of you had done during the night before. “From that moment on, you both made me feel like I had to keep watch on you both so you wouldn't die. “Year after year I tried to deal with all that crap, hoping that maybe reality would just slap “you both upside the head and show you that your kid wasn't your damn caretaker. But it never did. “I tried to talk to you both. Dear God, how I tried. But you'd both just dismiss it, and I always cried “when I went to bed those nights, feeling like your maid. For years I put up with the bullshit you displayed “for me that showed how all you both wanted to do was stay shit-faced all the time. That's what I went through “week in and week out until last Christmas Eve night. Dad passed out in his chair, and death snuffed out his light. “He'd been drinking Yukon Jack, and he drank too much. He poisoned himself with his fav'rite liquor crutch. “He died during that night and I spent Christmas day watching the coroner take my father away. “And now here we are, Mom, in the same fucking place. You're still shoving that Yukon Jack shit in your face. “I can't take anymore, so I'm leaving today. I've been put through too much and I refuse to stay. “If you want to keep drinking, then go right ahead. But someone else can be the one to find you dead “in that chair the same way that I found Dad last year. For my own sanity, I have to disappear. “So know that I'm safe, but I won't be coming back. I hope that one day, you'll leave behind Yukon Jack. “I pray someday you'll see what that shit's done to you, before it gets to the point where it takes you too.” Pam's expression went from confusion to sadness, despite just how hard she tried her best to repress the emotions within her that tried to break free. “This can't be right,” she slurred. “Did my daughter leave me?” But those feelings soon faded, and what took their place was anger as a sneer quickly came to her face. “You turn your back on me?” Pam muttered as she threw the letter onto the bed. “Well then, fuck you too.” She stormed down the hallway and stumbled just a bit as she went to her bedroom and dug through the shit that cluttered up her purse until she found her keys. Into the cold night she went, then fell to her knees as she felt her stomach churn right before she blew out her stomach's contents, along with some blood too. She puked a second time as the world seemed to spin. She swayed in place slightly as puke dripped from her chin. It took a solid minute for her to regain her equilibrium, which she tried to maintain as she looked at the mess that she'd made on the ground and how her blood was mixed in. After which, she frowned. “That's not good,” she muttered as she took in the sight. “Maybe a liquor run's not in the cards tonight.” She spat a couple times, then got back to her feet and went to her mailbox that stood along the street. Her mail was collected, and she went back inside; her ire still in place, which she didn't try to hide. She went back to her chair and sat down in a huff before she began to dig through all of the stuff that the mailman had brought her earlier that day. And she did this without a single thing to say. The mail was mostly fliers for sales here and there. Each one selling things, about which, she didn't care. Electronics and shoes, and some gunk for her skin. But as she went through them, things began to sink in. “Hurry!” said one flier. “It's your last chance to save!” Another stated, “Get back what you really crave!” She paused for a moment. Her brow furrowed a bit. She seemed distracted as she continued to sit with the mail on her hands 'till at last she put down what she was holding as she continued to frown. “There must be something on,” she mumbled to no one. She turned on the TV and soon she had begun to flip through the channels 'till she found something to distract her from her thoughts with a, “Guess this will do.” The screen was filled with a well known stop-motion tale; one she hoped would be able to fully derail her unpleasant thoughts that had given her some pause. And so she watched “The Year Without A Santa Claus.” It was on the scene where Mrs. Claus had a chat with Mother Nature and her odd bird's-nest hat. Heat Miser showed up, then Snow Miser did appear, and both got a stern lecture from their “Mother Dear.” As she watched the show, what she had drank took its toll. Her eyelids grew heavy and soon began to stroll downward until, at last, she had closed her eyes and left the waking world as she entered the dreamland. It wasn't long before she awoke and was met by a scene she'd seen on her television set. All around her, things didn't look right to her eyes. It was like they were toys, but blown way up in size. Buildings with thatched roofs, mud walls with embedded stone, but they didn't look like anything she'd been shown at any point in her life, in books or nature. Even supposed wood didn't look right to her. What should have been straw, looked more like big grouped tubes now. The mud walls looked more like paper mache somehow. What were supposed to be stones, were flat bits of wood. Even the ground and trees didn't look as they should. Nearby stood a table with a chair that seemed odd. She went up and touched them, then uttered, “Oh my God!” as she felt how little the two things seemed to weigh. What looked like heavy, thick wood, seemed to betray reality as she asked, her voice holding fear, “Where in God's name am I? And what's going on here?” She looked around again with, “This is a dream, right?” “Not really,” came a man's voice. “It's no dream tonight.” Movement came from the strange cabin that Pam stood near. Its front door swung open and Santa did appear. The pants, coat and hat he wore were red with white trim. They looked like thick felt with how stiff they were on him. A black plastic-like belt went around his belly. His black boots were plastic too, from what she could see. His face was like polished wood which had a beard glued to it as his entire appearance did exude the idea he was someone's over-sized toy. And the sight of him nearing didn't bring her joy. The scene clearly freaked her out as he came outside; a fact that she didn't make an effort to hide. Santa drew closer with each jerky step he took; with movements that gave him a near stop-motion look. Pam watched him come toward her with a stare that was filled with confusion and fear, which continued to build. It took a few seconds, but when her brain kicked in, a memory came to her from when she had been in her chair as she watched a stop-motion kid's show. And this memory helped make her confusion grow. Her gaze fell as ev'rything poked hard at her mind and she uttered, “This is a nightmare of some kind.” “Yes and no,” Santa said. “You're not awake right now, but we're both very real.” Too which Pam asked, “But how?” She returned her gaze to the fat man who grew near. “What's going on Goddamn it, and why am I here? “Why does ev'rything look like that show on TV?” When Santa said nothing, “Goddammit, answer me!” Santa's stop-motion gate soon brought him up to her. He said, “Excuse me as I get changed, as it were.” With a snap of his fingers, ev'rything went dark. Then a second snap came and there was a bright spark that burst into being and which hung in the air as its body gently shimmered while Pam stood there with surprise on her face and some fear in her eyes. After a few moments, the orb began to rise and move slowly toward her 'till it was overhead. With alarm in her voice, “I don't like this,” she said. “You've got nothing to fear, Pam,” came Santa's voice from the darkness before her. “But I'd like you to come over to me so that we can have a short talk.” “About?” she asked nervously. He said, “Please, just walk toward the sound of my voice. I promise you'll be fine.” With little steps, Pam cautiously walked a straight line. As she moved forward, the orb of light did the same and lit a small patch of ground, which for Pam, became the only place she felt safe to put her feet on. For outside of that light, the world was simply gone. No color, no movement, just a void; dark and deep. But steadily forward, Pam continued to creep. Just up ahead of her, fading into the light, was someone who was a rather familiar sight. Santa had begun to come slowly into view. But the man no longer looked like what he used to. Gone was the man that looked like an over-sized doll. He now looked human; with a big belly and all the red, white and black attire that one would expect of the one called St. Nick. And this change did affect Pam as she backed off a couple of steps from him. “Oh God, now what?” she asked, her tone fearful and grim. “It's alright,” Santa said, holding out his right hand. “There's something important we should talk about and look at together for a few minutes my dear.” He brought his hand up more and asked, “Will you come here?” “I um...” Pam uttered as hers eye darted between Santa and the darkness where nothing could be seen. “You're safe with me, Pam,” he said in a calming voice. “I wish you'd walk with me, but you do have a choice. “If you'd like, I could send you back to your old chair so you can continue sleeping as you sit there. “Or, you can come with me so that you can see how someone you know is in a lot of pain right now.” With some hesitation, Pam went up to St. Nick. As she held out her hand, “This best not be a trick.” “It's not,” Santa said as he took her hand in his. “A chance to help someone, is what this moment is.” A single image faded in ahead of her; it was fuzzy and looked like a colorful blur. But as it came closer, the image began to get clearer and more defined the closer it drew. It soon came to a stop a dozen feet away. Pam looked at the image, unsure of what to say. The picture was of a girl who looked eight years old. She was on her knees and was clearly being told to clean up the dark blotch that a rug had on it. The girl looked upset, like she'd been crying a bit, and her eyes were fixed on the woman who stood there in a bathrobe and slippers with tangled up hair. The woman was holding a scrubbing brush out to the girl and pointing at the spot in question too. “I've seen this,” Pam uttered and continued to stare at the photo before her that hung in the air. “That's you and Tara,” Santa factually said. “Taken not long after you'd gotten out of bed “and found a stain that you quickly blamed Tara for. A mess that your husband had made the night before.” “Excuse me?” Pam blurted out. “That's complete bullshit. She had spilled something there and I made her clean it.” “Do you recall the night before?” Santa asked her. Sounding vexed, she replied, “No, I don't remember. “And why would that matter? I told you what she did.” Santa replied calmly, “Let's see what your mind hid “away in a corner over the last decade.” After a moment, the photo began to fade as it was replaced by a movie of some kind; one that stirred up something in the back of her mind. It was like ev'rything was seen through someone's eyes, and this left Pam confused as she struggled to size up what was happening in the scene that played out. But when she heard someone speak, it left little doubt regarding who was involved in what she did watch. She heard a man say, “Oh yeah, this shit is top notch.” “Dale?” Pam faintly said as she continued to stare at the video-like scene that hung in mid-air. Pam then heard her own voice say, “That is very true.” The view then swung over to reveal the man who had spoken, which made Pam's jaw go a little slack. “Dale,” she uttered before he said, “Give me that back.” In the scene, a hand came from below into view. It held out a bottle, and the man said, “Thank you.” Pam watched as he took a big swig of Yukon Jack. And after he had finished, he handed it back. “Thank you my good woman,” the man drunkenly smiled just before he leaned forward and grossly defiled the rug on the floor that was laid before his chair. Then came Pam's voice, “You're done, Dale. Just leave that mess there. “I'll clean that tomorrow, assuming it comes clean,” she said as the view stayed on the large pea soup green stain that he'd just made on the rug between his feet. Pam watched the scene fade as Dale got up from his seat. “The picture I showed you first,” Santa said softly, “was taken by Dale after you initially “had yelled at Tara for the mess she didn't make. She told you the truth, but you called her story fake. “Tara had come out after you two went to bed. Where you had left the mess, Tara chose to instead “try to clean it up before you and Dale awoke. The next morning, you both berated her and spoke “to her like she'd been the one to do something wrong. From there, your eight-year old daughter endured a long “and hard road where she tried to take care of you two so that she wouldn't get blamed for what you'd both do “when you got too drunk and left messes or passed out. And year after year, that's what her life was about.” As Pam stood there, more of such scenes began to fade in from the darkness around her until they'd made a patchwork dome of moments that played around her. As she took them all in, unease began to stir within her as she saw things she couldn't recall. But her voice and husband were present in them all. And then there were the ones where Tara was present. Where the girl got yelled at or wound up being sent to get this or that bottle as her parents drank. Pam's emotions began to churn and her heart sank at how Tara had gone from a happy young child, to a sad and despondent teen who never smiled in any of the scenes that showed her older face. Santa saw this clearly, but he remained in place as he watched Pam become overwhelmed by the sight of what Tara had endured for night after night and day after day for those ten very long years. When Santa at last spoke, Pam started shedding tears. “Tara cleaned up what both you and Dale left behind. The bottles, the vomit, anything she would find. “And on top of that, you know what else she would do? She would spend time each night checking up on you two “to make sure that you both would wake up the next day. That in your sleep, neither of you would pass away “because you choked on anything you'd bring up when you were asleep. She did this again and again “each year without fail. And all she got in return, was your letting the bridge between you and her burn. “And now Tara's left because you wouldn't see how your actions affected her... both back then, and now.” Pam averted her gaze as stood quietly. In time, she asked sadly, “She's gone because of me?” “She is,” Santa replied. “But Dale played a role too. And what happens next, is completely up to you. “You can keep going down the same road you've been on, or you can try to fix things before Tara's gone.” “She's already left,” Pam said in a quiet voice, to which Santa replied, “As I said, it's your choice. “She left you behind, yes, but she's not gone for good. I don't know where she is, but I think that you should.” “What?” Pam said with confusion as she looked at him. “How could I know?” she added, her tone rather grim. “Who would Tara trust?” he asked. “Who would she turn to? I don't have that answer, but I'm guessing you do.” Without another word, Santa brought up a hand. He snapped his fingers, and Pam left the crazy land of darkness and her past as she found her mind hurled back into her chair at home and the waking world. She opened her eyes as she sat up in her chair. And with a puzzled gaze, she quietly sat there for a few minutes before she got to her feet. In her bedroom, she got dressed and then took a seat on the edge of the bed as she put on her shoes. She then went through her home and picked up any booze she was able to find and dumped it in the sink. Once she was done, she said, “That's all of it, I think.” She then put on her coat and went out the front door, only to return and rush to her dresser drawer where she had always kept her purse and her car keys. She mumbled to herself, “Damn near left without these,” as she grabbed those things and went right back out again. She started up her car and shortly after then, she was out on the streets and stopped at ev'ryplace she could think of to check, with worry on her face. With her phone in hand, she went down her contact list of Tara's friends' numbers, making sure none were missed. Pam called a few from her car that she didn't know where they lived. The others? To their homes she did go. At each one, she talked to her daughter's friends as she did her best to locate where her daughter could be. Two had simply told her that Tara wasn't there, while three others gave suggestions regarding where Tara might have gone and to give those spots a try. But Tara wasn't at any place Pam stopped by. By the time Pam returned to her home, it was late, and she felt like she had some unbearable weight that pressed hard on her mind and heart as she sat down in her old chair with a deep and despondent frown. Tara's friends were a bust, and their suggestions too. With tears in her eyes, Pam said, “Tara, where are you?” She dug out her phone and scrolled through her contact list once more to see if there was someone that she'd missed. Numbers and names went by until she reached the last one that had no name with it. “Who's this one?” she asked. She tapped on the contact with a questioning stare. She brought the phone up to her ear, under her hair. The phone rang sev'ral times before someone answered. “Hello?” a man said, but the next thing that she heard was the voice of a woman in the background who asked “Who is it?” and he replied, “I've got no clue.” Pam's eyes grew wider when she heard the woman's voice. She then began to smile in a silent rejoice. “Who is this?” the man asked. Then in a more forceful voice, “You best answer me. I'm not up for some bull-” “You don't know me,” Pam cut in with a pleading tone, “but I'd like you to put my daughter on the phone.” With ire, the man asked, “Who gave my number to you?” “I don't know,” Pam replied. “I was just scrolling through “the contacts on my phone and it was the last one.” “I know who you are,” he spat. “This chat's fucking done.” “DAMN IT WAIT, PLEASE!” Pam yelled. “Please don't hang up the phone! Just let me talk to her, then I'll leave her alone “if that's what she wants. But I need to tell her things and hear what she says... even if what she says stings.” The phone line went quiet. Long enough to scare Pam, before she heard Tara say, “Well Mom, here I am.” “I'm so sorry,” Pam said as her voice cracked a bit. “I know I fucked up. I'm sorry for all of it.” “You're sorry?” Tara said in a near laugh. “Really? That's all you can say after all you did to me? “All the shit that I saw? All the shit I went through? Everything I endured because of Dad and you?! “All the sleep I lost and the times I cried in bed, afraid that I'd wake up and find both of you dead “because of that fucking shit the two of you drank! All I did to help! But all you both did was spank “me and yell at me for the messes you two made! I put up with that shit for a fucking decade!” Pam could hear the pain in Tara's voice before she said, “I know,” in a soft tone. “I know you hate me “and I don't blame you after all that you've been through. All you've seen and heard, and all the punishment too. “But I need you to come home so that we can talk.” “Like I'd ever do that,” Pam heard her daughter balk. “Tara, please,” Pam begged. “I'm asking you to give me a chance to make things right. I swear I will. You'll see. “All the booze in the house has been dumped in the sink, and I'll clean the place up so that it doesn't stink “like an old woman's farts or liquor anymore.” Pam teared up a bit and her throat tightened before she continued with, “Please, just give me a chance to do whatever I need to make it up to you.” For what felt like hours, silence had filled the line. Pam had grown worried when Tara gave a curt, “Fine. See you in the morning,” and hung up afterward. From there, half of the night for Pam became a blurred stretch of frantic actions as she cleaned up the place with a stern look of purpose etched onto her face. By the time four AM finally came to pass, Pam flopped onto her chair as she held a tall glass of water, which she then made quickly disappear. “I forgot how much shit Dale and I had in here,” she grumbled as she sat back while doing her best to catch her breath while she relaxed and tried to rest. She set the glass onto the small table between her chair and Dale's as she sighed, “Got this damn place clean.” She rested her head back and closed her eyes as well. And into an exhausted sleep she quickly fell. The next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes. Sunlight now filled the room, which caught her by surprise. With a groan, she sat up, with, “How long was I out?” She checked her phone's time and let out a panicked shout. “OH SHIT!” she blurted as she stood from her old chair. She ran to the bathroom to pee and brush her hair. Once she had finished, she went back to her seat where an envelope rested on the small table there. “What the...?” she mumbled as picked up what she'd found. The front said “For Pam,” and when she turned it around, the back had no writing and looked to be sealed shut. “Who's this from?” she asked no one as she sat her butt right back down on her chair and took the letter out to see who it was from and what it was about. “Pam,” the letter started. “I hope you're doing well. I have something to share. Something that I should tell “you before you begin to spend this Christmas day with the young, heartbroken woman who's on her way. “What you saw earlier was not quite all that you and your departed husband put your daughter through. “What she endured, left a lot of scars in her mind. So I'm hoping when she gets there, that you will find “the patience and time to let her speak about how much she suffered from when she was eight, until now. “Take this chance to build up what those years took away. Show your daughter how badly you want her to stay “in your life, and that you won't hurt her anymore. Take care of yourself, Pam. Now go answer the door.” A few solid knocks at the door brought Pam to turn her attention to it as a bit of concern built up in her gaze. She set the letter down and was hit with a bright flash just as it left her hand. She then shielded her eyes as the flash came and went. Afterward, she saw that the letter she'd been sent was nowhere to be found. It was just simply gone. She looked confused as she asked, “The hell's going on?” A second knock on the door pulled Pam from her chair. She then pulled open the door to see who was there. The first thing she felt was the cold breeze and chilled air. Then she saw who was giving her an icy stare. Pam stood in place, a bit stunned, despite that she'd known Tara said she'd come by when they'd talked on the phone. “You came,” Pam uttered as she looked at her daughter. But Pam's gaze soon shifted to someone behind her. With Tara was a man Pam had not seen before. Her eyes stayed on him for just a few moments more before Tara spoke up and got Pam's attention. “I'm here,” Tara said coldly. “Let's just get this done.” A sad gaze came to Pam's face as she saw the way Tara's harsh glare told how she didn't want to stay. Pam's sadness soon won out and she began to cry. “Do you hate me?” she wept. Tara gave no reply. “I'm so sorry,” Pam said as tears ran from her eyes. “For all that I did and said that made you despise “your father and I the way that you do right now. I want to fix this, but I... I'm not sure just how.” From there, Pam took Tara into her arms as she continued to cry almost uncontrollably. Tara said nothing as Ray watched with some concern. But in time, Tara held her mother in return. “We've got a lot to discuss,” Tara stated in a tone that wasn't quite as cold as it had been. It took a short time, but Pam soon let Tara go. “Who is he?” Pam asked. “Is he someone I should know?” “He's my boyfriend,” Tara said. “who you've never met.” Pam looked just about as surprised as she could get. “You've been dating?” Pam asked. “For a year,” Tara said. “Since a few weeks before I found my father dead.” Ray chimed in with, “And I know just what she's been through. I'm here so that she won't be left alone with you.” With some anger in her stare, Pam looked right at Ray. “You're calling me a threat to her? How dare you say-” “I'm not saying that,” Ray cut in with a firm tone. “She's been through hell, and didn't want to be alone “here with you while you both talked all of this over. So that's why I've come along, Pam. To support her.” “This is a family matter,” Pam said sternly. “It doesn't involve you, Ray. Just Tara and me.” Tara stated, “He stays and sits in with us, or, I walk away and don't speak to you anymore.” Pam looked annoyed, but sighed with a, “Just come in, please. It's chilly out here, especially with the breeze.” Tara and Ray came in and Pam shut the front door. From there, they all took a seat and began to pour over the last ten years and what Tara went through. The stress, the sadness and the intrusive thoughts too. Many things were shared as Pam and Tara conversed, while Ray simply listened to them talking at first. But in time, he too spoke up ev'ry now and then to say what he'd helped Tara get through each time when she'd go to him so that she could get away from her mom when she was drunk on cheap whiskey or rum. Pam also shared what she'd been through with Dale's demise. The loneliness, loss, and how she came to despise having Dale gone and how Tara avoided her. But now Pam knew how she'd pushed away her daughter. Why Tara had felt like she had to find a way out; to stay away from her mother, who'd curse and shout about things that she did and then blamed Tara for, until Tara just couldn't take it anymore. As they continued to talk time slowly went by. Much stood between them, but Pam and Tara did try to talk without shouting or slinging insults, but it wasn't always easy considering what had gone on for so long over the last ten years. This lead to flared tempers, short breaks and some shed tears. The road ahead seemed daunting for Tara and Pam. With so much to discuss, it was too much to cram into one morning's talk. In time, each knew that they needed some time to think, and so called it a day. What lay ahead for them as a mother and child? Could what pushed them apart ever be reconciled? Who could say for certain, but one thing was quite clear; despite all they'd spoken of they were nowhere near resolving their issues. But at least there was hope. Perhaps they could mend things as they learned how to cope with all the pain-filled times the two had talked about. A long road lay ahead. Of that, there was no doubt. And as their dark past now saw it's first bits of light, Merry Christmas to all. And to all, a good night.

Not sure if my work would qualify in terms of clearing the OCR bar as it were, but I'm interested in this. Hell, I just did a credits remix for the upcoming An OverClocked Christmas album that comes out in a few days (and it ticks off all of the boxes for this project).

Mr. Coop? HA HA! Fuck... now I feel old. You've got four days to finish it and send it if you want to get in on the action. The deadline's 11:59 PM EST on December 20, 2024. If you submit it, make sure to let me know what the remix title is. And don't worry, Mokram, Souperion will be there with us.

Those inboxes aren't going to check themselves, people.

Check up on your lonely PM boxes, remixing people.

Check them PMs, folks.

Check your PMs, remixers.

It's July 7th. It's time for the Summer, baby. We've got heat, we've got humidity, we've got all the things needed to make you feel sticky... and not in a good way. But don't worry, I've got something cool for you. Yepper, it's time to start recruiting for the next An OverClocked Christmas album! We've got over five months before the due date, so let's see how many people are interested in taking part for the seventeenth entry in this (usually) happy, seasonal project. As per the norm, this project is open to any and all OCR members, regardless of whether you're a posted remixer or not. You want info? I got your info right here... When's The Project Deadline?- December 20th, 2024 at 11:59 P.M. EST. This is now a REALLY hard, non-negotiable deadline, since it's very close to Christmas. We've had lots of last-minute entries and updates over the years and, to be perfectly honest, it shouldn't be that way. With months of time, having to hold off as long as possible for people made things pretty hectic for myself and Dyne in the past. Treating this project like a college paper that doesn't get worked on until the last minute got annoying rather quickly when it kept adding up to lots of hurrying year after year, with last second updates to artwork and retagging/reuploading things. As such, you have until one minute before midnight EST on December 20th to get me the final WAV or MP3 of your song. After that, you're shit outta luck until next year. I need time to do everything, including possibly making a little website to host this project if Dyne isn't online for one reason or another. So this deadline's set in stone... PERIOD. What Information Does The Coop Need?- When you send me your final versions, I'll need what name you want to use (real or remixer handle) and the name of your remix. Please, come up with something when you send me links to the file, rather than just giving me a file called "ff6-owa-v3f.mp3" and nothing else. You don't have to tell me what song you're remixing, but I do need a name for the remix. Plus, if you have a website you'd like to pimp, supply that as well and I can add it to the MP3 tags. What Can Be Remixed?- Any song, really. Traditional Christmas carols, video game music, published music by a signed artist, music from TV/cartoons/anime... whatever gets your heart racing and into that Christmas spirit. This isn't an official OCR album, so you can draw from more sources than just VGM. Plus, you can take a non-Christmas tune, like the Main Theme from Space Harrier, Stage 6 Mission 2 from Metal Head, or I Defend STM from Truxton II, and turn it into a Christmasy one. So know that it's not limited only to songs that are Christmas-like to begin with. All that said, do keep in mind that if you want to submit your song to OCR later, you'll need to keep this site's guidelines in the back of your mind. But for this album, you can take it in just about any direction you want and get as crazy as you'd like (but please, no "Silver Bells" done in farts or something). How Long Can My Song Be?- As long as you want it to be. There are no restrictions on this, so whether it's 1:30, or 9:51 with a five minute guitar solo ala Metallica, it's all good. But again, if you want to submit your song to OCR later, keep their guidelines in mind. What Genres Can I Remix In?- Again, the door's wide open here. Rap, Metal, Pop, Piano-solo, Orchestral, Jazz, 8/16-bit, Barber Shop Quartet, A capella, Death Polka... it's up to you where you want to take it. What Format Should I Submit My Song In?- WAV or an MP3 of at least 192KB/s quality. I'll be tagging the MP3s and making MP3s from any submitted wavs, so you don't have to worry about that. But, if you'd like your website to be in the MP3 comments section, be sure to give it to me when you submit your song. How About A Little Music To Get Us In The Mood?- To help everyone along, here's a YouTube list of Christmasy tunes made by Ocre a number of years ago... https://ocremix.org/community/topic/32727-an-overclocked-christmas-~-now-recruiting/?tab=comments#comment-676914 What's The Website's Address Again?- It's got a new home at... http://williammichael.info/aocc/ This album will still be downloaded there as well, as Dyne will continue to host the albums on his site. How Do We Contact This The Coop Person?- If you've got questions, comments, concerns, want feedback, or your track is done and ready to be sent to me, you can PM me here on OCR, or send me an E-mail at thecoopscorner@gmail.com. Just be sure you remember to include a link to your remix, or attach it to your message. So yeah, there you go. You've got over five months to get something done for the lovely people of OverClocked Remix and the billions of listeners around the world who've become followers of our project. Good luck, have fun and make everyone some Nice Work™! Artists involved thus far... The Coop (director, cover artist and remixer) The Vodoú Queen (remixer) colorado weeks (remixer) Dj Mokram (remixer) Souperion (remixer) Seth Skoda (remixer) Lampje4life (remixer) NarnianWarrior (remixer)

Those were all made back in the later 2000s (I want to say 2008/2009-ish... somewhere in there). Those badges started being used on forums around The Web, and they eventually became popular in UnMod for a while. I made a bunch of them for people who asked to have a badge made for them. There were other people making them as well, so it wasn't just me, but I made a something like over 150 I believe.

Now that's it's Christmas, I just wanted to say thanks to anyone who took the time to read through this year's entry. I know it wasn't as grandiose as some of my other ones, or as "deep" story-wise, but hopefully you got some enjoyment out of it. Hope you have a good holiday folks, and Merry Christmas.

Link to the release thread...