Eager Lisa's Ridiculous Aunt

"Does anyone wanna see my impression of my ridiculous aunt?" said Eager Lisa. She was at a party where lots of people were doing their very popular impressions of their ridiculous aunts.

"Anyone?"

No one wanted to see Eager Lisa's aunt impression. She walked toward the bathroom. On the way to the bathroom she passed some popular people at the party doing their impressions of their aunts and getting their backs patted on for doing these impressions.

"Haaa! Ha ha ha!" forced out Lisa, to let them know she enjoyed their aunt impressions. She wanted to get on their good sides so they'd like her aunt impression too. She didn't really think theirs were better than hers. No one noticed regardless. She was upset.

Eager Lisa got into the bathroom. She locked the door. She looked in the mirror, sadness and longing in her eyes. Then she snapped into her ridiculous aunt impression.

"You wown't s'moar p'tayta salid?!" she said in a boisterous loud voice, while pushing out her lips. She put her hands in her hair and pulled it up to make herself look funnier. She said it again.

"You wown't s'moar p'tayta salid!?!"

Lisa waddled her neck, and shook her tush, "You wown't s'moar p'tayta salid?!"

She tried splashing drippy water on her face and saying it louder, "You wown't s'MOAR p'tayta salid?!"

It was no use. Her ridiculous aunt impression was just not funny.

"Knock knock knock" said a knock at the door.
"Deedya fall in!?" said a partygoer at the door in a ridiculous aunt voice.
"Ha ha ha ha!" said other people outside the bathroom, in response to the line about falling in.
"Haa haa!!" overcompensated Lisa, from inside the bathroom, to let them know she was in on the joke too.

Lisa just stood there, holding handfuls of her hair up, water dripping from her face, nothing to contribute, as they knocked and spoke in strange aunt impression voices.

She went home unnoticed. She read her aunt impression bible which she had spent much money on:

She who can perform the finest impression of her ridiculous aunt shall receive all the keys to all the status kingdoms...

She did not understand it. She went to visit her aunt. She was even more saddened to realize that her aunt was not that ridiculous. She did not know where she came up with such an inaccurate impression of her aunt. She didn't even enjoy doing the impression.

Eager Lisa started selling real estate. Because she was so eager she sold a lot and became successful. She met a boring, handsome, to her, husband. She would sometimes do impressions of ridiculous aunts. He would be amused, but mostly because he loved her.

"Hey have you ever thought of doing that impression of a ridiculous aunt for other people?" he asked one day.
"Nope." she responded. But then she turned and winked to all her imaginary party fans.

The Boozey Man's Gift

Drunk Man Milton drank every night when he got home. He chugged it all down. One day he got home and he opened his cabinet and saw his booze bottles were empty. He must have been so drunk the previous night that he put the bottles back in the cabinet.

He looked in another cabinet where he kept booze.

"Shit!" he said.

More empty bottles from other nights he was too drunk to throw them away. 

He opened his wallet to see how much cash he had. 

"Shoot!" he had none. He must have spent it all on other booze that he drank other nights.

He went out to the ATM for more cash. 

"Your account is basically empty." said the ATM machine. 

"Shoot." He must have done something with all that money in his accessible at night bank accounts.

He went asking homeless guys for boozes. 

"I could sure use a little drink, pal." said Drunk Man Milton.

"I could sure use some change, buddy." said the homeless guys, in response.

"I don't have any change, I spent it on booze." said Milton.

"Get out of here ya bum." said the homeless guy, "Go get a job! Then gimme change."

"I'm retired! I worked for my money." said Milton.

"I'm homeless, I drank myself out of a job!" said homeless guy.

"Oh yeah, you think you're better than me, I drank myself out of a liver!" said Milton.

Then it dawned on Milton, he wasn't supposed to drink because he'd had liver surgery and he didn't have money because he'd spent all his money on the liver surgery.  And he didn't remember that he'd done all that because he was having a going away party at work that night, due to his liver operation forcing him into retirement, and at the retirement party he drank too much.

"Oh yeah..." he said. "I'm not supposed to drink anything at all!" said Milton.

"Uh oh. I'm almost there too." said the homeless guy.

"Shoot! I must have spent it on that liver operation." he remembered out loud.

Then the homeless guy gave him a swig of booze to be nice and then Milton went home and died. It wasn't super sad for him though because he was so drunk he forgot to have regrets.

His son Carlton looked for money in his will.

"Oh shoot! He must have spent all his money on his booze, then on a liver operation. And invitations to his big retirement party." Carlton, the son, was rather estranged.

"It's not sad that he died, and didn't leave me anything, it's sad that we lost touch. I could have gotten to know the man." 

Then he looked at the dated wallpaper and remembered his youth. That was all Carlton had. He thought it was very poetic. He wrote a song about it and sang it at a coffee shop.

"Hey man that was a real tender song, brother." said a guy with one of those lower lip dot goatees. This was the 90s.

The song had sensitive and poignant lyrics like Dad, I didn't know you well... and Dad, I know you liked to drink. Carlton sang it a lot with the style that was very popular for that time period. It was just a simple song about his dad, but people mistook it for Christian Rock. And Carlton made a little money in the Christian Rock circuit as a result. 

Milton looked down from our warm heaven and smiled. "That's my final gift to you, son." he said, from heaven.

Scumboys Make it Big

Bart Schrim was a big dreamer. He had pimples for sideburns, a sweaty brow, and a few wiry-chest-hair-revealing top buttons open on his dirty shirt.

Muck Bledsoe was big spitter. He had brown teeth, a mouth that seemed to always be open, a fat bottom lip, and an upper lip that naturally exposed his front teeth without him trying. He'd chuckle and you'd see those teeth and just imagine 'em doing and chewin' on dirty things.

These guys were the scum of the earth.
"I'm onna be a star." said Bart.
"I'm hungry!" said Muck.
"Let's go to Taco Barn!" they said.
Taco Barn was a fast food joint where they served shitty food. Lots of people ate there.

They started walking to Taco Barn.
"Hey I smell bad!" said Muck, as he sucked in sniffs from his exposed armpit.
"Lemme see!" said Bart.
Bart put his face in Muck's pit and sniffed up all the air around it, "It kinda reminds me of a pretty lady's dirty crotch. Ha ha ha ha ha!"
"Hey, you're right!" said Muck.
They both walked down the street sniffing at Muck's armpit and bumping into people from not watching where they were going.
"Watch it, pisshead!" they'd say to the scared bumpers.

By the time they got to Taco Barn they both had dirty rotten boners from fantasizing about the armpit smell. Muck wore sweatpants, so his boner was visible. Bart had denim shorts, so his was less visible. Bart saw the line at the counter and lost his dirty boner, because he hated a fucking line. Muck's sweatpants boner stayed for a bit.
"Psst!" said Bart to Muck.
"What!?" said Muck.
"I hate lines, let's rob this place." said Bart.
"I forgot my gun, but I still got my boner!" said Muck.
"Okay use that." said Bart.

Bart shot a bloody snot rocket into his left hand, and raised it in the air. It was bloody because the air had been dry lately. Muck put his hands around his sweatpants boner and pretended it was a gun.

"Aright you hairy piglets, we're robbin' your Taco Barn! I got a bloody booger hand, and my partner here has a gun!" shouted Bart, "W'ain't afraid to use 'em."
"We want all the money, and two tacos!" said Muck, as he pointed his sweatpants boner gun at frightened families and taco eaters.

The employees readied fresh tacos and a wad of cash for the boys, when all the sudden Muck had a bowel movement.
"Hold up! Stop. I just doo'd'eed my goddamn undies so I don't want the money." Shouted Muck.
"Ya hear that folks?" said Bart, "He already got his satisfaction, who here wants to see the result?!"

Muck went around shakin' his filthy bottom to all the appalled patrons and giggling about it.
"How bout you, lady? You wanna see?" Jeered Bart. "And YOU, Mister!" He said to another guy.
No one wanted to.

Muck continued to wiggle gracefully.
"Damnit Muck, you are so fucking talented! I'm talented too. Anyone here want to see my talent?!" Bart shouted to the restaurant, "Here goes. Ladies, pay extra special attention..."

Then Bart grabbed a random taco off a seated customer's plate and held it up for all to see.
"This is a girl's crotch!" said Bart, pointing to the taco. Then he stuck his tongue out, through his closed lips, and wiggled it up and down, knocking out the taco meat. "Ha ha ha ha! Tastes pretty good," laughed Bart.

"Anyone gonna put me an' Bart on TV for our talent?!" asked Muck.

Shirtless Shirley, who never took her shirt off, was pretty shy. She was sitting right there at Taco Barn. She had speckles and freckles, and was a red pepper redhead. Shirley had tits like pancake flaps, which is why she'd hide 'em. She thought she had to have TV tits, like the TV girls. Instead, to her shameful chagrin, she had flappy town tits.

"Ow bout you, sweet pee-pee? You gonna put us on TV?" said Muck.
"I ain't got a station... but I could help." said Shirtless Shirley.
"You gon' join'ar gang?" said Bart, real scummy like.
"Um, I'd like to." said Shirtless Shirley.
"How bout you thrash the irony of why they call you Shirtless Shirley, then?" said Bart.

Shirtless Shirley removed her shirt and exposed her freckly flappy pancake shaped tit flaps, for the first time without shame. She was exhilarated to be part of the filth.
"Those fucking tits look just like pancakes, don't they?" said Muck.
"Hey cashier, how bout some maple syrup for these pancakes over here!? Ha ha ha." shouted Bart.
"We don't serve breakfast after 10am." said the cashier.
Muck threateningly pointed his slightly more flaccid boner gun at the cashier and screamed "How bout now, piss eater?!"
"Okay, okay, whatever you say." said the cashier.

He returned with many plastic packets of breakfast syrup. They poured 'em all over Shirtless Shirley's flap tits, slapping the sticky syrup everywhere, continuing to make the pancake comparison.
"Who's got bacon!" shouted confident Shirley.
"We do!" said Bart and Muck.

Then they heard a siren coming. The three of them left at once. A news crew chased them for a few minutes. They had forgotten to eat, which was the original plan.

They ran into the filthy orange setting sun, and had a disgusting, perverted, piggish, masturbation with coughed-up stomach-bile, causing painful burns of the urethra, jealousy-fueled love triangle. Which resulted in multiple robberies, the death of Muck, the death-row incarceration of Bart, and the rehabilitation of Shirley, where she received stiff-looking, gravity-defying breast implants, and an appearance on a high-quality day-time talk show.

Friendship at a Nervous Party

Grenda went to the nice party she cared about. She wore her favorite dress that had a flower pattern on it. The rest of it was white, and the flower was green. Are there green flowers? Well there was on this dress.
"Your dress is pretty." said Danielle, who also had a pretty dress.
Danielle was hoping for a compliment back.
"Oh... thank you." said Grenda.

Danielle hung on the silence with her eyes open, staring, not blinking, eager to say thank you to a counter-compliment. Grenda stiffened her nasal-labial folds, those are the creases in the face beside the nostril holes and mouth corners, in case you didn't know what those were. Grenda was unaware she was doing this with her face. She thought she was masking her social discomfort with a natural looking expression. Danielle could tell that she'd made Grenda uncomfortable with her compliment expectations. Danielle immediately retreated to a feeling of shame, her face made an expression that conveyed discomfort. She shriveled and shrank. Grenda noticed.
"Um... I better go eat a piece of cheese." said Danielle, and she quickly ran to the snack table and ate cheese pieces to shut the worry in her brain off.

Grenda watched Danielle walk away, but assumed Danielle's exit had more to do with Grenda's social anxiety, and less to do with Danielle's discomfort. In fact, Grenda had no idea Danielle had any discomfort.
"See ya..." mumbled Grenda.
Grenda looked down in embarrassment. Then she spotted a stain on her dress. It was from some dip she ate earlier. At the cheese table.

Grenda was mortified. She immediately became suspicious that when Danielle complimented her dress, she was actually being sarcastic and making fun of her. The thought of being made fun of caused Grenda to furrow her brow. She didn't like the idea of being made fun of. Just then, Grenda decided to move in a new life direction. Grenda marched up to Danielle, who was nervous shoveling cheese into her mouth.

"Hey." said Grenda.
"Gasp, hi, you startled me." said Danielle, with a mouth full of cheese.
"Did you see I have a stain? On my dress?" blurted out Grenda.
Danielle looked at the stain, surprised.
"So you do." said Danielle.
"Were you making fun of me?" asked Grenda.
"No, no. I really like the dress. It's pretty." said Danielle.
"Why'd you run away from me? I thought it was because you couldn't contain your laughter after sarcastically complimenting my dress." said Grenda, her voice cracking.
"No," responded Danielle,  "I ran away because I hoped you'd compliment my dress. And you didn't..."
"Oh." said Grenda.
"Yeah." said Danielle.

They both looked down and frowned.
"I'm so sorry. I was only thinking of myself..." said Grenda, as Danielle looked up, "I actually really love your dress. Maybe we could become nice friends and I could borrow it sometime?" Grenda suggested.
"As long as you're not just being my friend to borrow the dress..."
"That's such a negative place to immediately go." said Grenda.
"I know, you're right." said Danielle.
"We sure are being honest with each other." said Grenda
"Yeah, it's because of the alcohol we had, probably." said Danielle, a bit tipsy.
"This is a really nice cheese table, huh?" noticed Grenda, changing the subject.
"Let's eat more cheese!" said Danielle.
"Yeah!" They cheered.

They ate so much cheese they got sick, but happy-sick. Everyone at the party was like, "Damn those girls ate all the cheese!"

They ate tons of cheese. Then they balanced out all the cheese eating by getting really drunk and becoming good friends.

They made plans to stay good friends. But the technology collapse of 2017 happened a week later and they had no idea how to get in touch with each other. Cellphones and computers stopped working and became obsolete, and they were so enjoying their openness with one another they never got around to discussing their day jobs.

Grenda and Danielle both hoped they'd meet each other again, because of their positive experience. They didn't. But they always remembered each other's affect on the other. The major life changing risks they took that night would serve them in situations throughout their lives.

Danielle had a son and named him Grenda, as a tribute. Grenda had a bowl of cheese. She ate the whole thing in one sitting.

Hans the Beauty

Hans looked at his face in the mirror. He liked what he saw. He loved what he saw. He felt invigorated by it and prideful. Hans had always been pleased with the reflection of his face, and had a growing interest in it, but he could no longer contain his enthusiasm for it. It was glorious. He turned his face from side to side, slowly surveying his bone structure from each angle.
"Flintrick, come here at once." said Hans to a passing Flintrick.
Flintrick came and stood before the magnificent reflection of Hans.
"Look at it."
"Yes?"
"It is perfection, yes?"
"What?"
Hans, transfixed, touched his finger to the spot on the mirror where his reflection was shown, and zoned out.
"This..." he muttered under his breath.
"The mirror? Pardon?" said Flintrick.
Hans said nothing, hypnotized.
"Well, I've got go." said Flintrick.

"Behold it!" Hans said to the world. He dominated conversations, never allowing discussions to stray far from the topic of his face.
"Thank goodness for my face, for what would the people enjoy, if not it?" he'd say.

Hans also believed himself the perfect gentleman. When he met new upper class patrons and duchesses, rather than kissing their fingers, or shaking their hands, he would bow his head into their hand and allow them to caress. He felt he was being generous.
"You may touch my face." he would say.
"Oh..." many would say, with composed confusion.

He'd no interest in using his hands for general activity, only his face. One would think he'd be more protective of his asset, but the sensitivity one feels in hands, he preferred to experience at the touch of his cheeks and closed eyes. It was sensual.

Hans went everywhere, extending his neck in public places, allowing his face to catch the light, hoping for more adequate appreciation for his glistening beauty. He refused to believe his face wasn't getting the attention that it wasn't getting.
"Everyone loves it." He told himself.

He knew in his heart, his face was a blessing to all, and acted accordingly. Yet, what he could not understand was that, while relatively appreciated in his public circles, he was not pored over and beheld in the manner he saw most fitting. He required constant stares, the stopping of traffic, the holding of breath. He deserved it.

Hans' confused infuriation began to grow. Not yet fully blossomed, it clashed with his beauty.

One day, he gazed in the mirror, the finest mirror money could buy, illuminating his face with moody oil lamps. He examined the sleek curves of his lips and cheeks for the thousandth time, as the flame light tinkled about the room.
"Pleasure. Exquisite pleasure..." he whispered to his face's reflection. His vain ecstasy turned to a frustrated fury boil. Where was his reward?
"Why do they deny us the worship, we are entitled!?" He exploded, as he pounded his fist on the vanity table. The rattle of the fist pound caused a tip of the oil lamp, causing a spill of oil atop the lamp's flame, igniting a larger flame into Hans' beautiful face. His face burned and burned and burned.

He spent months in recovery, covered in bandages. When he awoke he had blocked out what happened. His brain clung to his mental state prior to the accident.
"I'm beauty. I define it." he told his doctors and friends.
"Very true..." They responded.

Hans' brain was in denial that he was a frightful and hideous victim of burn. Therefore, he still believed himself deserving of the most vigilant and immediate recognition. And it came more than ever. Anywhere he went he was met with stares of disbelief. His life was complete.

On his deathbed he finally coped with the accident that had long ago destroyed his face, and that the stares he received were not gazes of enchantment, but fixes of terror. This revelation gave him a heart attack, then he died.

Pink Cake, Blue Cake

Randy the Man and Martha the Woman's romance relationship was in trouble. They went to talk it out at a place in public one evening where couples went. They were trying to have a serious talk, but the music was so loud that Randy couldn't concentrate. He started yelling so she could hear him. Their conversation was also going in a serious direction, so it was easy for Martha to mistake the yelling for anger rather than volume.
"I feel like you don't hear what I say anymore!" complained Martha, under the noise.
"I can't hear what you're saying!" yelled Randy.
"You need to pay better attention to my needs." said Martha.
"What is this krap!!?" yelled Randy as he pointed to the invisible music.
"You think what I'm saying is krap?!" said Martha, hurt.
"No, I'm talking about the music!" yelled Randy.
"I can't hear you over the music!" said Martha.

They left and had a real good laugh about the misunderstanding with the music. Things seemed okay.

One day Martha the Woman wanted Randy the Man to help her bake a cake with blue frosting. Randy the Man was comfortable in his masculinity and had no problem helping with cake bakes. He also loved the taste of cake. The only problem was Randy had the manly task of fixing some stuff in the bathroom that he'd been meaning to fix for a while. Martha didn't mind fixing bathroom stuff, even though it was a manlier job, but she was busy baking her blue woman cake that day. Randy decided to forego bathroom repair.

"I'll help you bake the blue cake." said Randy.
"That's so sweet of you. Almost as sweet as good cake, hehe." said Martha.
"Well as long as it doesn't taste like that awful, shitty cake place in Los Angeles, California, on Melrose Ave, called Sweet Lady Jane, that's managed by an older, longwinded guy, with a grayish beard and longer hair, named Arnie, who brags about famous basketball players ordering special cakes there, but the cakes use too much oil, have a lousy texture, bitter frosting, and leave an overrated, bad taste in your mouth!" said Randy.
"Ha, don't worry. I know that terrible man and place you're talking about. It'll easily be better than that." said Martha.
"I've heard from many reliable sources that that guy Arnie is a real psycho, in addition to being an asshole." added Randy.
"Let's not worry about him or that place. Despite the satisfaction we would have if it went out of business, or if he stubbed his toe so hard it broke, giving him months of displeasure, someone who seems so miserable must surely live a miserable life. Try to remember that."
"What a wise thing for you to say, Martha."
"He's definitely a piece of rubbish though, haha." added Martha, who was British, hence her use of the word 'rubbish'.

Randy helped Martha with the cake. His job was to make the blue frosting. He hastily put a wrong ingredient in there, because he's a man, ya know? And the blue frosting exploded in his face, covering it, his shirt, and stuccoing the kitchen walls.
"Oh great!" said Martha, "that's just like you to do that."
"Cut me some slack!" said Randy.
"I was going to cut you some cake, but looks like it'll be a bit longer. Go wash up." said Martha.

Randy went into the bathroom, he looked like a drippy blue alien. He reached for the faucet knob and turned it.
"Drip. Drip. Drip." said the faucet.
"Uh oh." said Randy.
Randy turned the knob back and forth.
"Drip. Drip. Drip." is all the faucet said. It needed fixing.

"What's taking so long in there?" said Martha, who needed to bake her cake.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap..." said her stern foot, as she anxiously awaited his cleanly return.
"I didn't fix the sink yet!" said Randy, who could not see, because his eyes were spackled with blue. Martha continued to tap her foot.

The "Tap, tap, tap..." and the "Drip. Drip. Drip." began to blend together in a beautiful harmony, the tapping, representing her frustration with him, the dripping, representing the result of his procrastination and occasional incompetence. Randy reached for a cabinet handle that Martha had locked earlier, to get a towel for his face.
"Ricket, ricket, ricket." said the locked cabinet, as Randy pulled the handle. This noise was to be attributed to both of them, as she'd locked the cabinet for no discernible reason beyond 'over organization', and he was the one pulling on the handle. The "Ricket, ricket, ricket," laid over the tapping and dripping, created an even more perfect, natural, untrained, musical slice of life.

The numbing cacophony continued for who knows how long? It seemed to get louder. Couples from the whole building began to file into their apartment, to do a tribal, unchoreographed Hora-like dance to their beat.

Some couples came in to talk out their relationship problems, but it was too loud and they misunderstood each other. Later everyone ate the finished cake then continued on with their lives.

The Wacky Living Situation

Grumpo Dingboat was a grumpity curmudgeon with a furrowed brow.
"Mehh." he said, and "Hmmphh." he'd say, and "Pftt!" he'd go.

Winky Hapster was a happy chirpy guy who was easy to please and liked it all.
"Ooh lovely!" he'd say, and "You look wonderful!' he'd go, and "Feelin' great!" he'd declare.

Well they were friends, Winky and Grumpo. And one day they got in a situation, because of finances, wives leaving, and a person dying, and a confusing clause in a will, and strange unheard of stipulation in a city ordinance of the land where the building resided, of the lease they'd just signed, where they had to live together!

"Well guess we are stuck living together!" said chipper Winky.
"Mehh." said Grumpo.
"We'll have to make the most of it!"
"Pfft!" said Grumpo.
"Let me know if you need anything."
"Hmmphh." said Grumpo. Grumpo wasn't a mean guy or an asshole he just spoke in grumbles and groans. Winky and Grumpo knew each other well so they had a short hand.

One day they were eating food together that Winky made, because Winky was nice, and he loved to cook. Grumpo had had a long day at work. They ate the food together. Grumpo sat quietly. Winky rambled.
"And this man was so sweet, so I was sweet back. Then he held the door. Then a woman walked through and I held the door for her. I winked at her. Then I saw another nice man and we shook hands," continued Winky. "So the next day I brought that man a zucchini bread, I made sure it was moist enough to give out! Hey did I tell you I love my cousin who is a physical therapist?"
"Mehhh." said Grumpo, as he shoveled Winky's food in his mouth.

Winky and Grumpo seemed to have nothing in common. Sometimes Grumpo would make a mess and Winky would politely and happily clean it up. They were what you might call and an Odd Pairing! But their living situation worked very easily.

One time Winky and Grumpo were walking down the street together as friends. A nosey man they knew stopped them.
"Hey Winky and Grumpo, I hear you guys live together, that must get pretty tense, you guys are quite different, huh?
"Mehh."
"No, we actually have a great living situation, we get along, enjoy each other's company and everything!" said Winky.
"Oh. I would have thought because you guys are different that maybe you don't get along."
"I see how you could think that, but we get along very well!" said Winky.
"Okay. Well, see you." said nosey guy.

So a couple of years later the thing that made it so they had to live together ended, and they moved out. They stayed friends but didn't see each other as much.

One time they were both walking down the street, ran into each other, and started chatting.
"Grumpo, everything is going great with me and I'm feeling great today. What about you?"
"Pffft. Mehh.." said Grumpo.
"Well let me tell you more! Bla bla bla." said Winky with much enthusiasm.
Just then, the nosey guy from before ran up and interrupted them, "Hey Winky and Grumpo! I heard you two don't live together any more! Did you guys have a falling out?"
"Nopey we sure didn't." said a happy Winky.
"Oh," said the nosey man, "well I heard you guys got along real well, even though it seemed like you wouldn't get along."
"Yes that's true."
"Did you find that once you separated that your lives felt like they were missing something and you were longing for each other?" asked the nosey man.
"No, everything is fine for both of us!" said Winky.
"Oh I see..." said the nosey man.
"Hmmphh." said Grumpo
"Well you guys still seemed like a real unexpected and unlikely couple of friends." said the nosey man.
"Mehh." said Grumpo.
The nosey man walked away.

Grumpo was also big and Winky was smaller. A different lady walked past them and said "Hey you two are a Strange Duo!"

Then a street musician played a riff on a soprano saxophone that really matched Winky and Grumpo's dynamic.