Jack's saw shop macon ga

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

Hello, I am here to vent about my long distance relationship and I am honestly looking for a little unbiased guidance in what to do. So my 20m LD boyfriend has been breaking promises about him getting a job for nearly a year.
I 20f started dating my 20m boyfriend about a year and a half ago. At the time that we started dating he held a job stocking shelves in the same town I lived in. He held this job about 3 months into our relationship and then he quit it. For the next 2 months he lied to his dad (who he was living with) about still working there and at nights he would sneak over to a friend house and stay the night. I never encouraged him to lie to his father, but i saw it as not being my business on what he tells his father so i stayed out of it. Eventually his father found out one when he went to the place his son worked and tried to use his employee discount. This ensued in a large fight between the two and my boyfriend was told he needed to get a job or go back to school to continue staying with his dad. His stepmom shortly finds him new job after this conflict takes place. He worked there for about 2 weeks before he is fired. This job was different, he had insurance, PTO, and was working only part time and made 20 an hour. He was fired for not calling in sick when he was sick (totally reasonable imo) when this happened i tried to be there for him and this time to avoid a massive fight i suggested he tell his father what happened. Instead he ran away from his dads house to mooch off of a friend. The friend tells him that he can’t stay permanently so my boyfriend calls his mom in Oregon (about 6 hours from where I live) and she says that he can stay with her. Though it was hard, I understood that he could only live permanent up there without the “harsh rules” from his father. My boyfriend doesn’t own a car so his mom offers to get him a plane ticket to make the trip up to oregon, but he insists she drive 6 hours down to where we live and 6 hours back because it would be more comfortable for him. (red flag 1) she complies despite the fact she is low income and working full time. When he gets there he is given the bedroom she was sleeping in which forces his mother to sleep on the couch (red flag 2) So a little less then 6 months into our relationship and we are now long distance. I bring up the fact of a job and he tells me he needs a month to recover from the situation that he just went through, which at the time seemed reasonable to me and i don’t press any future. The next month I bring it up again and he says how his grandfather offered him a welding job that pays very well and all he needed to do was to go on an interview. He goes on the interview, nails it and is told to contact the boss and then they will start him off. He never calls the boss, at the time I was reminding him everyday to call the guy. But my boyfriend would ignore me and sleep until 9 at night, and then spend the night playing CSGO and League. (red flag 3) It gets to the point where he’s needed to call this guy for a month and my boyfriend breaks down and blames his depression. Being someone who struggles with mental health issues I totally understand and I try to console him the best I can being 6 hours away. He tells me that he needs another month. I go along with it.
Meanwhile, during all of this I have been at a foodservice job and going to school full time. I was presented with a change in fields, either I can manage this pizza shop and work and work 40+ hours a week or work at the post office part time and instead have more time for school. I talk to him about this and we come up with a plan where I stay at the pizza shop to save up a bunch of money so we both can move in together while he gets a job in Oregon and saves up a bunch too. He promises me that he is ready and will get it for me this time. I manage to save up 500$ a check, and at the time of writhing this puts me at about 6000$ in my savings meaning that he made this promise to me approximately 24 weeks ago or 6 months. (and mind you it was a pinky promise)
During our LD part of the relationship I have traveled to see him three times, all three times paying for everything that either of us want to go do, eat, or wherever we stay while on our trips. He has also made it down to where I live twice, Both times his train ticket being paid for my his mom, grandparents, and father. And while he is down here, anything he needs is paid for my me, i grocery shop for him while he stays at my mothers house with me, i let him use my car while i work, with the gas that I pay for. He has shelved no expense. But he should have money to pay for some things because i was sending him 200$ a month for his own food because he always told me how his mom could never shop and he was always hungry. (because she was working full time and supporting 3 other people) Later of which I found out the money was going twords CSGO. (red flag 4) of which i forgave him for. technically i gave him the money and he could do whatever he wanted with it so who am i to be mad at where it goes. Which of course during this time he would tell me he was searching for a job. During these 6 months my expenses would go to: 1000 for my saving, 200 to him, and 800 for my personal expenses, (school bills, car payment, insurance, phone bill, gas, and food) So again, i tried to be as helpful as I could and tried to give him the most comfortable circumstances to look for a job in.
So needless to say I am tired of supporting him at this point. I had cut off the cash supply, and this January around our one year anniversary I confessed I was tired to him and I told him he needed to get a job by April. (which gives him another 3 months to find a job). Now here we are, March 20th, 11 days away from April where he still doesn’t have a job.
Would I be an asshole for breaking up with him over this? I’m just tired of him lying to me about getting a job. I really feel like i’ve fought for this relationship while he’s done nothing and just taken advantage of the kindness from everyone around him. Would I be the asshole of I broke up with him over this? I’m just worried it really is a mental health thing and he will paint me to be the villain.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

​
When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.

i started being a regular at a coffee shop and this barista was over friendly with me and also chatty. so after a month or so i finally asked her out but she told me that she is not available at the moment. then after a couple of months she started being over friendly again so i thought that she was inviting me ask her out again. I found her instagram and i wrote to her that she is amazing and i really wanna get to know her but she didn't respond and then when i saw her again at the coffee shop she started saying that she received my message and thanks for the compliment then she mumbled something that i didn't hear, i was shy to ask her what she said so i let it go. but then i was thinking if i've missed my opportunity with her and started sending her a lot of messages telling her how much i liked her and finally she responded that she is friendly with all costumers and she doesn't want anything else with me. Was this a losing case from the beginning?

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I pay with the following:
TF2 & PayPal
 

I BUY HB Games	with TF2	with PayPal	Currently Active Humble Bundle?
- Ratz Instagib -	0.8 TF2	$1.67 PP	-
140	0.6 TF2	$1.13 PP	-
20XX	0.4 TF2	$0.86 PP	-
5D Chess With Multiverse Time Travel	2.5 TF2	$5.03 PP	-
60 Parsecs!	0.7 TF2	$1.51 PP	-
7 Billion Humans	1.4 TF2	$2.83 PP	-
7 Days to Die	1.2 TF2	$2.56 PP	-
A Game of Thrones: The Board Game - Digital Edition	1.7 TF2	$3.37 PP	-
A Hat in Time	6.0 TF2	$12.35 PP	-
A Juggler's Tale	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
A Plague Tale: Innocence	1.5 TF2	$3.17 PP	-
AMID EVIL	0.6 TF2	$1.15 PP	-
AO Tennis 2	0.7 TF2	$1.35 PP	-
Absolver	1.2 TF2	$2.48 PP	-
Age of Empires Definitive Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.87 PP	-
Age of Empires III: Definitive Edition	1.7 TF2	$3.44 PP	-
Age of Wonders III Collection	0.9 TF2	$1.81 PP	-
Age of Wonders: Planetfall - Deluxe Edition	0.4 TF2	$0.9 PP	-
Age of Wonders: Planetfall	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
Airport CEO	1.0 TF2	$2.09 PP	-
Alien: Isolation	1.7 TF2	$3.56 PP	-
Aliens: Colonial Marines Collection	1.3 TF2	$2.75 PP	-
Amnesia: The Dark Descent	0.7 TF2	$1.4 PP	-
Among Us	1.5 TF2	$2.96 PP	-
Among the Sleep - Enhanced Edition	0.4 TF2	$0.83 PP	-
Ancestors: The Humankind Odyssey	2.0 TF2	$4.13 PP	-
Aragami	0.5 TF2	$0.93 PP	-
Arizona Sunshine	2.0 TF2	$4.12 PP	-
Arma 3 Apex Edition	1.6 TF2	$3.23 PP	-
Arma 3 Contact Edition	2.3 TF2	$4.79 PP	-
Arma 3 Jets	1.0 TF2	$1.97 PP	-
Arma 3 Marksmen	0.8 TF2	$1.62 PP	-
Arma 3	1.7 TF2	$3.56 PP	-
Assetto Corsa Competizione	2.6 TF2	$5.24 PP	-
Assetto Corsa Ultimate Edition	2.7 TF2	$5.59 PP	-
Automobilista 2	3.4 TF2	$6.98 PP	-
Autonauts	0.4 TF2	$0.83 PP	-
BATTLETECH - Mercenary Collection	1.2 TF2	$2.4 PP	-
BIGFOOT	4.2 TF2	$8.67 PP	-
BIOMUTANT	2.0 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$4.2 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Choice (Mar 2023)
BPM: BULLETS PER MINUTE	0.6 TF2	$1.2 PP	-
BROFORCE	1.1 TF2	$2.18 PP	-
Baba Is You	1.4 TF2	$2.84 PP	-
Back 4 Blood	4.8 TF2	$9.86 PP	-
Bad North: Jotunn Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.73 PP	-
Baldur's Gate II: Enhanced Edition	0.4 TF2	$0.78 PP	-
Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition	0.4 TF2	$0.9 PP	-
Bang-On Balls: Chronicles	2.9 TF2	$5.99 PP	-
Banished	2.1 TF2	$4.31 PP	-
Barotrauma	1.4 TF2	$2.97 PP	-
Batman - The Telltale Series	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
Batman Arkham Collection	1.2 TF2	$2.4 PP	-
Batman: Arkham Knight	0.6 TF2	$1.22 PP	-
Batman: The Enemy Within - The Telltale Series	1.0 TF2	$2.03 PP	-
Batman™: Arkham Knight Premium Edition	1.4 TF2	$2.93 PP	-
Batman™: Arkham Origins	0.6 TF2	$1.21 PP	-
Batman™: Arkham VR	0.6 TF2	$1.17 PP	-
Battlefleet Gothic: Armada II	1.5 TF2	$3.09 PP	-
Battlefleet Gothic: Armada	0.8 TF2	$1.7 PP	-
Battlestar Galactica Deadlock	0.5 TF2	$1.0 PP	-
Battlezone Gold Edition	2.0 TF2	$4.17 PP	-
Besiege	1.6 TF2	$3.25 PP	-
Beyond Blue	2.0 TF2	$4.04 PP	-
Beyond The Wire	0.4 TF2	$0.78 PP	-
Beyond Two Souls	1.7 TF2	$3.56 PP	-
BioShock Collection	1.0 TF2	$2.11 PP	-
BioShock Infinite	0.9 TF2	$1.76 PP	-
Bioshock Infinite: Season Pass	0.8 TF2	$1.54 PP	-
Blacksad - Under the Skin	0.5 TF2	$0.93 PP	-
Blair Witch	1.1 TF2	$2.27 PP	-
Blood Bowl 2 - Legendary Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.75 PP	-
Blood Bowl 2	0.5 TF2	$0.99 PP	-
Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night	1.7 TF2	$3.53 PP	-
Boomerang Fu	0.6 TF2	$1.27 PP	-
Borderlands 2 VR	3.6 TF2	$7.39 PP	-
Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe Edition	2.9 TF2	$6.02 PP	-
Borderlands 3	1.5 TF2	$3.0 PP	-
Borderlands 3: Director's Cut	1.5 TF2	$3.06 PP	-
Borderlands: The Handsome Collection	3.1 TF2	$6.33 PP	-
Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel	0.6 TF2	$1.17 PP	-
Brutal Legend	0.6 TF2	$1.21 PP	-
Bully: Scholarship Edition	3.0 TF2	$6.1 PP	-
Bus Simulator 18	1.7 TF2	$3.56 PP	-
CHUCHEL Cherry Edition	0.5 TF2	$0.95 PP	-
Call of Cthulhu	1.0 TF2	$2.06 PP	-
Call of Duty: WWII	12.5 TF2	$25.54 PP	-
Call of Juarez: Gunslinger	0.6 TF2	$1.18 PP	-
Call to Arms - Basic Edition	2.3 TF2	$4.79 PP	-
Call to Arms - Gates of Hell: Ostfront	5.4 TF2	$10.98 PP	-
Car Mechanic Simulator 2018	0.9 TF2	$1.83 PP	-
Carcassonne - Tiles & Tactics	0.6 TF2	$1.19 PP	-
Celeste	2.7 TF2	$5.44 PP	-
Chess Ultra	0.7 TF2	$1.44 PP	-
Children of Morta	0.7 TF2	$1.51 PP	-
Chivalry 2	3.2 TF2	$6.54 PP	-
Chivalry: Medieval Warfare	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
Chronicon	1.6 TF2	$3.18 PP	-
Cities: Skylines Deluxe Edition	1.4 TF2	$2.93 PP	-
Clone Drone in the Danger Zone	3.1 TF2	$6.29 PP	-
Code Vein	2.0 TF2	$4.09 PP	-
Coffee Talk	2.0 TF2	$4.12 PP	-
Company of Heroes 2 - Ardennes Assault	1.8 TF2	$3.71 PP	-
Company of Heroes 2 - The Western Front Armies	0.8 TF2	$1.72 PP	-
Company of Heroes 2	0.6 TF2	$1.13 PP	-
Company of Heroes 2: Master Collection	6.0 TF2	$12.28 PP	-
Company of Heroes Complete Pack	5.4 TF2	$11.07 PP	-
Company of Heroes	1.7 TF2	$3.52 PP	-
Company of Heroes: Opposing Fronts	0.8 TF2	$1.67 PP	-
Company of Heroes: Tales of Valor	2.0 TF2	$4.14 PP	-
Conan Exiles	1.6 TF2	$3.21 PP	-
Construction Simulator 2015	1.2 TF2	$2.46 PP	-
Contagion	0.5 TF2	$1.08 PP	-
Control Ultimate Edition	1.7 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$3.43 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Heroines: Warriors, Dreamers, and God Slayers
Crash Bandicoot™ N. Sane Trilogy	7.9 TF2	$16.17 PP	-
Crawl	1.7 TF2	$3.49 PP	-
Creaks	0.4 TF2	$0.73 PP	-
Creed: Rise to Glory™	2.2 TF2	$4.45 PP	-
Crusader Kings II: Royal Collection	2.5 TF2	$5.18 PP	-
Crusader Kings III	3.4 TF2	$7.01 PP	-
CryoFall	0.4 TF2	$0.76 PP	-
Crysis® 2 Maximum Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.72 PP	-
Cultist Simulator	0.7 TF2	$1.39 PP	-
DARK SOULS™ III Deluxe Edition	23.8 TF2	$48.76 PP	-
DEATHLOOP	2.1 TF2	$4.25 PP	-
DIRT 5	4.0 TF2	$8.19 PP	-
DMC - Devil May Cry	0.6 TF2	$1.15 PP	-
DRAGON BALL FIGHTERZ - Ultimate Edition	4.8 TF2	$9.87 PP	-
DRAGON BALL XENOVERSE 2	1.8 TF2	$3.74 PP	-
DRAGONBALL XENOVERSE Bundle Edition	1.1 TF2	$2.27 PP	-
DRIFT21	0.5 TF2	$1.0 PP	-
Dark Deity	0.4 TF2	$0.9 PP	-
Dark Souls II: Scholar of the First Sin	8.2 TF2	$16.76 PP	-
Darkest Dungeon	0.6 TF2	$1.2 PP	-
Darksiders Genesis	1.1 TF2	$2.34 PP	-
Darksiders II Deathinitive Edition	0.6 TF2	$1.32 PP	-
Darksiders III	0.8 TF2	$1.72 PP	-
Darkwood	0.4 TF2	$0.78 PP	-
Day of the Tentacle Remastered	0.4 TF2	$0.91 PP	-
DayZ	6.3 TF2	$12.99 PP	-
Daymare: 1998	0.4 TF2	$0.79 PP	-
Dead Estate	1.3 TF2	$2.7 PP	-
Dead Island - Definitive Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.77 PP	-
Dead Island Definitive Collection	1.6 TF2	$3.18 PP	-
Dead Island Riptide - Definitive Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.69 PP	-
Dead Rising 2: Off the Record	1.2 TF2	$2.39 PP	-
Dead Rising 3 Apocalypse Edition	1.7 TF2	$3.46 PP	-
Dead Rising 4	0.9 TF2	$1.75 PP	-
Dead Rising	1.0 TF2	$1.96 PP	-
Dead Rising® 2	1.1 TF2	$2.18 PP	-
Death Road to Canada	0.6 TF2	$1.18 PP	-
Death's Gambit	0.7 TF2	$1.42 PP	-
Deep Rock Galactic	3.9 TF2	$8.04 PP	-
Deponia - The Complete Journey	0.7 TF2	$1.4 PP	-
Descenders	0.4 TF2	$0.78 PP	-
Destroy All Humans	0.7 TF2	$1.39 PP	-
Deus Ex: Human Revolution - Director's Cut	0.9 TF2	$1.88 PP	-
Deus Ex: Mankind Divided	1.5 TF2	$3.17 PP	-
Devil May Cry HD Collection	1.7 TF2	$3.49 PP	-
Devil May Cry® 4 Special Edition	1.4 TF2	$2.85 PP	-
Dinosaur Fossil Hunter	0.4 TF2	$0.9 PP	-
Distance	0.7 TF2	$1.51 PP	-
Distant Worlds: Universe	0.6 TF2	$1.27 PP	-
Doom Eternal	2.0 TF2	$4.09 PP	-
Door Kickers	1.1 TF2	$2.16 PP	-
Door Kickers: Action Squad	0.4 TF2	$0.76 PP	-
Dorfromantik	1.9 TF2	$3.97 PP	-
Dragon Ball FighterZ	1.7 TF2	$3.44 PP	-
Dragons Dogma - Dark Arisen	0.8 TF2	$1.63 PP	-
Drake Hollow	0.4 TF2	$0.89 PP	-
Drone Swarm	0.5 TF2	$0.96 PP	-
Duck Game	2.2 TF2	$4.6 PP	-
Dungeon Defenders: Awakened	2.7 TF2	$5.45 PP	-
Dungreed	0.9 TF2	$1.79 PP	-
Dusk	1.1 TF2	$2.2 PP	-
Duskers	0.5 TF2	$0.99 PP	-
EARTH DEFENSE FORCE 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair	2.3 TF2	$4.64 PP	-
ELEX	0.7 TF2	$1.47 PP	-
EVERSPACE™	0.8 TF2	$1.57 PP	-
Elite: Dangerous	1.3 TF2	$2.59 PP	-
Empire of Sin	1.2 TF2	$2.49 PP	-
Endzone - A World Apart	0.6 TF2	$1.31 PP	-
Europa Universalis IV	1.1 TF2	$2.2 PP	-
Exanima	2.3 TF2	$4.71 PP	-
FTL: Faster Than Light	1.2 TF2	$2.52 PP	-
Fable Anniversary	3.3 TF2	$6.69 PP	-
Fallout 76	1.6 TF2	$3.3 PP	-
Fantasy General II	0.5 TF2	$0.95 PP	-
Farming Simulator 17	0.5 TF2	$1.06 PP	-
Firefighting Simulator - The Squad	3.9 TF2	$8.08 PP	-
First Class Trouble	0.4 TF2	$0.86 PP	-
For The King	1.2 TF2	$2.37 PP	-
Forager	1.4 TF2	$2.81 PP	-
Forts	2.7 TF2	$5.44 PP	-
Friday the 13th: The Game	2.3 TF2	$4.79 PP	-
Frostpunk	1.2 TF2	$2.52 PP	-
Full Metal Furies	0.6 TF2	$1.15 PP	-
Furi	0.5 TF2	$0.99 PP	-
GOD EATER 2 Rage Burst	0.9 TF2	$1.82 PP	-
GRID - Ultimate	1.0 TF2	$2.01 PP	-
GRIS	0.4 TF2	$0.89 PP	-
Gamedec	0.4 TF2	$0.75 PP	-
Gang Beasts	3.0 TF2	$6.03 PP	-
Garden Paws	0.8 TF2	$1.66 PP	-
Gas Station Simulator	1.2 TF2	$2.42 PP	-
Gears 5	4.6 TF2	$9.34 PP	-
Gears Tactics	4.2 TF2	$8.67 PP	-
Generation Zero®	1.0 TF2	$2.13 PP	-
Genital Jousting	0.5 TF2	$1.06 PP	-
Goat Simulator	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
Godlike Burger	1.4 TF2	$2.83 PP	-
Golf With Your Friends	1.1 TF2	$2.34 PP	-
Gordian Quest	1.4 TF2	$2.85 PP	-
Gotham Knights	5.6 TF2	$11.55 PP	-
GreedFall	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
Grim Dawn	2.2 TF2	$4.51 PP	-
Grim Fandango Remastered	0.5 TF2	$1.11 PP	-
Guacamelee! 2	0.6 TF2	$1.26 PP	-
HITMAN™2 Gold Edition	3.0 TF2	$6.06 PP	-
HIVESWAP: Act 2	2.0 TF2	$4.07 PP	-
HOT WHEELS UNLEASHED™	1.5 TF2	$3.11 PP	-
Haiku, the Robot	1.5 TF2	$3.12 PP	-
Hard Bullet	1.0 TF2	$2.06 PP	-
Hearts of Iron III Collection	0.5 TF2	$1.01 PP	-
Hearts of Iron IV: Battle for the Bosporus	1.3 TF2	$2.75 PP	-
Hearts of Iron IV: Cadet Edition	1.7 TF2	$3.49 PP	-
Hearts of Iron IV: Death or Dishonor	0.9 TF2	$1.83 PP	-
Hearts of Iron IV: Waking the Tiger	1.6 TF2	$3.28 PP	-
Heave Ho	0.6 TF2	$1.13 PP	-
Heavy Rain	1.7 TF2	$3.55 PP	-
Hell Let Loose	8.3 TF2	$17.07 PP	-
Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice	1.1 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$2.16 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Heroines: Warriors, Dreamers, and God Slayers
Hello Neighbor Hide & Seek	0.4 TF2	$0.76 PP	-
Hello, Neighbor!	0.4 TF2	$0.91 PP	-
Hero's Hour	1.2 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$2.49 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Choice (Mar 2023)
Heroes of Hammerwatch	0.5 TF2	$1.11 PP	-
Hitman Absolution	0.8 TF2	$1.57 PP	-
Hitman Blood Money	0.7 TF2	$1.46 PP	-
Hitman Game of the Year Edition	1.2 TF2	$2.48 PP	-
Hollow Knight	2.6 TF2	$5.3 PP	-
Homefront	0.5 TF2	$0.96 PP	-
Homefront: The Revolution	0.8 TF2	$1.59 PP	-
Homeworld: Deserts of Kharak	0.4 TF2	$0.76 PP	-
Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number Digital Special Edition	0.6 TF2	$1.2 PP	-
Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number	0.6 TF2	$1.13 PP	-
House Flipper VR	0.9 TF2	$1.77 PP	-
House Flipper	2.0 TF2	$4.18 PP	-
Human: Fall Flat	0.9 TF2	$1.8 PP	-
HunieCam Studio	0.4 TF2	$0.73 PP	-
HuniePop	0.4 TF2	$0.89 PP	-
Huntdown	1.2 TF2	$2.51 PP	-
Hurtworld	2.0 TF2	$4.01 PP	-
Hyper Light Drifter	1.3 TF2	$2.73 PP	-
Hypnospace Outlaw	0.7 TF2	$1.44 PP	-
I Am Fish	0.4 TF2	$0.76 PP	-
I Expect You To Die	1.3 TF2	$2.65 PP	-
I-NFECTED	6.1 TF2	$12.5 PP	-
INSURGENCY	1.6 TF2	$3.19 PP	-
Imperator: Rome Deluxe Edition	1.0 TF2	$2.09 PP	-
Imperator: Rome	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
Injustice 2	0.7 TF2	$1.48 PP	-
Injustice: Gods Among Us - Ultimate Edition	0.6 TF2	$1.33 PP	-
Into the Breach	2.0 TF2	$4.12 PP	-
Into the Radius VR	5.1 TF2	$10.54 PP	-
Ion Fury	1.5 TF2	$3.03 PP	-
Iron Harvest	1.0 TF2	$2.12 PP	-
Jalopy	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
Job Simulator	8.7 TF2	$17.81 PP	-
Jurassic World Evolution 2	1.7 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$3.42 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Choice (Mar 2023)
Jurassic World Evolution	0.4 TF2	$0.91 PP	-
Just Cause 2	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
Just Cause 3 XXL Edition	1.0 TF2	$2.09 PP	-
Just Cause 4: Complete Edition	1.4 TF2	$2.78 PP	-
Just Die Already	0.4 TF2	$0.8 PP	-
KartKraft	3.0 TF2	$6.1 PP	-
Katamari Damacy REROLL	1.1 TF2	$2.19 PP	-
Katana ZERO	1.0 TF2	$2.04 PP	-
Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes	2.6 TF2	$5.31 PP	-
Kerbal Space Program	1.5 TF2	$3.07 PP	-
Killer Instinct	6.8 TF2	$13.91 PP	-
Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.88 PP	-
Killing Floor 2	0.6 TF2	$1.28 PP	-
Killing Floor	0.6 TF2	$1.15 PP	-
Kingdom Come: Deliverance	1.6 TF2	$3.36 PP	-
Kingdom: Two Crowns	0.9 TF2	$1.9 PP	-
Kingdoms of Amalur: Re-Reckoning	0.9 TF2	$1.83 PP	-
King’s Bounty : Ultimate Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.69 PP	-
LEGO Batman 3: Beyond Gotham Premium Edition	0.5 TF2	$1.06 PP	-
LEGO Batman 3: Beyond Gotham	0.4 TF2	$0.84 PP	-
LEGO Batman Trilogy	1.4 TF2	$2.88 PP	-
LEGO Harry Potter: Years 1-4	0.5 TF2	$1.12 PP	-
LEGO Harry Potter: Years 5-7	0.7 TF2	$1.53 PP	-
LEGO Lord of the Rings	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
LEGO Star Wars III: The Clone Wars	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
LEGO Star Wars: The Complete Saga	0.5 TF2	$1.06 PP	-
LEGO® City Undercover	0.6 TF2	$1.3 PP	-
LEGO® DC Super-Villains Deluxe Edition	1.9 TF2	$3.81 PP	-
LEGO® DC Super-Villains	0.4 TF2	$0.84 PP	-
LEGO® Jurassic World™	0.4 TF2	$0.81 PP	-
LEGO® MARVEL's Avengers	0.4 TF2	$0.75 PP	-
LEGO® Marvel Super Heroes 2 Deluxe Edition	1.1 TF2	$2.3 PP	-
LEGO® Marvel Super Heroes 2	0.4 TF2	$0.9 PP	-
LEGO® Ninjago® Movie Video Game	0.4 TF2	$0.73 PP	-
LEGO® Star Wars™: The Force Awakens	0.6 TF2	$1.21 PP	-
LEGO® Worlds	1.8 TF2	$3.76 PP	-
LIMBO	0.5 TF2	$0.96 PP	-
Labyrinth City: Pierre the Maze Detective	0.7 TF2	$1.43 PP	-
Lake	0.8 TF2	$1.59 PP	-
Last Oasis	1.2 TF2	$2.42 PP	-
Layers of Fear 2	3.4 TF2	$6.94 PP	-
Layers of Fear	0.5 TF2	$1.08 PP	-
Legion TD 2	0.9 TF2	$1.92 PP	-
Len's Island	3.6 TF2	$7.37 PP	-
Lethal League Blaze	0.9 TF2	$1.86 PP	-
Lethal League	0.7 TF2	$1.5 PP	-
Library Of Ruina	3.0 TF2	$6.22 PP	-
Life is Feudal: Your Own	0.4 TF2	$0.81 PP	-
Little Inferno	1.3 TF2	$2.74 PP	-
Little Misfortune	3.6 TF2	$7.38 PP	-
Little Nightmares Complete Edition	1.6 TF2	$3.2 PP	-
Little Nightmares	0.8 TF2	$1.6 PP	-
Lobotomy Corporation Monster Management Simulation	4.9 TF2	$10.0 PP	-
Lords of the Fallen Game of the Year Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.69 PP	-
Lost Castle	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
Lost Ember	1.3 TF2	$2.67 PP	-
Lost Planet™: Extreme Condition	1.0 TF2	$2.0 PP	-
Luck be a Landlord	2.7 TF2	$5.57 PP	-
METAL GEAR SOLID V: THE PHANTOM PAIN	0.7 TF2	$1.5 PP	-
MORTAL KOMBAT 11	1.6 TF2	$3.37 PP	-
MX vs ATV Reflex	0.4 TF2	$0.8 PP	-
MX vs. ATV Unleashed	0.4 TF2	$0.72 PP	-
Machinarium	0.9 TF2	$1.87 PP	-
Mad Max	1.3 TF2	$2.72 PP	-
Mafia II: Definitive Edition	1.3 TF2	$2.63 PP	-
Mafia III: Definitive Edition	2.0 TF2	$4.0 PP	-
Mafia: Definitive Edition	2.2 TF2	$4.49 PP	-
Magicka 2 - Deluxe Edition	0.4 TF2	$0.72 PP	-
Maneater	0.5 TF2	$1.06 PP	-
Manhunt	1.2 TF2	$2.53 PP	-
Mars Horizon	1.1 TF2	$2.2 PP	-
Mass Effect™ Legendary Edition	5.8 TF2	$11.95 PP	-
Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne	0.6 TF2	$1.18 PP	-
Max Payne	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
MechWarrior 5: Mercenaries	2.6 TF2	$5.4 PP	-
Medal of Honor	2.0 TF2	$4.05 PP	-
Mega Man Legacy Collection	0.6 TF2	$1.22 PP	-
Men of War: Assault Squad 2 - Deluxe Edition	1.2 TF2	$2.44 PP	-
Men of War: Assault Squad 2 War Chest Edition	1.1 TF2	$2.27 PP	-
Men of War: Assault Squad 2	1.0 TF2	$2.01 PP	-
Messenger	0.4 TF2	$0.88 PP	-
Metro 2033 Redux	0.6 TF2	$1.28 PP	-
Metro Exodus	1.6 TF2	$3.37 PP	-
Metro Redux Bundle	1.1 TF2	$2.34 PP	-
Metro: Last Light Redux	1.1 TF2	$2.35 PP	-
Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor Game of the Year Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.65 PP	-
Middle-earth™: Shadow of War™	0.7 TF2	$1.41 PP	-
Middleearth Shadow of War Definitive Edition	1.2 TF2	$2.48 PP	-
Mini Ninjas	0.5 TF2	$1.01 PP	-
Miscreated	1.4 TF2	$2.83 PP	-
Monster Hunter: World	3.5 TF2	$7.15 PP	-
Monster Sanctuary	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
Monster Train	0.4 TF2	$0.85 PP	-
Moonlighter	0.4 TF2	$0.91 PP	-
Moons of Madness	1.8 TF2	$3.67 PP	-
Mordhau	1.7 TF2	$3.49 PP	-
Mortal Kombat X	0.7 TF2	$1.53 PP	-
Mortal Kombat XL	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
Mortal Shell	1.8 TF2	$3.61 PP	-
Motorcycle Mechanic Simulator 2021	1.0 TF2	$2.13 PP	-
Motorsport Manager	1.3 TF2	$2.73 PP	-
Move or Die	1.0 TF2	$1.97 PP	-
Moving Out	1.0 TF2	$2.02 PP	-
Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden - Deluxe Edition	1.6 TF2	$3.21 PP	-
Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden	0.8 TF2	$1.57 PP	-
My Friend Pedro	0.6 TF2	$1.25 PP	-
My Time At Portia	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
NARUTO SHIPPUDEN: Ultimate Ninja STORM 4 Road to Boruto	2.3 TF2	$4.71 PP	-
NASCAR Heat 5 - Ultimate Edition	0.5 TF2	$0.99 PP	-
Naruto Shippuden: Ultimate Ninja Storm 4	1.8 TF2	$3.59 PP	-
Naruto to Boruto Shinobi Striker - Deluxe Edition	1.3 TF2	$2.58 PP	-
Necromunda: Hired Gun	0.8 TF2	$1.54 PP	-
Neon Abyss	0.5 TF2	$0.96 PP	-
Ni no Kuni™ II: Revenant Kingdom - The Prince's Edition	2.3 TF2	$4.64 PP	-
Nickelodeon Kart Racers 2: Grand Prix	0.4 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$0.74 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Kart Club: Best Indie Kart Racers Bundle
Nine Parchments	1.4 TF2	$2.94 PP	-
No Time to Relax	1.7 TF2	$3.5 PP	-
Not For Broadcast	0.5 TF2	$1.0 PP	-
ONE PIECE BURNING BLOOD	0.9 TF2	$1.82 PP	-
ONE PIECE PIRATE WARRIORS 3 Gold Edition	1.1 TF2	$2.25 PP	-
Offworld Trading Company™	0.7 TF2	$1.51 PP	-
One Step From Eden	0.5 TF2	$0.96 PP	-
Opus Magnum	1.2 TF2	$2.51 PP	-
Orcs Must Die! 3	2.1 TF2	$4.21 PP	-
Outlast 2	0.4 TF2	$0.89 PP	-
Outlast	0.5 TF2	$0.93 PP	-
Outward	1.4 TF2	$2.85 PP	-
Overcooked! 2	1.5 TF2	$3.11 PP	-
Overgrowth	0.6 TF2	$1.3 PP	-
Owlboy	1.0 TF2	$2.11 PP	-
Oxenfree	1.5 TF2	$3.17 PP	-
PC Building Simulator	0.8 TF2	$1.69 PP	-
Paint the Town Red	1.7 TF2	$3.43 PP	-
Parkitect	4.4 TF2	$9.02 PP	-
Pathfinder: Kingmaker - Enhanced Plus Edition	1.1 TF2	$2.18 PP	-
Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous	1.2 TF2	$2.39 PP	-
Pathologic 2	0.7 TF2	$1.53 PP	-
Per Aspera	0.7 TF2	$1.48 PP	-
Pillars of Eternity Definitive Edition	0.7 TF2	$1.52 PP	-
Pistol Whip	9.8 TF2	$20.19 PP	-
Plague Inc: Evolved	1.7 TF2	$3.44 PP	-
Planet Coaster	1.6 TF2	$3.35 PP	-
Planet Zoo	1.8 TF2	$3.74 PP	-
Planetary Annihilation: TITANS	3.6 TF2	$7.4 PP	-
Portal Knights	1.3 TF2	$2.59 PP	-
PowerBeatsVR	0.9 TF2	$1.92 PP	-
PowerSlave Exhumed	1.8 TF2	$3.63 PP	-
Praey for the Gods	1.0 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$1.97 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Heroines: Warriors, Dreamers, and God Slayers
Prehistoric Kingdom	1.2 TF2	$2.38 PP	-
Pro Cycling Manager 2019	1.2 TF2	$2.53 PP	-
Project Cars 3	10.6 TF2	$21.65 PP	-
Project Hospital	2.3 TF2	$4.73 PP	-
Project Wingman	1.1 TF2	$2.23 PP	-
Project Winter	0.9 TF2	$1.94 PP	-
Pumpkin Jack	0.4 TF2	$0.9 PP	-
Quantum Break	1.6 TF2	$3.32 PP	-
RUGBY 20	1.2 TF2	$2.5 PP	-
RUINER	0.4 TF2	$0.83 PP	-
RWBY: Grimm Eclipse	3.1 TF2	$6.42 PP	-
Ragnaröck	3.2 TF2	$6.66 PP	-
Railway Empire	0.4 TF2	$0.84 PP	-
Rain World	1.1 TF2	$2.23 PP	-
Raw Data	1.0 TF2	$2.11 PP	-
Re:Legend	1.2 TF2	$2.37 PP	-
Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
Red Matter	4.2 TF2	$8.65 PP	-
Resident Evil / biohazard HD REMASTER	0.9 TF2	$1.75 PP	-
Resident Evil 0 / biohazard 0 HD Remaster	0.6 TF2	$1.28 PP	-
Resident Evil 5 GOLD Edition	1.4 TF2	$2.78 PP	-
Resident Evil 5	1.0 TF2	$1.95 PP	-
Resident Evil 6	1.4 TF2	$2.77 PP	-
Resident Evil: Revelations 2 Deluxe Edition	2.0 TF2	$4.14 PP	-
Retro Machina	0.5 TF2	$0.99 PP	-
Rising Storm 2: Vietnam	0.6 TF2	$1.21 PP	-
River City Girls	1.4 TF2	$2.85 PP	-
Rogue Heroes: Ruins of Tasos	0.5 TF2	$1.11 PP	-
RollerCoaster Tycoon Deluxe	1.0 TF2	$2.13 PP	-
Rollercoaster Tycoon 2: Triple Thrill Pack	1.7 TF2	$3.53 PP	-
Rubber Bandits	0.7 TF2	$1.48 PP	-
Running with Rifles	1.8 TF2	$3.79 PP	-
Ryse: Son of Rome	1.8 TF2	$3.6 PP	-
SCUM	2.6 TF2	$5.31 PP	-
SHENZHEN I/O	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
SOMA	2.0 TF2	$4.19 PP	-
SONG OF HORROR Complete Edition	0.7 TF2	$1.51 PP	-
STAR WARS® THE FORCE UNLEASHED II	0.9 TF2	$1.82 PP	-
STAR WARS™: Squadrons	2.0 TF2	$4.08 PP	-
SUPERHOT VR	2.1 TF2	$4.4 PP	-
SUPERHOT	0.8 TF2	$1.54 PP	-
SUPERHOT: MIND CONTROL DELETE	0.4 TF2	$0.76 PP	-
Sable	0.6 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$1.22 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Heroines: Warriors, Dreamers, and God Slayers
Saint's Row The Third Remastered	2.2 TF2	$4.58 PP	-
Saints Row 2	0.6 TF2	$1.2 PP	-
Saints Row IV	0.9 TF2	$1.78 PP	-
Saints Row: The Third	0.6 TF2	$1.32 PP	-
Sanctum 2	0.5 TF2	$1.07 PP	-
Satisfactory	6.2 TF2	$12.75 PP	-
Scarlet Nexus	2.6 TF2	$5.28 PP	-
Scribblenauts Unlimited	0.4 TF2	$0.83 PP	-
Second Extinction	2.0 TF2	$4.14 PP	-
Secret Neighbor	0.6 TF2	$1.18 PP	-
Serious Sam 2	0.7 TF2	$1.5 PP	-
Serious Sam 3: BFE	0.9 TF2	$1.76 PP	-
Serious Sam 4	3.1 TF2	$6.31 PP	-
Serious Sam: Siberian Mayhem	2.2 TF2	$4.41 PP	-
Severed Steel	1.4 TF2	$2.78 PP	-
Shadow Man Remastered	0.9 TF2	$1.93 PP	-
Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun	0.5 TF2	$0.93 PP	-
Shadow Warrior 2	0.8 TF2	$1.71 PP	-
Shadow of the Tomb Raider	2.2 TF2	$4.56 PP	-
Shantae and the Pirate's Curse	0.6 TF2	$1.21 PP	-
Shenmue 3	0.7 TF2	$1.4 PP	-
Shenmue I & II	0.7 TF2	$1.4 PP	-
Shining Resonance Refrain	0.5 TF2	$0.93 PP	-
Sid Meier's Civilization V	0.8 TF2	$1.63 PP	-
Sid Meier's Civilization VI : Platinum Edition	2.8 TF2	$5.78 PP	-
Sid Meier's Civilization VI	0.9 TF2	$1.94 PP	-
Sid Meier's Civilization® V: The Complete Edition	2.0 TF2	$4.07 PP	-
Sid Meiers Civilization IV: The Complete Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.76 PP	-
Siege of Centauri	0.6 TF2	$1.13 PP	-
SimCasino	1.2 TF2	$2.48 PP	-
SimplePlanes	1.1 TF2	$2.26 PP	-
Skullgirls 2nd Encore	1.0 TF2	$2.12 PP	-
Slap City	1.2 TF2	$2.42 PP	-
Slay the Spire	3.4 TF2	$6.88 PP	-
Sleeping Dogs: Definitive Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.54 PP	-
Slime Rancher	1.6 TF2	$3.22 PP	-
Sniper Elite 4	1.3 TF2	$2.64 PP	-
Sniper Elite V2 Remastered	0.8 TF2	$1.69 PP	-
Sniper Elite V2	0.7 TF2	$1.43 PP	-
Sniper Ghost Warrior 3	0.8 TF2	$1.61 PP	-
Sniper Ghost Warrior Contracts	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
Sonic Adventure DX	0.8 TF2	$1.67 PP	-
Sonic Adventure™ 2	0.4 TF2	$0.91 PP	-
Sonic Mania	1.1 TF2	$2.19 PP	-
Sorcery! Parts 1 & 2	0.6 TF2	$1.29 PP	-
Soul Calibur VI	1.2 TF2	$2.53 PP	-
Source of Madness	0.5 TF2	$1.12 PP	-
Space Engineers	2.2 TF2	$4.55 PP	-
Space Haven	0.7 TF2	$1.34 PP	-
Spec Ops: The Line	0.8 TF2	$1.63 PP	-
Spelunky	1.0 TF2	$2.04 PP	-
Spirit Of The Island	1.4 TF2	$2.86 PP	-
Splendor	0.6 TF2	$1.32 PP	-
SpongeBob SquarePants: Battle for Bikini Bottom - Rehydrated	1.3 TF2	$2.58 PP	-
Spyro™ Reignited Trilogy	3.8 TF2	$7.72 PP	-
Star Renegades	1.4 TF2	$2.85 PP	-
Star Trek: Bridge Crew	3.6 TF2	$7.34 PP	-
Star Wars® Empire at War™: Gold Pack	0.8 TF2	$1.69 PP	-
Starbound	0.9 TF2	$1.81 PP	-
Starpoint Gemini Warlords	1.6 TF2	$3.37 PP	-
State of Decay 2: Juggernaut Edition	3.0 TF2	$6.08 PP	-
Staxel	0.6 TF2	$1.2 PP	-
SteamWorld Quest: Hand of Gilgamech	0.8 TF2	$1.72 PP	-
Steel Division: Normandy 44	0.6 TF2	$1.13 PP	-
Stellaris Galaxy Edition	1.3 TF2	$2.73 PP	-
Stellaris	1.2 TF2	$2.55 PP	-
Stellaris: Lithoids Species Pack	0.8 TF2	$1.61 PP	-
Stick Fight: The Game	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
Strategic Command WWII: World at War	2.0 TF2	$4.14 PP	-
Street Fighter 30th Anniversary Collection	3.5 TF2	$7.17 PP	-
Street Fighter V	0.7 TF2	$1.48 PP	-
Streets of Rogue	1.2 TF2	$2.39 PP	-
Stronghold 2: Steam Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
Stronghold Crusader 2	0.7 TF2	$1.4 PP	-
Stronghold Crusader HD	0.5 TF2	$1.04 PP	-
Stronghold Legends: Steam Edition	1.1 TF2	$2.27 PP	-
Styx: Shards Of Darkness	0.6 TF2	$1.27 PP	-
Subnautica	4.2 TF2	$8.7 PP	-
Sudden Strike 4	0.4 TF2	$0.73 PP	-
Summer in Mara	0.4 TF2	$0.9 PP	-
Sunless Skies	0.7 TF2	$1.34 PP	-
Sunset Overdrive	1.4 TF2	$2.85 PP	-
Super Meat Boy	0.3 TF2	$0.71 PP	-
Superliminal	1.0 TF2	$1.95 PP	-
Supraland Six Inches Under	1.6 TF2	$3.28 PP	-
Supreme Commander 2	0.9 TF2	$1.9 PP	-
Supreme Commander Forged Alliance	2.0 TF2	$4.08 PP	-
Surgeon Simulator: Experience Reality	0.9 TF2	$1.78 PP	-
Survive the Nights	0.9 TF2	$1.88 PP	-
Surviving the Aftermath	0.5 TF2	$0.94 PP	-
Sword Art Online Fatal Bullet - Complete Edition	5.4 TF2	$11.12 PP	-
Sword Art Online Hollow Realization Deluxe Edition	1.0 TF2	$2.09 PP	-
Syberia: The World Before	1.1 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$2.26 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Humble Heroines: Warriors, Dreamers, and God Slayers
Synth Riders	3.3 TF2	$6.74 PP	-
THIEF	0.8 TF2	$1.58 PP	-
TT Isle of Man Ride on the Edge 2	1.7 TF2	$3.49 PP	-
Tales of Berseria	0.9 TF2	$1.83 PP	-
Tales of Symphonia	1.6 TF2	$3.27 PP	-
Tales of Zestiria	0.6 TF2	$1.21 PP	-
Talisman: Digital Edition	0.6 TF2	$1.32 PP	-
Tank Mechanic Simulator	1.0 TF2	$2.1 PP	-
Team Sonic Racing™	1.9 TF2	$3.81 PP	-
Telltale Batman Shadows Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.85 PP	-
Terraforming Mars	1.0 TF2	$1.99 PP	-
Terraria	2.0 TF2	$4.11 PP	-
The Ascent	1.0 TF2	$2.06 PP	-
The Battle of Polytopia	0.4 TF2	$0.88 PP	-
The Beast Inside	0.4 TF2	$0.78 PP	-
The Blackout Club	5.9 TF2	$11.95 PP	-
The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope	1.5 TF2	$3.12 PP	-
The Dark Pictures Anthology: Man of Medan	1.7 TF2	$3.5 PP	-
The Darkness II	0.5 TF2	$1.0 PP	-
The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos	0.5 TF2	$1.08 PP	-
The Escapists 2	0.9 TF2	$1.88 PP	-
The Escapists	0.7 TF2	$1.34 PP	-
The Henry Stickmin Collection	0.7 TF2	$1.48 PP	-
The Intruder	1.2 TF2	$2.45 PP	-
The Jackbox Party Pack 2	1.9 TF2	$3.93 PP	-
The Jackbox Party Pack 3	3.3 TF2	$6.73 PP	-
The Jackbox Party Pack 4	2.0 TF2	$4.13 PP	-
The Jackbox Party Pack 5	3.3 TF2	$6.8 PP	-
The Jackbox Party Pack 5	3.3 TF2	$6.8 PP	-
The Jackbox Party Pack 6	2.7 TF2	$5.52 PP	-
The Jackbox Party Pack	1.1 TF2	$2.29 PP	-
The LEGO Movie 2 Videogame	0.4 TF2	$0.75 PP	-
The Legend of Heroes: Trails in the Sky	1.4 TF2	$2.84 PP	-
The Long Dark	2.2 TF2	$4.56 PP	-
The Long Dark: Survival Edition	0.4 TF2	$0.75 PP	-
The Ship: Murder Party	0.4 TF2	$0.82 PP	-
The Stanley Parable	2.6 TF2	$5.38 PP	-
The Surge 2	0.6 TF2	$1.29 PP	-
The Survivalists	1.0 TF2	$2.0 PP	-
The Talos Principle	0.7 TF2	$1.38 PP	-
The Walking Dead: The Telltale Definitive Series	2.0 TF2	$4.14 PP	-
The Witness	6.7 TF2	$13.79 PP	-
The Wolf Among Us	1.1 TF2	$2.3 PP	-
This War of Mine: Complete Edition	0.7 TF2	$1.53 PP	-
Titan Quest Anniversary Edition	0.7 TF2	$1.34 PP	-
Tomb Raider	1.5 TF2	$3.05 PP	-
Torchlight II	0.7 TF2	$1.41 PP	-
Total Tank Simulator	0.4 TF2	$0.78 PP	-
Total War SHOGUN 2	1.7 TF2	$3.4 PP	-
Total War Shogun 2 Collection	1.6 TF2	$3.32 PP	-
Total War: ATTILA	1.9 TF2	$3.86 PP	-
Total War: Empire - Definitive Edition	1.7 TF2	$3.44 PP	-
Total War: Napoleon - Definitive Edition	1.4 TF2	$2.94 PP	-
Total War: Rome II - Emperor Edition	2.5 TF2	$5.06 PP	-
Total War™: WARHAMMER®	3.0 TF2	$6.08 PP	-
Totally Accurate Battle Simulator	3.8 TF2	$7.7 PP	-
Totally Reliable Delivery Service	1.6 TF2	$3.34 PP	-
Tour de France 2020	0.7 TF2	$1.34 PP	-
Tower Unite	4.0 TF2	$8.29 PP	-
Townscaper	0.5 TF2	$1.0 PP	-
Trailmakers Deluxe Edition	0.9 TF2	$1.87 PP	-
Trailmakers	0.9 TF2	$1.87 PP	-
Train Simulator Classic	0.7 TF2 Refer To My Other Thread	$1.41 PP Refer To My Other Thread	Train Simulator Classic: On the Fast Track Bundle
Train Station Renovation	0.5 TF2	$0.92 PP	-
Tribes of Midgard	0.7 TF2	$1.49 PP	-
Tricky Towers	2.0 TF2	$4.01 PP	-
Trine 2: Complete Story	1.1 TF2	$2.25 PP	-
Trine 4: The Nightmare Prince	0.9 TF2	$1.79 PP	-
Tropico 5	0.4 TF2	$0.73 PP	-
Tropico 5 – Complete Collection	0.8 TF2	$1.62 PP	-
Tropico 6 El-Prez Edition	2.5 TF2	$5.14 PP	-
Tropico 6	2.2 TF2	$4.51 PP	-
Turok 2: Seeds of Evil	0.4 TF2	$0.73 PP	-
Turok	0.4 TF2	$0.8 PP	-
Two Point Hospital	2.2 TF2	$4.56 PP	-
Tyranny - Gold Edition	0.7 TF2	$1.36 PP	-
Ultimate Chicken Horse	1.6 TF2	$3.29 PP	-
Ultimate Marvel vs. Capcom 3	1.6 TF2	$3.36 PP	-
Ultra Street Fighter IV	0.5 TF2	$0.93 PP	-
Undertale	2.0 TF2	$4.1 PP	-
Universe Sandbox	3.4 TF2	$7.01 PP	-
Unrailed!	1.8 TF2	$3.75 PP	-
Until You Fall	0.7 TF2	$1.35 PP	-
VTOL VR	4.9 TF2	$9.95 PP	-
Vacation Simulator	4.9 TF2	$10.0 PP	-
Vagante	0.5 TF2	$0.98 PP	-
Valkyria Chronicles 4 Complete Edition	1.2 TF2	$2.49 PP	-
Valkyria Chronicles™	0.9 TF2	$1.94 PP	-
Vampyr	1.5 TF2	$3.12 PP	-
Verdun	0.4 TF2	$0.85 PP	-
Visage	5.8 TF2	$11.98 PP	-
Viscera Cleanup Detail	2.0 TF2	$4.0 PP	-
Void Bastards	0.5 TF2	$0.97 PP	-
Volcanoids	1.2 TF2	$2.37 PP	-
Vox Machinae	4.3 TF2	$8.86 PP	-
WRATH: Aeon of Ruin	0.4 TF2	$0.81 PP	-
WRC 8 FIA World Rally Championship	1.1 TF2	$2.23 PP	-
Wargame: Red Dragon	6.3 TF2	$12.9 PP	-
Wargroove	0.4 TF2	$0.73 PP	-
Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War - Master Collection	1.4 TF2	$2.81 PP	-
Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War II - Grand Master Collection	1.7 TF2	$3.54 PP	-
Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War II: Retribution	0.6 TF2	$1.16 PP	-
Warhammer 40,000: Gladius - Relics of War	0.6 TF2	$1.21 PP	-
Warhammer 40,000: Gladius - Tyranids	2.1 TF2	$4.28 PP	-
Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine Collection	1.6 TF2	$3.23 PP	-
Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine	1.6 TF2	$3.2 PP	-
Warhammer: Chaosbane - Slayer Edition	1.0 TF2	$2.08 PP	-
Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide Collector's Edition	0.6 TF2	$1.32 PP	-
Warhammer: Vermintide 2 - Collector's Edition	1.3 TF2	$2.62 PP	-
Warhammer: Vermintide 2	1.2 TF2	$2.45 PP	-
Warhammer® 40,000™: Dawn of War® III	1.7 TF2	$3.41 PP	-
Warpips	0.7 TF2	$1.5 PP	-
Wasteland 3	1.3 TF2	$2.58 PP	-
We Happy Few	0.7 TF2	$1.5 PP	-
We Need to Go Deeper	0.6 TF2	$1.15 PP	-
We Were Here Too	1.9 TF2	$3.98 PP	-
White Day : a labyrinth named school	0.5 TF2	$1.03 PP	-
Who's Your Daddy	2.0 TF2	$4.14 PP	-
Wingspan	1.0 TF2	$1.99 PP	-
Winkeltje: The Little Shop	1.0 TF2	$2.04 PP	-
Witch It	1.9 TF2	$3.85 PP	-
Wizard of Legend	1.1 TF2	$2.29 PP	-
World War Z: Aftermath	3.9 TF2	$8.02 PP	-
Worms Revolution Gold Edition	0.5 TF2	$1.06 PP	-
Worms Ultimate Mayhem - Deluxe Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.71 PP	-
Worms Ultimate Mayhem	0.5 TF2	$0.97 PP	-
Worms W.M.D	1.0 TF2	$2.13 PP	-
Worms World Party Remastered	0.4 TF2	$0.88 PP	-
Wrench	3.0 TF2	$6.1 PP	-
X4: Foundations	5.4 TF2	$11.12 PP	-
X4: Split Vendetta	1.8 TF2	$3.79 PP	-
XCOM 2 Collection	1.2 TF2	$2.47 PP	-
XCOM: Enemy Unknown Complete Pack	0.7 TF2	$1.53 PP	-
XCOM: Ultimate Collection	0.9 TF2	$1.83 PP	-
Yakuza 0	1.4 TF2	$2.97 PP	-
Yakuza 3 Remastered	1.2 TF2	$2.52 PP	-
Yakuza 4 Remastered	4.1 TF2	$8.34 PP	-
Yakuza 5 Remastered	3.8 TF2	$7.83 PP	-
Yakuza Kiwami 2	2.2 TF2	$4.52 PP	-
Yakuza Kiwami	1.7 TF2	$3.5 PP	-
Yonder: The Cloud Catcher Chronicles	2.1 TF2	$4.4 PP	-
YouTubers Life	1.4 TF2	$2.89 PP	-
Yuppie Psycho	0.3 TF2	$0.71 PP	-
ZERO Sievert	4.8 TF2	$9.86 PP	-
Zombie Army Trilogy	0.8 TF2	$1.67 PP	-
biped	0.9 TF2	$1.83 PP	-
rFactor 2	1.1 TF2	$2.32 PP	-
while True: learn() Chief Technology Officer Edition	0.8 TF2	$1.57 PP	-

 
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Hey, gang!
I saw a deal for a returned to shop S7 MaxV Ultra for 2/3 of the price tag for a brand new unit (1,000 eur vs 1,500 for brand new). Reseller listed it as “unpackaged, may have scratches or dust on the unit”. It looked clean-ish, apart from some minor dust, so I took it home. However, after I paired it with my phone, the app showed some (IMO) pretty heavy usage - 108 h usage time, 2,971 km2 cleaned area, 135 cycles over the span of 30 days - https://ibb.co/YjNsPwN
Should I return it? As people that have been using these for a long time, could this have potential impact on the work of the unit (e.g. battery life, mechanical issues, etc)? Assuming I do maintenance as advised - https://ibb.co/Qnmvdzq
Thanks in advance!

This is the first time I've admitted this in several years, but, I guess I just don't know how to process that the last 3+ years could've been radically different had one coin flip gone the wrong way.
I grew up in equal joint custody, with an n-mom mother and a father who I was expected to treat like a martyr. I disassociated for a large part of my childhood, and still I occasionally break down and cry and ask god why the fuck he put me through all that. In any case, I left for college, and started to develop healthy relationships, with both myself and the rest of the world.
And winter break my sophomore year broke me. My grandfather had a health scare, my mother was being a narcissist about it (though I didn't see it that way), and I was tired. January 4th I spent the last dinner with my stepsister on my phone. Then I got yelled at to high heaven that night, and was told by my dad to leave. I didn't feel I could safely get to my car, so I set my alarm for extremely early the next morning, and slept for maybe three hours, packed my car right as the sun rose, and had a choice.
I could either leave, or wait for my dad to wake up. And I remember being terrified, of seeing him, of him coming down the steps and asking me why I was still there. I remember seeing that image clear as day, and I remember thinking that that might break me. But I didn't want to just leave. So I left it up to a coin flip, and the coin flip told me to wait, and so I did.
I was supposed to go shopping with my mom to spend some of the gift cards I had gotten for Christmas. I decided to flake on her, and spend the day with my dad, trying to mend shit before I was supposed to go back to her house on January 6th.
January 6th I left for her house around noon. She then proceeded to yell at me for thirty minutes, eventually telling me to leave. I could get to my car at that point, so I left. And I wish I could say that I saw through her bullshit, that I knew that she was in the wrong, but frankly, I was tired. I didn't care anymore. After a couple of months, I finally bit the bullet, and went no contact with her entirely.
And the life I have now, where I'm mentally, spiritually, emotionally healthier, all of that was due to a coin flip. Had it gone differently, I might've no-contact with my dad. Probably would have.
I don't know it's just kind of batshit.
TL;DR:
When I was ~20, I flipped a coin to determine whether to stay or leave after a nasty fight with my dad. Ended up staying, which led to me going no-contact with my mother, when if it had landed the other way the situation probably would've been flipped.

And we have our first report. I tried to attach upload the image from Imgur and I’m kind of a rookie so I’m not sure it uploaded. But I wanted all of you to share this very typical photo. When she saw I was taking pics I asked her if this was a Qualified Service Animal. She said it was an emotional support animal. I said that doesn't qualify as a Support Animal. Her witty response was “Bitch!”
I finished my shopping then went to the service desk to get a copy of their Food Permit from the Environment Department. She let me take a picture and asked why I needed it. I explained, and told her I know what they are up against with people bringing in their non-Service dogs. She said “you have no idea”, and “they argue with the greeters and get really ugly and it’s not worth the argument”. I said I would be making complaints to the Environment Department and we would let them address this. She was totally fine with this. About 5 other employees were standing around listening.

ALIEXPRESS Deals Compilation (20.3.2023)!
Check products in compilation image: https://i.imgur.com/pjjuIvR.jpeg or https://i.ibb.co/jrcf0yM/cf1ee42b900d.jpg
-1- Rocoren USB Type C Car Charger 30W
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-2- 6Pcs/Set 20mm Long Nib Head Markers
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-3- Toocki 75W USB-C Charger QC4.0 PD3.0 SCP 5A
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-4- ANENG M118A Digital Mini Multimeter
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📉 Price: $6.19
-5- Baseus USB 2x30W/Type-C 2x30W Car Charger [EU/CN]
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🥇 Price: $14.65
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-8- Rapoo M300G Wireless Mouse
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-9- UGREEN Wireless Keyboard
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-11- CYCPLUS M1 GPS Bicycle Computer
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-12- Portable Mini Car Air Pump
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-13- Zeblaze Btalk Smart Watch
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-16- Baseus USB Type-C HUB 6 in 1 PD
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-18- Rocoren 6 in 1 Docking Station
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-20- Baseus Bowie D05 Wireless Headphones Bluetooth 5.3
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〽️ Price: $28.89
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-22- Xiaomi Mi Band 7 Smart Watch
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-23- DDPAI Mini Dash Cam 1080P
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-24- FNIRSI HS-01 Electric Soldering Iron PD 65W
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-25- Xiaomi Mi Band 7 Smart Watch
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👉 Price: $30.81
📌 Coupon: "ANUP3" + $8 auto S&S discount in cart
-26- Toocki 140W GaN Charger
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〽️ Price: $31.55
-27- Xiaomi Redmi Buds 4 Bluetooth V5.2 Earphones ANC
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✌️ Price: $31.67
📍 Coupon: "ANUP3" + $8 auto S&S discount in cart
-28- Tronsmart T7 Lite Bluetooth Speaker
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🚨 Price: $31.73
❤️ Coupon: "ANUP3" + $4 auto S&S discount in cart
-29- HiBREW M1A Milk Frother
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🥇 Price: $31.79
🔖 Coupon: "ANUP3" + $4 auto S&S discount in cart
-30- Mechanical Gaming Keyboard Machenike K500 Wired 94 Keys RGB
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⭕️ Price: $32.16
🔓 Coupon: "ANUP3" + $4 auto S&S discount in cart
-31- Toocki 140W GaN Charger
🔗 https://bit.ly/3yQ9aGc
〽️ Price: $33.12
🔖 Coupon: "ANUP3" + $8 auto S&S discount in cart
-32- SoundPEATS Air3 Earphones QCC3040 Bluetooth V5.2
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📉 Price: $33.50
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-34- Zeblaze Beyond 2 AMOLED Smart Watch
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💣 Price: $34.87
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-35- 1MORE ComfoBuds 2 Bluetooth 5.2 Headphones
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👉 Price: $35.49
💵 Coupon: "ANUP3" + $8 auto S&S discount in cart
-36- Baseus 8 in 1 4K60Hz USB3.1 Hub
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-39- 70mai M300 1296P Dash Cam [EU]
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-40- Zeblaze Stratos 2 Smart Watch
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-41- Oclean XS Sonic Toothbrush [EU]
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-42- HAYLOU S35 ANC Bluetooth 5.2 Headphones
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-45- Anker PowerConf C200 2K USB Webcam
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-46- Tribit StormBox Micro 2 Bluetooth Speaker
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🚨 Price: $46.72
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-47- 70mai Car Dash Cam Lite2 1080P Lite 2 D10 [EU]
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-49- Tronsmart Bang SE Speaker Bluetooth 5.3 [EU]
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-50- Anker Soundcore Life Q20+ ANC Headphones
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-51- Tronsmart T6 Max Bluetooth Speaker 60W [EU]
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-52- Tronsmart Bang SE Speaker Bluetooth 5.3 [EU]
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-53- Tronsmart Mega Pro Bluetooth Speaker 60W [EU/CN]
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-56- IMILAB EC5 Camera [EU]
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-57- Anker Soundcore Sport X10 Bluetooth 5.2 Headphones
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-59- Amazfit GTS 2e Smart Watch [EU]
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-60- 1MORE ComfoBuds Mini Bluetooth Earphones
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-61- Anker Life Q30 Hybrid Active Noise Cancelling Headphones
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🚨 Price: $62.19
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-62- Baseus 1600A Jump Starter Power Bank 16000mAh
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-66- SD1970 Steeldive 44mm Men NH35 Dive Watch
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-67- Teclast P25T Android 12 4/64GB 10,1 inch [EU]
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-71- 1MORE AERO Spatial Audio Wireless Headphones ANC
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-73- Teclast P30S 10.1Inch Tablet Android 12 1280x800 4/64GB MT8183 [EU]
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👉 Price: $141.97
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🔹 Price: $167.40
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-86- TicWatch Pro 3 Ultra GPS Smart Watch [EU]
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🚨 Price: $191.07
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-87- Xiaomi Mi Robot Vacuum-Mop 2 MJST1S [EU]
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📉 Price: $195.84
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-88- iScooter 500W Adult Electric Scooter [EU]
🌍 https://bit.ly/3TwFHuh
📉 Price: $215.25
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-89- LAUNCH X431 V V4.0 OBD2 Diagnostic Scanner [EU]
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🔹 Price: $688.26
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Products compilation image: https://i.imgur.com/pjjuIvR.jpeg or https://i.ibb.co/jrcf0yM/cf1ee42b900d.jpg

I was diagnosed with BPD last year and have recently found out that I also have bipolar. Maybe it was just a mistake, but I got a letter through the post from the government because I asked them to sent me proof of my mental health conditions to apply for benefits.
The letter listed all my health conditions and it said BPD and bipolar. I already knew I have BPD but was very surprised when I saw bipolar too, as no one had ever mentioned this to me including the doctors and adult mental health team. The only thing that I have to prove I might have bipolar is what it says on the letter. Could this be a mistake?
I have splitting, disassociation and have favourite people that I OBSESS over really badly. I also have mood swings that can last minutes to a few hours and very rarely a few days. Anything can set it off such as, I am in a good mood and then I loose my phone and then get so angry and feel like hurting myself.
Or sometimes I get really overwhelmed by small things that makes me angry. If I don’t have the right snacks in the house and that means I have to go to the shop to get them, that makes me so mad that I want to self harm and the same if I can’t sleep. I thought this was just part of BPD?