I don't know the writer's name of this story. He doesn't give it, but this is fantastic. So hang on to you old weaves and glue your denters in, because this is a good one. In nineteen seventy nine, I went to a family reunion with my aunt and uncle in Middle Tennessee. On the way there, we talked a little about a strange thing that happened to us while we were out hunting frogs one night. We heard chatter and huffing, and then it paced us out of the woods whatever it was.
With that on our minds, we joined the rest of the men sitting around the front yard at my great uncle's house where the reunion was taking place. My uncle turned to my great uncle and he said, tell us about what you saw that night you were out raccoon hunting. Right away, my great uncle got a look on his face that I'd never seen before. It was a mix of bewilderment and fear, and he turned away like he didn't hear what my uncle asked him. And then his son said, go ahead,
dad, tell him what we saw. You tell him. My great uncle said, under his breath, all right, I'll tell the story. His son said, and he began. At that time, my dad was sixty seven years old. He'd spent his whole life out in the woods, hunting mostly quail and raccoons. That night, they were headed out to the land behind their house, and the property had recently been sold and the new owner had bulldozed the old fence line and put in a new wire fence. They
had three dogs, two walkers, and a red bone. The fence was on an incline that the dogs couldn't get over, so they had to put them over. The son handed the twenty two rifle to his dad and he crossed the fence, and then my great uncle handed the rifle over he crossed. Two up the hill, twenty five yards from the old fence was a brush pile. They walked in that direction and then let the dogs off the
leads, and they began sniffing around the pile. They had only just begun to smell the awful stench coming from it when something stood up in the middle of that pile and let out a scream so loud that it knocked him over. It was reddish brown. It stood eight or nine feet tall, and it was four feet wide, and the dogs ran right back past them,
and this time they didn't have any trouble clearing that fence. My uncle and his son stood there face to face with it for two or three seconds until it quit screaming, and then it jumped up on top of the woodpile and it leaped off and it ran up the hill. They turned and ran in the opposite direction back down the hill. They didn't have much trouble getting over
the fence either. It was three hundred yards from that fence back to the house, and neither one stopped running until they got there, and my uncle said he felt like his heart was going to explode from the effort. When they got back to the house, my uncle asked his son where the rifle was. Well, he didn't know. He thought maybe he'd dropped it. The next morning, they took a shotgun and a thirty all six and went back out to where they'd crossed the fence, and they found the twenty two
and they got the hell out of there. Shortly after that, my uncle sold his hounds and he never went hunting again. Now. I talked to his son several times after that reunion. I'd always ask him if they'd ever seen that thing since that night, and he said, no, they'd never seen anything, but they did hear that exact same scream on two different occasions. After my great uncle passed away in nineteen eighty eight, and except to go back to get the rifle the next morning, he never stepped foot on
that property again. And after his death, his wife sold their place, and his son said he never went back there again either. My great uncle never liked to talk about it. He didn't like for people to know about it. He was always afraid that they would think he was crazy or that he was a liar. If we hadn't had our encounter while out hunting frogs, and my uncle hadn't shared the story with his cousin, my uncle's son, who then told them about their incident, he might have got his wish
and taken the story to his grave. Well, I'm sure glad he told y'all that story, and I'm sure happy that circumstances came together where you could learn about it. Man, that was cool. I can almost see all that happening in my mind. That was a fantastic story. Again. I have the writer's email addressed, but I don't have his name, or i'd thank him by name, but hopefully he'll hear this and know how much I appreciate it. Appreciate you, buddy. Hey, y'all, welcome to the
podcast. I hope you enjoyed that first story. I've got three more in this podcast that I think you're going to really enjoy. Yeah, I've been gone for ten or twelve days. Was how do I say it? I got a few comments and emails from people that are real upset. Listen. I don't make my living doing this podcast. YouTube does pay me. Twitter is about to start allowing podcasts on their platform, and when they do, I'm going to start uploading to my dixiecrypted Twitter account because I love Twitter Now.
A matter of fact, I've never even looked at Twitter because it was so weird. I didn't really understand it. I still don't understand it much, but I've been kind of thumbing through it and reading stuff with a lot of a huge variety of people and what they're tweeting, and it's real interesting stuff. If you don't have a Twitter account, you might want to start one. But I heard an interview from the Babylon be with Elon Musk.
I think it was released today or yesterday and Musks said that he's gonna open it up for podcasts and a video sharing content creators, and he even compared it to YouTube. I don't know what that's going to look like, and I don't, but I've grown to really enjoy, at least reading. I don't use Twitter that much. I don't use it to post things. I just use it to kind of follow current events and what people are talking about, and it is interesting. So why am I talking about that? I
can't remember. Anyway, I got loaded up with work and I had a job that was really pressurized. I had to meet a deadline. I did a job in ten days. I worked from the day I got the job until the day I submitted it. I worked ten or twelve hours a day. I worked all through the Memorial Day weekend, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. I never took a day off and I had to get that job done.
I just sold another one. It's not quite as pressurized, so I should be able to continue to get a couple of podcasts up a week. But well, I'm in the intim between those jobs. I put a video up yesterday, a podcast out yesterday. Today is Thursday. This will probably hit Friday night, and then I'm gonna this weekend I'm gonna work on the sequel to the video called Hunted. I will put it on the end screen of this video. If you guys haven't heard that story, it's really good.
It's a story written by Neoma Finn. A matter of fact, this weekend, I may premier it. I don't YouTube's after me to start using the premiere button. I probably shouldn't talk about all this in a podcast because people like to hear the stories. But I don't know. It's kind of on my mind, you know me. I don't If it's on my mind,
it blurts out of my mouth. So I'm talking about it. But so if I can get it done by Saturday or Sunday, I'm gonna premier it at probably seven o'clock that night, and we can all get in the chat room during the premiere and talk to each other and listen to the story. I'm trying to do some of the things that YouTube asked me to do. There's one other thing I've done that I didn't want to do, but I didn't think it was a big deal. I'll explain that some other time,
but it has to do with the super Thanks. You'll see a super Thanks button on my shorts, and I think on my videos, I'm not sure. And that's where people beg for money. I don't want you to give. I don't want you to give me a penny. But YouTube asked me to do it. I think they're trying to generate revenue because they get a huge chunk of that if you give. And I don't blame them.
I don't blame them for doing that. And I said I would do it and able to feature, and it's there, but I'm not asking you for money. I don't think you should pay a penny to somebody who just because they do YouTube. I've always thought it was silly. The girl that was kind of advising me on this from YouTube was saying, oh, it's a great feature and we really want you to turn it on. You can add
revenue, and I think two people have given to it. And to those two people, thank you very much, but please don't give to that. I'm just I've got it enabled. I don't want you to give to it because it's I've got some other things coming up, and if you want to spend your money on these audio projects, probably in the next three months, I'm going to announce something kind of new and you'll be able to contribute to that if you want. I'm you know, it's just one of those things
that I want to give it a whirl and see if it'll work. This podcast stays the same. Nothing changes with this podcast. Everything is free to you. You don't have to pay a time to hear these stories. And that's that. So I've gone on long enough for that. But the point is there going to be times in the life of this podcast that I may be gone for a week or two and it's just it's nothing. I'm not
working. I'm just not working on the podcasts. I'm working for my customers and trying to give them the best I have and I owe them that. So that's where I've been, all right. You can listen to this podcast also on any podcast app if you search for what if It's True podcast. I should have called it Dixiecrypted, but you can even put in Dixiecrypted in
the search bar and one of my podcasts will pop up. You can hit that podcast and then follow on Apple podcast, Google Podcast, Stitcher, Spotify, all the podcast apps I think I'm one pretty much all of them and just search for what if it's true or dixiecrypted and you can listen that way. It's a lot less data and a lot less battery use. So I thought I would put that out there. That's an option for you to listen to these stories. All right, let's jump into the next three stories.
I think you're gonna love this. All right, here we go. This is an email from Sabrina and I said her name because she said she would be proud for me to have used her name in this podcast and to read her letter to me. And this is really good, really good. She writes. I was born in nineteen sixty nine, and I grew up in rural southeast Alabama. The terrain here is hilly, with old growth forest and vast acres of land, also too low and swampy to be pastures or fields.
We owned four acres of woodland along a tributary of the Blackwood Creek that feeds into the west fork of the chok Choctawatchee River. The small creek that ran through our property was always changing, either because of heavy rainfall or beaver activity down stream, and this meant that sometimes there were deep pools where fish would hang out. One of my favorite pastimes was catching what we call brim, but what is more commonly known as bluegill or perch now sabrina. They're
brim, You and I know what they are. They're brim. I think I was eight or nine years old when I decided to take my cane pole down through the trees to the creek a warm summer afternoon. There was a wooden bridge that my father belt that spanned the creek by fifteen feet. Standing in the creek bed, the top of it came up to about my chin. There was a sandbar under the east edge, but I avoided that area. It was close to the underside of the bridge, and I knew snakes
and large spiders hung out there. I like to stand in the creek while I fished to keep my feet cool. That day, I caught two good sized brim in quick succession, and I put them on a stringer that I had tied to my belt loop, and I kept fishing. When you grow up barefoot as a country kid, you gain us six cents when it comes to snakes. And I saw a movement upstream that I knew spelled trouble. Sure enough, here came a water moccasin. People will tell you that they
won't chase you, but that's a bunch of hocum. I've seen my own mama get chased by one, and this was one that was making a bee line for me. Let me stop here and say, Sabrina knows what she's talking about. I don't know why. But there's snake experts that say a cotton mouth or water moccasin, we call them old cold jaw, that they won't chase you, but they do. People all over the South will tell you that they've been chased by a cotton mouth. I actually got kicked out
of a Facebook group about reptiles. The subject came up about cotton mouse and you can't call them poisonous. That's not sophisticated enough. If you have to call them venomous. If you call them poisonous, they kick you out. If you say a cotton mouth will chase a person, they'll kick you out. So I got kicked out. But there's some kind of orthodoxy or purest vision in the elite reptile community that they don't want us dumbass is making comments
on real life issues when it comes to snakes. I don't know that the snake when it's chasing you, has any intention of biting you. I think they may have a nest close by, they may have a food source close by, and they're trying to run you out. And I think they know deep down inside that when they come at whatever is close by, they naturally know that it's a dangerous animal and they move away. So it's kind of like the Bigfoot community. There are really super orthodox people. I got the
ugliest, most savage email I have ever read. This guy was calling me names and then he copied it or pasted it or maybe put it in a comment. Those kind of comments get kicked off into a review folder. For me, it was the worst email I've ever seen or comment I've ever seen. He called me everything that you can imagine under the sun, and he says, I'm making up stories and I'm ruining the Bigfoot topic and nobody's ever going to believe if I keep telling these stories. And this guy is a
lunatic, a total lunatic tick. And the hell of it is is I meant to banning, but I actually clicked by mistake to approve this comment, So then I went to find it and I couldn't even find it where well under the video where I knew it was. So I think the comment was so bad that YouTube wouldn't even let me improve it. So there are some vicious people out there. And all that to say, All that to say is that Sabrina knows what she's talking about. She's fished in these little flooded
areas for brown before, and that's where you'll alway in the South. You'll always have a good chance of running into a cotton mouth in in those areas. Okay, I'm sorry to get diverted. And my rooster was growing and distracting me, so I kind of went off on a tangent. But let's get back to the story. Squirrel. I dropped my pole and I vaulted for the west side of the bridge, which was closest to me. But
now I was across the creek from home. I got all about the two fish on the stringer tied to my belt loop, and I was high tailing it across the bridge. The stringer got caught between the boards and that snatched me back. Now I was a strong kid, and I was scared silly, and I made another run at it, and my belt loop broke and As soon as I was free, I hauled a tail out of there. I didn't go too far back up the path through the woods. That watermoccason
wasn't going to leave the creek bed. After a good twenty minute waite, I slowly carefully made my way back to the bridge, and I kept my eyes open as I stepped onto the boards and I leaned over to pick up my stringer. To my surprise, the stringer was lying on the boards, but there were no fish on it, and I looked over the sides of the bridge, thinking maybe the brim had somehow worked their way off and might
still be visible. I didn't see any fish, but I did see one very clear, extremely large, bare footprint right in the middle of the sand dune on the east side of the bridge. It was at least three times as long as my foot and I'll never forget the feeling that washed over me again. I let out of there, and this time all the way back up to the house. I mean, I flew my feet barely touched the
ground all the way. My grandmother was sitting on the backdack shelling peas when I came running up, and she asked me what was chasing me, and I had to catch my breath before I could tell her what I saw. Well, she smiled and said, well, that's just a wooly bugger. It won't hurt you. Regardless of what my grandmother said, it was a long time before I could go back to the creek alone again. Even as an adult, I still get goosebumps when I think about my close encounter.
Since the Patterson Gemlin film came out in nineteen sixty seven, I'm sure the possibility of Bigfoot was on my preteen radar. I've done some research on the subject. In the southeast Alabama area and ster Sting Lee. There are a
couple of sightings not far from Blackwood where I had my incident. In Skipperville in nineteen seventy eight, some men were out quail hunting in a clear cut area and saw what they thought was a large, burned up stump until it started moving, and they estimated the darkhaired, bipedal creature was eight feet tall.
Their bird dogs refused to go near it. Also in the late nineteen seventies, landowners near Highway one O five reported a large, dark, hairy humanoid that came out of the woods to chase their cows on more than one occasion less than thirty years prior to all these sightings. In nineteen fifty three, in an area called a Screamer near Abbeville, a woman described seeing what appeared to be too juvenile bigfoot along the edge of the road. I can't
help but wonder where Screamer got his name. Blackwood, Alabama, where I spent my childhood, hasn't changed at all in fifty years. It's still rural. The roads are narrow and the woods are dark, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if something large and hairy still inhabits the creek beds, blending in with the old trees and fishing for brim. What a great I love the story. The Bigfoot didn't get it after her. The snake got after her, and they will get after you. I'm telling you they will,
snake purists, especially cotton mouths. So the Bigfoot didn't come after her, but she saw evidence of it. And then she backs it up with several incidents that have happened before her incident and since her incident, and it made this story very interesting, and the way she wrote it was superb, And I really appreciate Sabrina for sending this. I don't know when I got this email. I copy them and paste them to my word file, and I probably should put a date on them, but I didn't have a date.
But I'm so glad she sent this, and I appreciate you very much, Sabrina. I need to tell you a couple of things about the story that you're about to hear. First, I miss oh. I hate saying this. I missed gender the person who wrote the story. There was no name with the story, but the email address has a woman's name attached to it, so when I began reading it, I assumed it was a woman who sent it. But in the story they will tell you they're a man,
so this is a story written by a man. Second, this story is very cryptic. It doesn't make much sense. It's hard to follow. There is no point to the story. And I had actually kicked it off. I had not deleted it. It was going to be one of the very very few that I just kick out and delete because it's just so it's so confusing that I can't make headser tails of it. But Neoma Finn, who
does a lot of the editing for these stories. Probably eighty or ninety percent of the editing for these stories found it, and she was able to make headser tails out of it, and she kind of worked our magic on it and made it somewhat legible. And so I read it. I'm narrating it here. As you listen to this. Don't look at this as a kind of a story that you can relax and just listen to, which you can do that, but it is kind of the wanderings of a mind of a
person who can't seem to stay on track. Now you have to ask yourself why, why is that? It could be that they're just that way. I'm that way. I could never stay on track. Even sometimes I can't stay I can't speak two sentences and I'll go off on another subject. I don't know what that glitches in my mind, or if there's some brain damage in my past, probably the lighter or you can look at it as this person has so traumatized by the events that they're about to tell you about that
they're mind wanderers like that. Just listen, come away with your own conclusions, and just take this story that way. I know it's a long intro for a story, but I wanted to set it up for you. Okay, here we go. This is a story from a woman who asked me not to use her name, and I won't. I've had hundreds of instances of what others might call paranormal or fantasies. They've also called them lies, mental problems, etc. Since high school. I realized I was alone in
my beliefs. I can't classify them under one umbrella, as they encompass so many different experiences. I find it all normal. I let others dwell in the mundane, in the ordinary. To me, that is the definite of the word bazaar. So how can people possibly not see all the stuff that's going on around them? Perhaps ignorance is bliss. I've never told anyone my full story. I don't want to make people afraid of things that they'll never
encounter. I once had a friend who was an old army nurse, and combat hardened my tales reduced her to hysterics, and she refrained from ever listening to any of them ever again. Back in the nineteen sixties, I was once in the coastal mountain range along the Pacific Ocean south of Mendocino, California. I was hiking a trail when I saw a pair of intense red eyes from a bush thirty feet ahead. Was it a bigfoot or a dog man? It radiated pure evil. I slowly backed down the trail, never averting
my gaze from the creature. My father was a naval officer in the nineteen forties. He believed President Eisenhower was in collusion with a group of ets called the Tall Grays. He claimed Ike was willing to trade American lives for the secrets of space technology. We made it to the moon, but at what cost. The knowledge tore my father up so bad mentally that he became an alcoholic. My birst seemed to bring him little joy. He tried to kill
me twice as a toddler because he feared me good grief. I exhibited signs of telepathy when I was a child. My parents would leave me behind with a babysitter to attend a movie, and when they returned to their amazement, I could recite back to them the whole swaths of the film's plot and dialogue. My father called me a devil. Holy smokes, I've moved around a
lot, staying one step ahead of our government. There have been badly stage kidnapping plots against me by those who would love to pin me up like a butterfly and study me. How can you sneak up on someone who can read your mind? They've yet to succeed. I'm a free man and insist on remaining that way, whatever my perceived abilities mean to those in the shadows who rule our world for their own nefarious reasons. My father told me there were
forces out there beyond the capacity for men to fathom or understand. He had a theory that when the planet became too crowded or resources were at a premium, the earth revolted with pestilence, wars, and natural disasters. He spoke
of beings known as Draconians who saw flesh as a commodity. They had been around for hundreds of thousands of years, and their numbers correspond to the casualty counts reported by the Who I think of all that disappeared, once beloved by spouses and family, whose lives now exist only within the confines of a cold case file. It is likely that one day these people will be found and reunited with their loved ones, Or are they nothing more than bones buried in
an unmarked grave. My own father vanished a number of years ago. Get too close to the truth and you'll end up a statistic dig deeper into the government and you'll be shoveling your own grave. I would like to write more, but there are men in black ops gear coming up the drive I'll contact you when I can. Whoa man. That was a cryptic last sentence. I think I've had this story a while. I wasn't really sure what to
do with it. I sent it to Niomah. She didn't know what to do with it, but she finally got to it and she pulled the high points out of it. And it is extremely confusing, but it's very interesting. And again, man men in black coming up the driveway as she writes this, How weird is that? Thank you, sir for sending the story. Okay, here's a story from Okay. She doesn't say whether or to use her name, so I won't, but I know it's a woman, and let's just read the story and see what she has to say. This
takes place in Texas. I was four going on five years old in nineteen seventy eight when my parents moved us out of the city to Spring, Texas. Back then, it was in the early stages of development and still considered country. It's hard to believe that to look at it now. Our house was one of only a few that had just been built. It backed up to nothing but woods from our back door all the way to where Deerbrook Mall would be built years later. I was a bit of a different kid.
I was definitely a tomboy, and as soon as I discovered the woods behind our house, I became a nature lover. I would spend hours in the woods, either with a few kids who lived on our block or by myself. Now, parenting was different then. At five or six years old, I was allowed a lot more freedom than the children and that young today. So I lived in the woods from dawn to dusk. I chased bugs, and I picked wild blackberries, and I caught crowdads and tadpoles, and I
ran barefoot through the mud. Sometimes, when I walked all the way to the water treatment plant that was buried deep in the woods, I would hear tree knocks and whistles and what sounded like an occasional falling tree. Now this went on for years. Once I asked my dad if monkeys lived in those woods. He laughed, and he said, well, now, not in these woods. Well, what do you think it is making those noises? I asked, I don't know. He said, maybe it was a whooping
crane. This was years before the Internet. The only Google we had back then was Encyclopedia Britannica, and that was only if you were lucky enough to have parents who could afford them. Well, I know now that my parents were not all knowing or even well educated, but back then I was sure that they knew everything. I never felt worried or afraid when I was out there playing. As a matter of fact, it was the only place I
wasn't afraid if i'd all changed. On a hot Texas summer evening, it was getting close to dinner time and my stomach was starting to feel it, so I started for home. I was on the trail i'd walked nearly every day when this event happened. It began with the sound of heavy footsteps behind me in a little off to the side of the path. By the end, I was ten years old and I was pretty tough for a girl. At first, I kept walking while still paying close attention to the footsteps,
and when I stepped it stepped. Thinking it was one of the neighborhood boys trying to scare me, I yelled out, now you stop, you really are scaring me. It occurred to me that no one had ever tried to scare me before, and it made me all the more leary. Then I heard a grunt. It didn't sound like it came from a human. It was definitely an animal grunt. A cold chill ran through me at that sound, and the hair stood on the end all over my body as I thought,
Lord, please don't let this wild hog kill me. It had to be a bore. I thought I'd seen plenty of them back there, but I'd never had a run in with one. They were usually so far away when I spotted them that there was no danger I was hoping. I startled it and I yelled, please leave me alone, with all my breath. But I can't honestly say if it came out loud and strong or just a
whisper. I was suddenly aware of being surrounded by nothing but silence. I knew no noise in the woods meant bad news, and somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice was telling me to run. All of a sudden, I felt a tear on my cheek, and the feeling of my own tear running down my face scared me so bad that I was jolted into
action, and I ran whatever this thing was. It followed me off to my side, and I could not make myself look anywhere but straight ahead, and I jumped over fallen branches and rutted out holes and skipped over rocks, and I hugged tight to the inside corners of any twists and turns until I broke through the tree line and I saw the fence that separated our yard from the world. Running now on pure adrenaline, I stepped up the pace until
I realized that whatever was chasing me was slowing down. This wasn't a hog or any other animal that I knew. It was running on two legs, and then I heard a whoop and a whistle, and finally a sound I recognized, and I allowed myself to slow down just a bit. As I got closer, I could hear my brothers playing in the backyard with the neighbors. And I hit the privacy fence and I planted my foot on the bottom piece of the wood, and I grabbed the top and I flung myself over
like a raccoon caught in a floodlight. And when I hit the ground on everyone stopped playing and they stared at me. Why didn't you just use the gates, you big dummy, I heard one of my brothers say. I was too out of breath to answer, and as I started to leave the yard, one of the older boys, who was probably fifteen at the time, came running over to me and asked me if I saw it. I still couldn't find my worst so I shook my head. No, I didn't see it. I smelled it, I heard it. I was terrified by
it, but I didn't see it. Whatever it was. He bent down then and he grabbed me by my shoulders and he said, look at me. That was when I finally burst into tears, and he led me around to the other side of the house and he hugged me in till I stopped shaking, and then he made me promise never to go that far into the woods again. If you want to go to that pond, you come get me and I'll take you, he said. I shook my head yes, but he reiterated, don't go to that pond alone. I promised me never
go there unless you come and get me first. No one else knows, and it needs to stay that way. I kept my promise and he kept his, and when I wanted to go to the pond, I always went and got him and he took me there. Over the years we became pretty good friends. But to this day we've never spoken a word about that day or what he saw chasing me, and I never went that far into the woods again. Looking back, and having heard so many stories over the years,
I realized now that they always knew I was there. They watched me grow up in those woods and probably enjoyed all the leftover food and snacks I left. Of the animals. I think it was a juvenile who was playing with me or chasing me that day, and when its parents found out what was going on, they let out a whoop and a whistle and a call for their child to come back to them. I've never seen one. I don't know if I ever want to, but if I do, I hope
it is as nice and kind as that family was to me. I hope they let me enjoy my time in the woods forevermore. Oh, this is a great story. The best part of this story is your brother coming to your side, your older brother and taking care of his sister. I mean, the bigfoot part was interesting. Obviously he knew it was out there, but he knew how to take care of us, and he knows a lot
of brothers at age it wouldn't do that. And it just as I was reading it, I was almost choking up, thinking, that's going to be a real man right there. He's going to grow up and be a real man. He knows who to look after and he knows how to calm people down, and he's probably still that way. So to the woman who wrote this, thank you so much for sharing this. I loved it. I loved the story. It was wonderful. I wish I could say your name.
You probably wouldn't care, but you know who you are if you're listening, still listening to this podcast, and I appreciate the story. Thank you. Thank you for joining me on this podcast. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you. I'm so glad to be back recording these. I just love doing this. I don't know why I wake up in the morning. I go through a little ritual in the mornings just to get myself going.
Then I go on a bike ride with my dogs and loosen up a little bit, and then all I think about is when can I get done with my work and get back to recording these stories because I just love it. I love doing it, and I don't know why. I have no idea why, but I'm so glad. If you've listened this far, you must enjoy it too. That makes it all worth it, and I love you for it. So you guys, have a good rest of your week. Hopefully I'll be back this weekend with the sequel to the story Hunted.
It's going to pop up here in a minute if it didn't already, the video on the end screen. If you haven't heard that story, click on that video and listen to it, because it's truly good. All Right, we'll see you guys on the next one. Thanks.