Between the trees Tubi 🌳

 

The Setup: Misery in the Woods

​The film centers on Steve, a middle-aged man whose marriage is visibly deteriorating. Seeking an escape before facing the music at home, he organizes a weekend hunting trip to a remote cabin with his three lifelong friends: Mack, Dave, and the incredibly anxious, gaming-obsessed Josh.

​The trip derails almost instantly. After a night of heavy drinking, hostile poker games, and strange howling noises echoing from the dark forest, the men wake up to discover their vehicle's wires have been entirely severed. When Steve discovers a massive, bizarre footprint nearby, the group quickly lets their imaginations run wild, convincing themselves they are on the trail of Bigfoot.

​However, their hunt takes a dark, irreversible turn when they are ambushed and kill a deformed, feral backwoods boy in self-defense. They quickly realize they are being systematically hunted through the dense treeline by the boy’s massive, vengeful father.

​The Good: Atmospheric Eye Candy

​The absolute saving grace of this production is its visual presentation. Cinematographer Chuck Greenwood does an exceptional job maximizing the natural scenery. The morning sequences—where the sunrise filters directly through the dense, creeping fog—are beautiful and create a genuinely eerie, atmospheric weight that elevates the film above standard low-budget horror fare.

​Douglas also uses several experimental camera tracking angles and quick-cut pans that feel heavily inspired by classic Evil Dead style filmmaking. Combined with a very solid, brooding musical score by Evan Evans, the technical framework of the movie does an excellent job building tension out of the empty wilderness.

​The Bad: Thin Bonds and a Bizarre Beast

​Where the movie stumbles significantly is in its writing and character execution:

​Fractured Friendships: The script tries to serve as a commentary on toxic masculinity and the hidden secrets men keep from each other. Unfortunately, the characters are written as unlikable, grating stereotypes who spend the majority of their time bickering and treating each other like garbage. It makes it incredibly difficult to believe these men have been "best friends" for decades, and because they are so thin, you never truly care when they start getting picked off.

​The Creature Disconnect: The film builds up a menacing, legendary cryptid presence early on. Yet, when the primary antagonist finally steps out into broad daylight, the illusion crumbles. Instead of a towering, hairy forest beast, audiences are greeted by a hairless, pale-grey mutant wearing standard human clothing, wielding a bow and arrow, and sporting what looks like a stiff, cheap rubber Halloween mask. The design has zero physical presence and robs the climax of any real terror.

​The Breakdown

Episode 82: The Cost of Silence 🤫

 

# Episode 82: The Cost of Silence 🤫

Sarah stood by the kitchen counter, her manicured fingers tightly gripping the smooth, cold edge of the wood as she tried to find the right moment. 🍳 She desperately wanted to be completely honest with him, but since everything was going so incredibly well between them right now, she dreaded breaking the peace.

*How can I say this?* she thought to herself, her eyes darting across the room to where he sat. *I really want our marriage to work. But if I don't say something, am I injuring our marriage by keeping it inside?* 💔 The heavy, circular questions spun relentlessly through her mind, making her chest feel tight as she finished clearing up the leftover breakfast things and wiping down the counter.

Andrew, meanwhile, was focused entirely on little Alice. 👶 Pushing through the stubborn, sharp pain that still plagued his lower back and muscles with every single movement, he carefully gathered the toddler up into his arms. He brought her over to the living room, moving slowly to brace against the discomfort, and set her down safely in front of the television set. 📺

"Va... va... va!" Alice chattered happily, her little finger pointing directly at the dark glass screen.

Andrew couldn't help but chuckle softly, a warm fondness cutting through his physical exhaustion. She was so incredibly smart; she knew exactly what she wanted the moment she saw the remote. He reached down, clicked the power button, and selected *VeggieTales*.

The very second the familiar, brassy, polka-style theme song began to pipe out of the speakers, Alice’s face completely lit up. 🌟 She started bouncing up and down on the carpet, clapping her tiny hands together in pure, unadulterated delight. Andrew leaned back into the sofa cushions very carefully, rubbing his temples as the loud, repetitive tune filled the room. As a good father, he was completely willing to sit there and put up with it, even though that particular opening song was already beginning to drive him absolutely crazy. The show itself was fine—it was just that bleeding theme song. 😵‍💫

From the kitchen, Sarah watched the two of them. Taking a slow, steadying breath to settle the flutter in her stomach, she finally walked over, her bare footsteps quiet against the floorboards. She stopped just to the side of the sofa, her eyes moving from their bouncing daughter up to the lines of pain etched around Andrew's face.

"She really does have you wrapped around her finger already," Sarah said, her British accent carrying a bright, musical note of amusement as she watched Alice clap. 🇬🇧

Andrew looked up from the sofa, the tension from his physical pain easing just a fraction as a genuine chuckle escaped him. "Can you blame me? Look at her. I'm completely defenseless." 🥰

For a beautiful, brief moment, the heavy cloud in Sarah's mind lifted, replaced by a flash of pure levity. But as the animated vegetables continued to sing, Sarah cleared her throat softly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Right then... I’m going up to take a shower."

Andrew gave a comfortable nod, resting his arm along the back of the sofa. "Okay, honey. We're just going to veg out."

Sarah paused at the edge of the room, slowly rolling her eyes with a dramatic, affectionate sigh. "The dad jokes, Andrew? Again? Seriously?" 🙄

"Always," he replied, a sharp, cheeky smirk flashing across his face. 😏

With a small smile still lingering on her lips, Sarah turned and walked away, heading up the stairs and into the quiet sanctuary of the master bedroom. She walked into the bathroom, the cool air instantly contrasting with the warmth she was about to create. One by one, she slipped off her clothes and stepped toward the large glass enclosure of the steam shower. 🚿

Reaching in, she turned the heavy metal knobs, activating both the hot water and the deep, heavy steam setting. She pulled the thick glass door shut behind her, sealing herself inside.

Almost instantly, the thick, white steam began to billow around her, cloaking the entire stall in a dense, warm fog. Sarah stepped directly under the showerhead, closing her eyes as the hot water rushed down over her face and through her hair. 🧖‍♀️

*Wow... that is such a relief,* she thought, letting her shoulders finally drop as the heavy heat began to penetrate her tight, aching muscles.

Safely hidden behind the foggy glass, she began her usual routine, taking her time with the comforting ritual of getting perfectly clean. She reached for her favorite mom shampoo, working the familiar, floral scent into a thick lather against her scalp, before washing it out and reaching for her preferred body soap and gentle facial cleanser. She washed away the physical grit of the morning, focusing entirely on the warmth beating down on her skin.🧴🧼

But as she stood there, clean and drenched under the steady, drumming spray, the quietness of the shower allowed her mind to start wandering right back to thoughts of Caleb. 💭

She remembered when she honestly believed that Andrew was dead. She had experienced such a great time with Caleb, chatting easily with him at the church. And then, the desperation for attention had driven her to crawl under the kitchen sink, deliberately loosening the pipe until it began to leak—just so she would have a flawless excuse to call him over to the house as a plumber. She felt so incredibly bad about that manipulation now.

Standing in the rising steam, she could still vividly picture his sandy blonde hair. She remembered how effortless it had been to talk to him. She felt so guilty for getting so caught up in the fantasy of him back then, remembering how she used to tuck her hair behind her ears and blush furiously whenever he looked at her. Before Andrew had unexpectedly walked back through the front door, alive and breathing, she had been having intense, physical thoughts about Caleb. Everything about him had made her feel good at that low point in her life. 🫣

When Andrew had come home, she had been so excited and grateful he was alive. And when Andrew eventually scared Caleb off, she knew it was entirely appropriate—but it had still left a lingering void inside her. A void she tried to patch over with secret, occasional banter on her phone, even though she hadn't physically seen Caleb since that day.

Andrew knew nothing about the text conversations, let alone the history of that loosened pipe. To keep it completely hidden, she had disguised Caleb's number under the name "Denise" on her phone. 📱

But now, with the water drumming against her skin and the heat relaxing her inhibitions, a sudden, heavy wave of inappropriate thoughts completely overwhelmed her. *What would it be like if he were actually here right now? If he reached out to touch her, to squeeze her body, to kiss her?* The sudden, intense heat of the fantasy rushed through her veins. Giving in to the overwhelming rush of the moment, Sarah reached down to give herself some pleasure. 🔥

She pressed her forearm firmly against the slick, wet tile of the shower wall to steady her weight as her heart rate instantly spiked. Her breathing became shallow, rapid, and gasping against the thick steam, her knees growing weaker and weaker under the intensity of the sensation until, finally, it was done. 🌊

The echoing silence that followed the water cutting off was almost deafening as she turned the heavy knob completely off. The steam began to thin against the glass, but the crushing weight in the room only grew heavier. Sarah stood there frozen for a moment, her heart still beating rapidly against her ribs, but the rush of pleasure was instantly replaced by a deep, hollow ache. She felt infinitely more horrible now than she had when she first stepped into the shower. 😞

The urge to just go downstairs and confess everything to Andrew about the text messages to Caleb tore at her conscience, but she knew the brutal reality. With him in so much pain and everything finally stable between them, it would not go over well at all. It would shatter their peace entirely.

Steeling herself, she stepped out of the stall and began the routine of putting her mask back on. She dried her skin thoroughly with a towel, applied her moisturizer, and got dressed. She put on her makeup with steady fingers, splashed on a hint of her favorite perfume, and finally tied up her hair. 💄✨

Taking one last deep breath to anchor herself, she walked out of the master bedroom and came back downstairs.

"Oh, you two still watching the *VeggieTales*?" she asked, her British accent back to its usual bright, effortless tone as she entered the living room. 🇬🇧

Andrew looked up from the sofa, still playing the part of the patient father while Alice remained utterly transfixed by the colorful characters on the screen.

"Well, I've got a right to go out and pick up some gauze, bandages, and stuff to redress your wounds," she explained, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. 🩹

Andrew offered a warm, grateful look, leaning back slightly against the cushions. "Oh, that's fine, honey." Then, a playful glint hit his eyes, and he pitched his voice into a thick, exaggerated, comical imitation of her own British accent. "Pick me up another one wanted to of this trailer question Charlton, you Burris... unless it's been a favorite of me since I was right young lad." 😂

Sarah couldn't help but chuckle at his ridiculous attempt. Slipping effortlessly into her best, over-the-top, nasal American accent, she fired right back, "Right, I'll go ahead and pick them up, and I'll be back!" 🇺🇸

They both shared a genuine laugh, a perfect, normal married moment. But as Sarah turned her back and walked out the door, the laughter died instantly. The guilt settled right back into her chest, heavy and suffocating. She climbed into the driver's seat of the car, feeling utterly wretched and bad about absolutely everything, turned the key, and slowly pulled out of the driveway into the afternoon. 🚗💨

Nick shirley and ireland

 

ANDREW’S NEWS NETWORK (ANN)

​BREAKING: Mainstream Media Blackout — Independent Journalist Nick Shirley Embeds with the Forgotten People of Ireland

​DUBLIN — While the global corporate media outlets keep their lenses firmly shut against what is actually happening on the streets of Europe, independent journalists are stepping into the gap to show the world the truth. In a massive ongoing story completely scrubbed from mainstream feeds, American independent reporter Nick Shirley recently traveled to Ireland to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with thousands of regular working-class citizens marching to save their country.

​For months, massive peaceful demonstrations have erupted across Dublin and local communities, with citizens demanding immediate government accountability regarding unvetted immigration policies, extreme housing shortages, and the erasure of local voices. Yet, if you turn on the evening news, there is absolute silence.

​"The News They Don't Want You to See"

​Shirley, known for his raw, minimalist, on-the-ground street interviews, bypassed the traditional press blocks to let ordinary Irish mothers, fathers, and workers speak for themselves. While mainstream networks label the protestors with aggressive, dismissive terms to protect corporate interests, Shirley’s coverage captures a very different, deeply patriotic reality.  

​Independent media reports highlight that the crowds are overwhelmingly comprised of regular local people who feel their communities have been pushed to a breaking point. One protestor interviewed during the marches summed up the frustration perfectly:

​"The government isn't listening to us. They’ve completely abandoned the working-class areas. If you say anything, you're canceled, but we have nowhere left to live and our voices are totally scrubbed from the airwaves."

​Breaking the Narrative

​By physically marching alongside the people, Shirley’s broadcast provided a direct window into a movement that mainstream platforms are actively trying to suppress. Right-leaning and independent outlets note that these grassroots crowds are not corporate-backed; they are everyday citizens standing up for their sovereignty, shouting a message that corporate media refuses to broadcast: Ireland belongs to the Irish people.

​As the global elite continue to scrub the internet of real, grassroots pushback, platforms like Andrew’s News Network will continue to highlight the truth that the mainstream giants want buried.

Late breakfast at Powerhouse grill

 

WALK THROUGHOUT CHESTERLY PARK

I went put gill in Yakima 

For a late breakfast at powerhouse grill.

As you can see very delicious 😋 

I've been on a journey to fix my thinking and behavior.  

Learning to respect my boundaries and others boundaries. 

At times when something goes really wrong I want to share it with my friends far away.  

Now I hold back the have spouses kids lives  and troubles of there own.

Not say if something major happens to me I won't tell them.

I respect them and there lives 🙏 

The "Tupperware Gold" Standard: A Rewatch Review of Firewalker (1986)

 

The "Tupperware Gold" Standard: A Rewatch Review of Firewalker (1986)

​There is a very specific ritual known to anyone who survived the VHS boom of the late 1980s. It involves clocking out of a brutal 50-hour work week, walking past the corporate neon of Blockbuster, and stepping into the glorious, slightly dusty sanctuary of your local independent video store. You know the place—the one with the faded Predator poster in the window, the faint smell of stale popcorn, and a weekend special tape-rental deal that practically dared you to dig through the bargain rows.

​Back then, the mission was simple: hunt down the most beautifully, unapologetically awful movies on the shelf. And in 1986, Cannon Films delivered a holy grail of suspected cinematic disasters: Firewalker.

​The Flick

​On paper, Firewalker was Cannon's desperate attempt to cash in on the globe-trotting success of Raiders of the Lost Ark and Romancing the Stone. They took the absolute wildest creative risk possible: they put Chuck Norris in a fedora, told him to stop hitting people for five minutes, and asked him to be... charming.

​Chuck plays Max Donigan alongside the legendary Louis Gossett Jr. as Leo Porter. They are a pair of bumbling, down-on-their-luck fortune hunters recruited by a quirky blonde (Melody Anderson) with an ancient map leading to a hoard of Aztec and Mayan gold hidden deep in Central America. What follows is a magnificent trainwreck of a buddy-comedy adventure featuring bar fights, Sonny Landham as a bizarre villain named El Coyote, and John Rhys-Davies sporting a deeply confusing Southern acThe Verdict

​To survive a rewatch of Firewalker, you have to go into it with your eyes wide open, fully aware of exactly what you are stepping into. This is a monumentally, delightfully bad movie. Roger Ebert famously pointed out that the "priceless ancient gold" in the climax looked suspiciously like spray-painted Tupperware, and he wasn't wrong.

​From Chuck Norris trying to navigate comedic banter to the infamous scene where he and Gossett dress up as priests and fake a funeral using Pig Latin, the film is a masterclass in 80s camp. It lacks the gritty, unhinged action of Lone Wolf McQuade or Invasion U.S.A., opting instead for low-budget sight gags and slow-motion roundhouse kicks that feel entirely out of place in a jungle treasure hunt.

​But if you view it through the nostalgic lens of a Friday night rental after a long week of hard work, it earns its place on the shelf. It is a time capsule of a lawless era in filmmaking. Go pour yourself a drink, check your brain completely at the door, and enjoy the glorious, awful ride. Rating: 2/5 Stars (5/5 for pure Cannon Films nostalgia).cent.

Cheaper by the Dozen (2003) ​The Pitch

 

Cheaper by the Dozen (2003)

​The Pitch

​A chaotic, harmless studio comedy designed to be maximum safe viewing for all ages. When the father of twelve gets his dream football coaching job and the mother goes on a book tour, absolute domestic anarchy ensues.

​Why It Works for a Casual Watch

​Zero Offense: There is absolutely nothing here to shock, stress, or make anyone in the room uncomfortable. It is pure, clean formula from start to finish.

​The Star Power: Steve Martin brings his reliable, warm fatherly charm, and Bonnie Hunt keeps things grounded. Even if the script is full of loud screaming, their chemistry feels like a real, affectionate marriage.

​Ashton Kutcher’s Cameo: Playing the uncredited, self-absorbed actor boyfriend "Hank," he willingly becomes the butt of the film’s absolute best physical pranks (including the infamous meat-soaked underwear routine).   

​Where It Fails

​Lowest Common Denominator Humor: It relies heavily on screaming, falling objects, and a crumbling chandelier. It's "barrel-scraping" slapstick rather than clever wit.  

​Overwhelming Chaos: With twelve kids to cover, the movie struggles to give them actual depth. Most of the middle children are reduced to a single trait, and the director's main way of showing a big family is just having everyone shout at the exact same time.

​The Bottom Line: A textbook 2.5-star movie. It won’t win any awards for brilliant writing, but if you need something mindless to keep the room happy while you switch your brain off, it gets the job done perfectly.

The Great Waffle Investigation

 

The Great Waffle Investigation: Why We Are Eating Them All Wrong

​I’ve been looking into things. Deep things. Specifically, why the world bows down to the almighty waffle, and let me tell you—we’ve been sold a bit of a localized myth.

​We all know the standard Sunday morning routine: pour some pale, watery batter into a screaming hot iron, smother the resulting sponge in corn-syrup-based "maple" flavor, and call it a day. It turns out, if you whisper the phrase "Belgian Waffle" in Brussels, you might just get a very polite, very European blank stare.

​Because over there? There is no such thing. They don't have a single "Belgian" waffle; they have a culinary divide.

​My investigation led me to the real heavy hitters of the grid-iron world, and it boils down to two main players.

​1. The Architectural Marvel (The Brussels)

​First, you have the Brussels waffle. This is the rectangular one you see in the slick food blogs. It’s light, it’s airy, and it’s got pockets deep enough to hold a secret. The secret, by the way, is beaten egg whites or proper yeast in the batter to make it incredibly crisp on the outside. In Belgium, they treat it with respect—just a tiny snowfall of powdered sugar. No syrup rivers allowed.

​2. The Street-Food King (The Liège)

​Then, you head east to Liège, and things get delightfully gritty. This isn’t a liquid batter; it’s a thick, heavy brioche dough. And the masterstroke? They fold actual chunks of pearl sugar right into the dough. When that hits the iron, the sugar doesn't just melt—it caramelizes into a sticky, crunchy, golden shell. It’s dense, it’s rich, and you eat it warm out of a paper wrapper while walking down a cobblestone street. No fork, no knife, no manners required.

​The Verdict

​How did we end up with our massive, syrup-soaked breakfast plates? Pure marketing, darling. A clever chap brought the Brussels version to the New York World’s Fair in 1964, realized Americans couldn't quite pronounce "Brussels" with a mouthful of dough, and rebranded it as the "Belgian Waffle."

​So the next time you look at a standard breakfast menu, just remember: you’re looking at a glorious bit of 1960s PR. The real magic is in the crust.