Richard Davey

@richarddavey

Self confessed geek and Web Developer from the South West, UK. Specialises in PHP, Laravel, Angular, and React; dabbles in Web Design.

South West, England

Joined March 2008

47 Following

91 Followers

660 Posts

Richard Davey @richarddavey

about 2 years ago

@MUFFonSOL Love the $MUFF Army!

Richard Davey @richarddavey

about 2 years ago

@mightymoe_eth @TheUncannyClub @MUFFonSOL @NFTsBreezy Thanks @NFTsBreezy and @TheUncannyClub

richarddavey retweeted

UNCANNY @UncannyCC

about 2 years ago

Jerry woke up on the wrong side of the bed and by bed, I mean the concrete floor of the South West corridor of the men’s changing room. And yet, there was carpet only a few feet from where his head was resting. He shook his head as he rose, neck cracking and his back feeling stiff as a board. At first, Jerry was confused, the emerald, green paint at the country club had just been redone, he was still used to the institutional-white colored walls. It was unanimously decided by the board, or so that’s what Jerry’s mother, Ruth said on the phone one afternoon. There were remnants of soda pop on his bottom lip, and he licked his teeth with his tongue scraping off last night’s sweets. Too much sugar. He wondered where Michael was and knocked on each of the changing rooms, but no response. Each changing room had two lock system, a chain lock and one of those vacant/in-use signs, and all showed vacant. “Michael?” he said. “Michael, WHERE ARE YOU” he yelled. His voice echoed and bounced off the walls. It was so quiet, unlike a normal summer Saturday. They both had been wearing their pressed cream polos, slacks, and sweaters with the UCC crest on the chest. Michael’s sweater was still on the bench, which was odd. He wouldn’t have left it if he went home. Michael is on the heftier side and liked to tie his sweater around his chest to avoid people pointing out his “man boobs”. Well, if he isn’t in the changing room, he must be in the kitchen, Jerry thought. Michael also wasn’t the brightest… but him and Jerry are neighbors, so they stick together, or at least try to. Jerry walked through the changing room, passing the men’s row of stalls and urinals. All the stalls’ doors were open, except for the last, which is near the back entrance of the kitchen. It was only to be used by managers, but Jerry and Michael would sneak in sometimes to grab the freshly baked snacks before they were taken into the dining hall. They made the best sweets, you couldn’t resist. No one knew of their treat thievery, but maybe Michael had been caught? Jerry slowly walked towards the stall, trying to bend down to get an idea of who or what was in the stall. “Michael?” Jerry whispered. He decided his best option was to kick the door open with his leg, so he was hands free, ready for whatever battle might ensue. He counted to three, taking deep breaths. On three, Jerry closed his eyes and scrunched his face, raising his right leg at a 90-degree angle to kick open the door. Instantaneously, a sound pierced through his ears. He opened his eyes and was disappointed to a degree, but not at all shocked at what he was witnessing. It was in fact Michael. Passed out. With two muffin wrappers scattered near his groin, and one half eaten wrapper in his left palm, the rest of it was crumbled around his mouth, stomach, and thighs. He was breathing so heavy, that pieces of muffin crumble would be blown down to the floor. The poor blueberry crumb muffin would never see a plate. He nudged Michael with his foot. Nothing. He nudged again, harder. He twitched. Jerry nudged even harder and shook his left shoulder. Michael gasped, his eyes sporadic with pieces of muffin still in the back of his throat. He started to cough, panic, and wonder why he was on the floor with food blanketing his body. “Michael, man, what in the world!” Jerry exclaimed. “Whu, wha, hu, uh uh uh uh uh, wh wh wha” Michael stuttered. They both looked up at one another nervously. “What were in these muffins…?” said Jerry.