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  3. Brian Klein

    Christianism vs Atheism

    [THIS CHALLENGE IS: ACTIVE] This debate will be aired on one of our upcoming CWH shows it will be an interesting show, please remember to criticize 'ideas' not 'people' above all, please remember respect and restraint as you post your thoughts. Best of luck to you: "To the victor go the spoils." Please Note: We ask you start your post by simply posting the following before anything else: "For Atheism" or "For Christianism" on it's own line without the ["] Above all else make sure you vote!
  4. Earlier
  5. Kristina Klein

    The Chicken Shop

    A cute little eatery where they have chickadees on the walls, and free video arcade games while you wait. A fish tank with electric blue fish and tiny snails add to the atmosphere. Squeezable rubber chickens are available for the little ones to play with and take home to drive you a little crazy. The friendly first time restaurant owner Henry greets you with a smile as you enter. The layout is very clean and spacious. The menu is simple: deep fried chicken and seafood. They offer savory sides such as the classic mashed potatoes and gravy, along with the unexpected but tasty fried okra. The hush puppies are a personal favorite. There is a thick crispy layer of fried goodness coating the outside of the chicken while still leaving it non-greasy and tender on the inside. To wash it all down they have fountain drinks that excite the taste buds like lemon berry soda, as well as different flavored Boba teas. The Chicken Shop will be hard to forget. A little nugget tucked away in the heart of Santee, California. Go try their amazingly delicious chicken. You won’t regret it! Contact: http://sdchickenshop.com/ Address: 8929 Carlton Hills Blvd, Santee, CA 92071
  6. Brian Klein

    The First Step

    My lovely mum always said that I inherited her nerves. Certainly, I was a sensitive kid, and felt the lash of depression from an early age. My first encounter with it was when I moved to senior school. The transition overwhelmed me and I felt threatened at every corner. In a bid to win some courage I started training in martial arts. My martial arts instructor was a charismatic man who took me under his wing. I was in awe of him and after a short period of subtle and insidious grooming, he asked me and some of the other boys to stay over at the club to help fix the aikido mats. That night I awoke to the feeling of a hand on my bare leg. The level of the sexual abuse that followed was not extreme, I was not raped, but the level of betrayal proved to be catastrophic. Most of that night is lost to my memory but I remember waking up the next morning knowing my childhood had ended. I have visited this place in my mind many times since but those hours still remain lost. All I remember was waking up the next day with the darkest depression squatting deep inside my breast. For a long time, I didn’t tell anyone – especially not my mum. She had always warned us never to bring shame to her door, and I had made it my raison d’être never to cause her pain. What this abuser taught me implicitly with his actions was that no one could be trusted, not even those who loved you. This, of course, had a detrimental effect on my malleable mind. An incident that puts you out by a small degree as a twelve-year-old, is enough to send you completely off the grid by the time you’re thirty. At 14, I was kissing a girl in the farmer’s field and her face contorted in to the face of a man. At 15 (and for many years after) I had uncontrollable and unwelcome fantasies about the abuse. This triggered a lot of guilt and shame in me. It was only many years later, after studying psychology, that I understood this was my mind’s way of trying to gain some sort of control over my angst by re-imagining the abuse as a pleasurable experience. As an adult I developed psychotic jealousy, imagining that every girl I dated was cheating on me. At 28, I became a nightclub bouncer in a bid to mold myself a bit of spine. I was a man with a lot of underlying rage and I displaced my anger on anyone that stepped into my orbit. It took a decade of extreme violence before I realized that I was out of control. When I nearly killed a man in a car park match fight, I knew it was time to leave. I wrote a book about my exploits, left the doors and renounced violence. During my violent days, I thought forgiveness was weak and meant letting people off. That changed when I started teaching forgiveness to my martial arts students. Certainly, I understood forgiveness intellectually but I didn’t understand it in practice until, one day, I was sitting in a café and saw my abuser sitting on the table opposite. For a split second I was twelve again, quivering with fear. But then I walked over to him. I introduced myself and told him what he had done to me as a child and how it had affected me. He was a big man, and he tried to stand up and protest. I put my hand out and told him to sit down. He obeyed immediately. I told him that despite what he had done I was going to forgive him. I told him twice. He looked totally broken. It was as if my forgiveness shattered him. As I went to walk away, he put his hand out. I hesitated. I wanted to be free from this man’s memory and I knew that the only way to be free was to properly forgive him. So, I shook his trembling hand. When I walked away from that cafe I felt the most powerful man in the world. I had taken all my power back from him. Years later I heard that he’d committed suicide. His past caught up with him; the police were finally on his trail after thirty years. There was no celebration from me. I felt only sadness. There could be no justifying his heinous crimes but I had a lot of compassion for him. He was a man with potential, and he wasted his life. I came to realize that if someone abused me twenty years ago and I did not forgive them, they were still abusing me now, today, in fact they were literally holding me in stasis. Forgiveness gives you power not only over the here-and-now and over the future, it also deems you impervious to your past. It literally allows you to dismantle historical trauma. Post the Jimmy Saville affair, people are understandably suspicious, even angry, when you talk about forgiveness in connection with a pedophile: did I really forgive my abuser, or did I just let him off, and in doing so indirectly condone his actions and leave the way open for further abuse? The nature of such enquiries is unkind, and the subtext is loaded with judgement and implication. This is the dangerous naivety and presumption of the observer who sees only two options in sex-related abuse: a day in court or a violent revenge. Forgiveness is not even in their lexicon; they fail to see its potency. Forgiveness is pragmatic. It offers a real and lasting vengeance. - Geoff Thompson
  7. Today is a great day, so much has been accomplished and everything we did will benefit everyone who has done so much to help us. Thank you all again. 😀

  8. Brian Klein

    Humanastory Live Schedule

    Last Updated 03.JUNE.2018 ----- Past Show Downloads: Coffee With Humanastory can be found here. Life In Reviews can be found here. We're 100% Funded by listeners like you consider pledging or contributing a one time contribution: Support Humanastory by clicking here. Submit your 'Stories' by clicking here. Contact us by clicking here.
  9. Happy Easter! 🐣🐇

  10. These are so awesome...can't stop watching them. Love to hear all the different sounds from around the world. <3

  11. Brian Klein

    Turning The Cheek

    My dad was brought up as a Jehovah’s Witness. He was the head of the house – what he said, went. My sister was a goody-goody, because even though she was ten years older than me, she was afraid of him. But I never was: if he told me to make him a cup of tea, I’d say, ‘haven’t you got legs?’ And I’d get a beating. Because of that, I never listened to him. My older brother was psychotic and I never got on with him, but my little brother was my support. He was always trying to look after me. I left home at 17 and begged my mum to do the same. She used to say, ‘I’ll leave when you are 18’, and then she’d look at my little brother and say, ‘I’ll leave when he’s 18’. But one day she rang up and said she was ready. She’d suddenly seen how my dad was dictating her life, and she wanted her freedom. We found her a little place near to where she was born and I moved in with her and my brother. Dad came home one day and his wife and son were gone. Mum and I started having the relationship we’d never had before. She was so happy and relaxed, and we’d go for coffees and just talk. She got in touch with my dad via my sister, just to let him know she was safe. She told me that she still loved him, but for who he was; not for what he had done to her. One day he called to say he had a load of post for her to collect. She had been thinking about going back for a visit anyway, so that my brother could see his old friends. But it was as if she knew something would happen, because she told me the night before that she thought he was going to kill her. Yet somehow she talked herself into it. I made her promise to wake me up in the morning so I could go with her. But she didn’t. I woke up the next morning to the police at my door and I knew instantly what had happened. My first reaction was that I had to see my dad. I had to know if he had killed her deliberately, or if it was some kind of accident. I wrote him a note saying, ‘I know what you’ve done. It’s OK. I love you and want to see you’. I signed it, ‘your daughter’, hoping he would think it was my sister and agree to see me. When he saw that it was me he burst into tears. I made up my mind there and then, that as long as he told me the truth, without a word of a lie, I would stand by him. I know that if I had been a mass murderer, my mum would still have visited me every day in prison. I tried my best to do what she would have done. He was the only link I still had with her. Throughout the trial he kept his word and never lied about what he had done, and eventually he was sentenced for manslaughter with diminished responsibility and sent to a psychiatric hospital. While he was in there we started having a proper father-daughter relationship. I’d come to him for advice on all my problems. I called him ‘Papa’, and he would tell me he loved me. He was the dad I always wanted. But he knew that if he ever started up the old behavior, he’d never see me again. My sister just couldn’t understand what I had done. She took my little brother and brought him up, but she pretended to everyone that our parents had died naturally. I never pretend. For me, it is much easier to forgive because then you can be free. She’ll have to live with her anger everyday for the rest of her life. Or worse, it might turn into regret. I’d already lived most of my life with hatred for my dad. I didn’t want it anymore. Forgiving him was such a big release. I’ll never forget what he did – but forgiving has brought me peace inside. When my dad got really ill with cancer and we knew he was going to die, my little brother asked to see him – just once, so that he could get some closure. The weak, bed-ridden figure he saw was nothing like the military man who used to bully us all. My dad told my brother he could die in peace now, knowing that his youngest child had forgiven him too. We can all make mistakes – that was the best thing my mother taught me. I now automatically look for the good in people I meet. I still miss my mum everyday; but I think she would be proud of me. - Natalia Aggiano
  12. Brian Klein

    Unexpected Changes

    May 7th 1990 seemed like any other day but my state of mind wasn’t good. I was smoking weed, drinking and not wanting to attend school. I had this evil streak in me. I was so angry, and because I was hurting I wanted to hurt others. That evening some friends called for me and told me not to bring my gun which I assumed was because they didn’t want me to get arrested. I thought they cared for me but in fact they had a plan to have me killed. They were trying to teach me a lesson for being too confident. One bullet hit me in the spine and paralyzed me instantly. I remember yelling, ‘I got shot…I got hit’. I knew something was terribly wrong. With that one bullet the cycle of harm came back to haunt me because six months prior to this shooting I had shot a kid over drugs and now it was happening to me. I could hear the Police and I could hear neighbours gathering and saying ‘he’s dying’. All I wanted was my mother. I wanted to be held and not die with my entire community staring at me. It was so strange because at the same time as feeling all this fear I could also literally feel evil leaving my body. I had been this angry person who wanted to hurt people but as soon as I hit the ground there was no anger left. That tough kid just vanished. I spent six months in hospital and that was where the real paradigm shift happened. I had plenty of time to look at my life and I realised that I had hated everyone - my mom’s boyfriend for being a violent alcoholic, my mother for not walking away from him, and my dad for not saving me. And of course I hated myself too. I’d been a kid with a loving family and a good environment but had chosen to embrace anger and hate. It was my mom who told me that my spine would never repair. I was sitting in my wheelchair and as she told me she handed me a Bible. “I think this may help” she said. I thought she was mad but I read it anyway and learnt about forgiveness. When I left hospital I was home schooled, I went to physical therapy three times a week, and was with my mom constantly. We really connected during that time. She lived in this world of denial, always believing I could go to college and live a great life. That’s one reason why I am where I am today. She got me to never believe that I was disabled. I wanted to be an investment banker but in college I lost my way because of the temptation of weed, alcohol and women. I skipped class and eventually was put on academic probation. I knew I was screwing my life up and my mother told me to ask God what I was supposed to do. The very next day I got a call asking me for the first time to tell my story to kids teaching violence prevention. I realised then that this was what I wanted to do with my life. Helping others became my healing. Forgiveness began in the hospital. As my friends were seeking blood in revenge, I’d tell them to let it go because I knew that violence wasn’t the answer. Later, I was asked by Breaking the Cycle to talk in schools about forgiveness. At first the words sounded so strange in front of inner city kids but I knew Ghandi and Martin Luther King had both talked about forgiveness and so they became my mentors. The more I understood what they had said about the power of forgiveness the more I knew it was my path. Nowadays when I talk about drugs and gun control to young people I always talk about forgiveness too. I always tell them that forgiveness is extremely difficult. It takes more courage to be non-violent and forgiving than to be violent. I also tell them that what happened when I was 15 taught me that hating turns you into a hateful person. I hated violent, abusive people and so I became violent and abusive. I hated bullies and so I became a bully. Hate holds on to you whereas forgiveness frees you, and if you want to forgive others, then first you need to learn to forgive yourself. Our family was destroyed by the murders of three people in one night – my sister-in-law Connie and my two nephews Allen and Bobby, 16 and 14 – cut down by the hatchet of a madman. It was obscene, painful, heart shattering. At the time I could never have known this tragedy would be a call to love. - Hashim Garrett
  13. #selfiecam Hahahahaa 🤣🤣

  14. Kidnapping?! No sir! The only kid napping is over there... ZZZzzz :P

  15. Happy Birthday Stormey!! Hope you had an awesome b-day. Sorry we missed out on the fun. We will get together soon. Sending our love and cheers to many more! :) <3

  16. Brian Klein

    The Other Foot

    When we were told that our daughter had been murdered, it was just such an unbelievable thing. I stood there in shock, watching the color drain from my husband’s face. We had shared so many happy times together, and our son-in-law was not the violent type. We flew to Florida and brought our two young granddaughters back to Augusta for the funeral. We never asked the children anything but one of them said, “daddy hit mommy.” The prosecutor described it as a crime of passion, and assured us he’d call the minute Eugene went before the judge, but we heard nothing. Six months later we discovered that Eugene had been sentenced to just one year probation and was back home looking after the children. His mother had money and had used her influence to help him. I don’t resent her – if I had money I would have done the same for my son. I tried to stay in contact with my granddaughters, but my letters and presents were never acknowledged. Finally, after 18 years, I went to Florida to visit them. I must say, Eugene had done a good job in raising them and it was an extremely happy occasion, but sadly I never heard from them again after that. Joyce’s death broke us as a family. My husband, like my older son Roy, never talked about it, while I became totally wrapped up in my own little woven nest. My younger son Jerry was the most hurt. “Mother,” he said, “if you’d taken me to Florida I would have killed Eugene, because he killed a part of me”. Jerry had been happily married for 17 years when he decided he’d fallen in love with a 22-year-old girl. His wife was heartbroken, and I was upset and angry, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He got a divorce and married the girl, but things didn’t work out and when they ran into financial difficulties his new wife walked out on him. Alone and with no money, he moved in with a boy who took drugs and had a record as long as your arm. One day Jerry came to my work. We said hello but I was still angry and didn’t ask if he wanted to talk. I thought, “If you’re going through a hard time, then good, because now you’re being punished for what you did.” To this day I’ll never forgive myself for not reaching out to him. A few days later Jerry took a gun and went with his friend to a convenience store where he shot a man dead. I’ll never know why he did it, but I’m certain he was thinking of his brother-in-law when he pulled the trigger. The following day, the two of them went to visit their roof contractor boss and Jerry’s friend shot and killed the poor man. After that Jerry alerted the police. He told me later, “I was very much afraid the killing would have continued”. My son strongly regretted what he’d done and felt he deserved to die, but when he called from prison to say he’d been served his execution date, I just about lost it. I was glad my husband was now no longer alive: he couldn’t have borne the pain. Jerry didn’t want me to witness the execution but I fought tooth and nail to be there. I couldn’t let him die in front of a room full of strangers. There were just two of us watching – myself and a relative of the roof contractor. The wife of Jerry’s victim wasn’t there, and I would say she’s the most sympathetic person I’ve ever known. She never publicly denounced what my son did, nor did she ever call for his execution. Just before the lethal injection, Jerry turned to take a good long look at me and then blew me a kiss. After that he closed his eyes and I watched the blood drain from his face. I don’t know what could be harder than watching your son die like that. A mother does not see a 30, 40, 50-year-old man strapped to that cross-like gurney. She sees the child she gave birth to, the child that in her eyes never grew up. I deeply resent a government that kills its own citizens – its own children. It still feels so raw and so painful, and yet I feel no hatred or blame – neither for Eugene nor for those who killed my son. My anger is entirely directed towards myself for turning my back on my son when he needed me most. - Celia McWee (Laid to Rest; February 14th, 2011)
  17. Please help if you can. This amazing family needs extra love and support right now.

  18. Brian Klein

    Killer Forgiven

    The impetus to learn about my mother’s killer came from a virtual stranger. My husband and I were attending a meeting at a church when the head of a prison ministry stood up and spoke about his work at a local men’s prison. I couldn’t help but secretly characterize him as a holy roller as he paced back and forth, carrying his small worn Bible and speaking of the positive impact forgiveness could have on prisoners’ lives. While I believed that forgiveness was generally a good thing, I had never considered forgiving the man who killed my mother. That brand of forgiveness was for extremists who went on Oprah. In fact, I strongly supported the death penalty, silently bitter that my mother’s killer had only received a life sentence. After all, he had put her through hell. He’d held her at gunpoint while she gave him all of the money from the register and then, backing out of the store, fired a shot that hit her in the chest. She died within minutes in the arms of a co-worker. Two days later, her killer was apprehended, driving a stolen car. He was sentenced to life without parole at Angola State Penitentiary in Louisiana. I was a freshman at College in Georgia, brought home for the funeral, half out of my mind and deep in shock. Now, years later, the prison minister had tapped a deep vein. I began to wonder, could I ever forgive the man who had irrevocably changed the course of my life? Having been spared the horror of the trial, I now wanted to know about this person who had killed my mother, so I researched the crime like it was a job assignment. I placed all my notes into a special folder, slowly developing a detailed mental profile of my mother’s killer, Nathan Wolfe. All the while, I continued to be confused about this question of forgiveness, until one afternoon when I was casually leafing through my folder and a piece of paper fell out. It was the telephone number of the chaplain’s office at Angola State Penitentiary. I decided to dial the number. The phone was answered by Father Damereaux who asked me how he could help. I told him that I was trying very hard to find a way to forgive the man who killed my mother. “I also want to find out what happened that night and whether he feels any remorse,” I said. “Does it make a difference if he feels remorse?”, asked Father Damereaux. I really didn’t know the answer to this. It would obviously be so much easier to forgive someone who showed remorse, but somehow I felt that shouldn’t drive my decision. Father Damereaux offered to serve as a mediator and suggested he could personally deliver a message from me. He asked me to tell him exactly what to say. I thought for a second and then with a sudden burst of unexpected clarity, I said, “Please tell him the daughter of the woman he killed in 1980 wishes to forgive him and would like to know if he has anything to say in return?” Father Damereaux said he’d need a week to get the message to Nathan and asked me to call him the following Friday. When I hung up the phone I felt desperate, totally unsure of what I’d done. What if he was released and came after my family? What if I wasn’t really ready to forgive? The following Friday I called Father Damereaux. He described how, after locating Nathan in Camp A, a minimum-security area, he’d gone to see him to deliver my message. “As you might imagine, after twenty years he was very taken aback…in fact he was speechless,” said Father Damereaux. “After a few moments, he said he needed time to think about it, so I told him I’d be back in a few days.” Father Damereaux then explained how the following Wednesday he’d gone to Camp A to give his usual service when he saw Nathan sitting at the back of the room. “After I finished, we spoke,” he said. “But before I tell you what he said, I need to tell you that Nathan is dying. I believe he has cancer.” Of all the scenarios I’d imagined, it never crossed my mind that I’d be forgiving a dying man. Trembling, the tears streamed down my cheeks and I realized for the first time since 1980, I felt at peace. I had nothing left to fear. “Nathan wishes me to convey how grateful he is for your forgiveness,” continued Father Damereaux. “He said he’s turning his life over to God and preparing for the end. He also asked me to tell you how deeply sorry he is for what he did. He said that he could never make an excuse for it, but that it was a very bad time in his life, that he never intended to kill anyone, that he was out of his mind on drugs. He asked you to convey his deepest regrets to the rest of your family.” I thanked Father Damereaux and hung up. Sitting at my desk, tears of relief, sadness, gratitude and closure began to flow. Then, as if a window had been opened, a cold air blew in and I felt my mother sitting next to me for the first time since she died. She was right next to me, with her arms wrapped around me. Two days after Christmas, a thin white envelope with blue lettering arrived from Angola State Penitentiary. It read, Notice of Release Pursuant of Department regulation, this office is required to notify you of Nathan Wolfe’s release. He expired on December 23, 2000. I stood, holding the letter to my chest, thinking about the word “release”. We both had been set free. So many years of grieving my mother. How strange now to grieve her killer, for the life he never had, the bad choices he made and the love he probably never felt. - Stephanie Cassatly
  19. Happy New Year to all my friends and family! Wishing you all a safe New Years Eve and an amazing New Year full of happiness, growth, and positivity. 😊🎆🎉

  20. Brian Klein

    Support Humanastory

    We are extremely glad you have taken the time to see what we are about. Our entire project is funded 100% through viewers like yourself. Individuals that have taken time from their day to see what we have to offer. As you may already know our goal is simple; to share the human experience, to become enlightened through all of our adversity, and to see what knowledge we can share with you in hopes of helping us all collectively grow through the shared experience and journey we all share; life. This project is a daunting one. Without the help of individuals who are willing to go above and make that sacrifice, this would not be possible. Thank you for believing in us. Thank you for showing your support. If you enjoy any of the content we have provided we only ask you consider contributing to help keep our cause alive. There are several ways you can help. Already a Member Consider a monthly subscription (comes with perks) to contribute monthly by clicking here. Purchase any of our CWH access passes located here. Purchase any of our LIR access passes located here . Donate directly to Humanastory located here. Non-Member Use our PayPal's Official system to contribute a 'one time contribution' here. Dedicate a Theme You can dedicate a theme for one of our CWH episodes easily by clicking here. Sponsor one of our CWH episodes (Advertise With Humanastory) You can sponsor one of our shows by advertising with Humanastory by clicking here.
  21. Merry Christmas Everyone! 😊🎄🎅

  22. Hey, Tina merry Christmas...

  23. Brian Klein

    Forgiveness Begins

    As children, David and I were friends as well as brothers – a friendship that carried on into adulthood. So, when David got involved with humanitarian work in 2000 we sat down and discussed what could happen if he got kidnapped. We knew it was dangerous but this was his calling and we agreed (as did our parents) with the British Government’s position that ransoms just put money back into terrorists’ hands. From the moment ISIS kidnapped David, our Government’s support was superb and together we came to a decision to keep quiet about it. This went on for 18 long months – a time filled with prayer, hope, despair and endless worry. It was very, very difficult on my parents as well as on David’s eldest daughter and his second wife but in many ways, it brought the family closer together. The family motto was, ‘prepare for the worst, hope for the best’. However, we had very little hope left after the American journalist, James Foley, was murdered. And then when David appeared in the background to the execution video of another American hostage, Steven Sotloff, we knew it was a matter of time. The look on David’s face was one of complete horror, not horror for himself but horror at witnessing what was happening to Steven. It was at this point that David’s kidnap became a massive media story. Knowing that David would not want a single person injured or killed in his name I immediately went on national TV to call for no reprisals, saying that if anyone took the matter into their own hands they would be doing so against our family’s wishes and beliefs. Then came the news we were dreading. Ten days after Steven Sotloff’s murder, late on the night of the 12th September 2014, we received a phone call from the Foreign Office to say a video had been released of David’s beheading. We had expected it but still nothing prepares you for that, nothing prepares you for having to tell your own parents that their son is dead. Then I got on the phone to tell his wife, and his daughter. That was hell too. If I felt any sense of relief it was only that at least now David couldn’t be hurt anymore. Near where I live in Dundee we have ten different ethnicities living and an old Muslim man I chatted to shortly after David was killed said to me: ‘Why are you speaking to me?’ He assumed that I must hate him. I told him that people were using his religion as an excuse and that I was appalled to see what the terrorists were doing to encourage hate crime from all sides. Initially I thought there were only a few voices in a desert calling for unity, tolerance and understanding but then I realized there was a whole forest out there – all of us working for exactly the same thing but not getting any publicity for it. Good news doesn’t sell. I now spend my time going to schools, mosques and churches talking about fighting the forces of hate, whether from Islamic fundamentalists or right-wing extremists. I’m not talking about fighting with weapons. This has got to be an ethical and moral fight. I’m angry at how the terrorists seek to isolate and polarize our communities and I’m also angry at the way the media perpetuate the characterization of every Muslim as a terrorist. But my anger is positive – it gives me the drive to continue what I’m doing. I have chosen not to hate because for me hate is a guttural knee-jerk reaction out of which nothing positive ever came. It just screws you up inside. On the other hand, I do absolutely detest the actions of those people doing the grooming for ISIS and would like to see them locked away. People who plan and do barbaric acts have lost all sense of compassion, so how can there be compassion for them? I could only find compassion for them if at some stage these same people were to renounce violence and recognize that what they’d done was wrong. As for forgiveness, that’s a very difficult question for me because it’s not so much the death of my brother that I should be asked to forgive but rather what these terrorists are doing wholesale, the way they are treating humanity. And for that, at this point, I can’t forgive. However, the young people who have been persuaded to go out to Syria, I forgive them without reservation because I see they have been targeted, and are victims who have been handed a twisted a reality. - Michael Haines
  24. Brian Klein

    Advertise With Humanastory

    What we will do. Your ad will get 500 Impressions site-wide. Your 250 word scripted ad will get featured in one of our upcoming Coffee With Humanastory shows. What you will need. Two images. One image at 1000x242 pixels. (This image will be impression on our site 500 times) after the first post along with other ads One image at 1920x1080 pixels. (This image will be imbedded into our CWH shows.) One Script 250 words or less. Contact support@humanastory.com for a quote. Note: Be sure to title your email "Advertisement Inquiry" We're 100% Funded by listeners like you consider pledging or contributing a one time contribution: Support Humanastory by clicking here. Submit your 'Stories' by clicking here. Contact us by clicking here.
  25. Brian Klein

    It's Cold

    It's Cold!

    © Humanastory!

  26. Brian Klein

    Contacting Humanastory

    We love to hear all kinds of feedback! Communication is the key to success and the only way we will succeed is by hearing the comments, suggestions, and feedback you provide - We open the lines of communication to all and we do so in various ways to help keep us organized. We only request you send your thoughts to the right place. If it is sent to the wrong place it may not be replied to in the manner you were hoping to be responded to, or even worse, replied to at all. Already a member, use our Support Ticketing System | https://community.humanastory.com/support/ The quickest and easiest way to get in touch with a Humanastory staff member. To comment on our shows | https://community.humanastory.com/contact/. Please title your Message "Show ##" - (## refers to show number) To submit an Image of the Day | images@humanastory.com Please title your email "My Image Submission" and remember you image must be 1920x1080 pixels (or bigger) Need Technical Site or Radio Support | support@humanastory.com Please be descriptive with your site or radio related issue. To Share Your Story | http://bit.ly/2xCSGiY Please title your email "My Story Submission" Got Something Else to Share | submissions@humanastory.com Snail Mail ATTN: Humanastory, P.O. Box 712151, Santee, CA 92072 We're 100% Funded by listeners like you consider pledging or contributing a one time contribution: Support Humanastory by clicking here. Submit your 'Stories' by clicking here. Contact us by clicking here.
  27. Learn why Dogs are better than people!
    #Humanastory #Santee #California #CWH #RWH #HSLIR #WednesdayWisdom #ElCajon #ChristmasEveEve

  28. Brian Klein

    Blox The Amazing

    My best friend, Dan, had adopted a shelter dog, Blox. Blox was a wackjob, boundless energy, very hard to housebreak, a challenging dog altogether. Nevertheless, Dan wasn't the kind of guy to give up on a dog, so he kept trying to get Blox to listen. Her name (Blox was a she) was coined because she was dumb as blocks... or so we thought. Blox would consistently break out of the fenced-in yard by either jumping over a six-foot fence or digging holes underneath it. We filled the holes, added boards pointed in at the top of the fence to keep her in the yard, nothing helped. Blox was not going to be kept in a yard. Dan eventually gave up on training her without a leash (in the yard) and put a stake in the ground for when he'd let Blox outside. Blox hated the leash, dug the stake up and would drag it around the yard, destroying Dan's grass. Dan still didn't give up, because he's a resilient guy who loves animals more than people. And it's a good thing he didn't give up, or he'd be dead. One night, Dan's little brother was at Dan's house with a bunch of other people, myself included, for a party. Blox was chilling, as long as people were around she was fine, she only really got anxious when she was alone. We partied well into the wee hours of the morning, I left around 3am to go home. Dan's brother stayed and crashed out in the basement. Dan's brother is a nice guy, but he's a moron in the truest sense of the word. This moron lit a candle next to a bottle of shower cleaner (propellant) and a shower curtain (wick) and fell asleep with it lit. You see where this is going? Yeah. As his house was beginning to be swallowed in the roaring flames of the fire, Blox ran into Dan's room, jumped on the bed, and started barking in his face, over and over and over and over until Dan woke up from his booze-soaked slumber. Dan actually pushed Blox off the bed twice from his recollection, but Blox was undeterred. She kept jumping back up on the bed and barking in Dan's face. Finally, Dan got up and couldn't see his hand in front of his face. "Holy crap" thought Dan "my house in on fire" and he ran outside, with Blox chasing him. But Blox wasn't done. Dan's moron brother was trapped in the basement, and remember how I said Blox was only calm if people were around? Well, Blox had some kind of doggie-sixth-sense, and she knew he was in trouble. She stood at the top of those stairs, flames singeing her fur, smoke filling her lungs, barking nonstop so Dan's brother knew where the exit was. Every single person made it out alive. When the Fire Dept. came, one of the firemen took a liking to Blox. Since Dan was now effectively homeless, he agreed to let the guy look after Blox. Once Dan got back on his feet, he found the fireman to see about getting Blox back. So we headed over to the fireman's house and there was Blox, happy, wagging, and sitting in a yard, unrestrained. Blox was now Bella, and she had three human kids who adored her. The fireman told Dan he could have his dog back, but Dan really is the kind of guy who loves animals more than people, even himself. He was crying when he got back in my truck that day. "Optical Delusions, for the first time ever I can say one of my rescues is in a better place, and actually mean it." - Keith Jones
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