#absolute corporeal besmirchment
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sasorikigai · 4 years ago
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Scorpion, would you still love Raiden if he was powerless?
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Random Inbox Shenanigans || anonymous, mention of @bastardsunlight || always accepting!
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▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || It’s the pain that connects them in mysterious ways; situations that leave them with more questions than answers. Who knows, in the world full of mysteries, unknowns, usurpations, and annihilations, pushing both mortals and ascended gods to travel to the absolutely unprecedented destiny? When Scorpion used to caught in the drowning torrents of hellfire, with undying rage and unfettered vengeance dwelling within his veins blinding him from seeing the candor truth through layered machinations, Raiden had come to perceive and decipher him as if he was an open book all along. That both perplexed and bewildered him, but it also made him to examine all the wicked pile strewn around him; see how laying it all down, unburden himself from shackling serrated blades suffocating his heart and lungs. All he wanted to do was to amplify his authentic self, without losing his honor and loyalty to those who he was destined to protect; his family, his comrades, the Shirai Ryu. 
How could he never metaphorically wake up and see him for who he has become? Worse yet, people will learn of who he is once witnessing everything that feels wrong within him. How Scorpion was dilapidated, how he has come into shambles with peeling conscience and conscious and staining infections etched through crevasses of his ghoulish, eternally pallid and tenebrous darkness veiled over the dripping black tar of eldritch magic. Such converging of unfortunate circumstances had Scorpion’s narrowed stallion viewfinder negligently ignore and never take into consideration that his misdirected wrath and vengeance would be manipulated and coaxed to fuel the aspirations of evil’s purpose. 
Now, nuances of blue, shades of effulgent red, the most vivid and passionate, and a hint of pink saturate the sky in the splendor of sunset. So many colors soak the sky, as does the complexity of emotions Hanzo Hasashi holds for the Thunder God, no longer divine in the imagining of his subconscious. How his solemn features furrow deep, in disapproving condemnation and disquietude. “The word ‘powerless’ may be a relative and objective term when it comes to warriors like me and him, but I have never considered Raiden as such,” for Lord Raiden has granted him his freedom, to live like Hanzo Hasashi pre-death, even as he had trudged grueling journey from hell and back to reach the parallel lines of his newfound life, as he would conquer death and beyond. The finality, ultimatum of his words will bellow with the last warning, as smoky gravel of his timbre thickens with embedded passion, which no longer represses his stifling irritation and enmity. 
“Do not even besmirch and dare challenge the construct of my love. My love for Raiden will shine through eternally, and always shine on our shared roads, regardless of what we happen to face in the future.” Raiden always will be the savior God to Scorpion’s Mephistopheles to Hanzo Hasashi’s Faust; even without the divinity’s ichor flowing in once Thunder God’s corporeality, the knowledge of the God, the eons of amassed perception, however faulty and perhaps more ‘human’ than Raiden cares to admit, will always become the guiding light to Hanzo Hasashi’s dwelling darkness and vice. They share them, and they will work in tandem to renounce them as the magnanimity of their hearts prevail over them. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || 
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mellicose · 5 years ago
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Doctor ... WTF?
An impassioned rant about the steady decline of Doctor Who, the trajectory of the Thirteenth Doctor, and the righteous indignation after The Timeless Children, not only as a Whovian, but as a woman-
I love how certain people are spinning The Timeless Children as being good, yet the BBC has released (2)TWO statements basically telling fans the following:
“Doctor Who is a beloved long-running series and we understand that some people will feel attached to a particular idea they have of the Doctor, or that they enjoy certain aspects of the programme more than others. Opinions are strong and this is indicative of the imaginative hold that Doctor Who has – that so many people engage with it on so many different levels.
We wholeheartedly support the creative freedom of the writers and we feel that creating an origin story is a staple of science fiction writing. What was written does not alter the flow of stories from William Hartnell’s brilliant Doctor onwards – it just adds new layers and possibilities to this ongoing saga.”
Creative freedom, huh? Ask Joe Hill about it. Or Gaiman. The writers, including Chibnall, are only free to do what the Beeb and the other show investors tell them. 
They go on:
“We have also received many positive reactions to the episode’s cliff-hanger. There are still a lot of questions to be answered, and we hope that you will come back to join us and see what happens, but we appreciate that it’s impossible to please all of our viewers all of the time and your feedback has been raised with the programme’s Executive Producer." 
Uglylaughing.gif
There is a huge, monumental difference between 'not being able to please everyone all at the same time' and basically making a whole fandom, New and Classic, young and old, come together with the same level of disgust and disappointment.
I also find the people arguing "Canon? What canon?" about the Doctor now being the Lord and Savior of the Shining World of the Seven Systems to be foolish at best, and disingenuous at worst.
No canon?? So what have I been steeping myself in for years  - a vague approximation of a tale? Please. Of course, writers have embellished and alluded, but tampering with the unspoken but well-known 'no touch' rule about the Doctor's origin is ... well, it's canon, in and of itself...
...which Chibnall completely wrecked, and I can't imagine why. Hubris? By all accounts, he was a fan. I thought Moffat was a dick for bringing back Gallifrey, but now, to me, my disappointment then vs now is like comparing a fart to a shitstorm.
Please excuse the scatological references, but I'm using it deliberately. It is a swirling turd, which I and many others wish we could flush down and forget forever.
In another RadioTimes article - which basically is the BBC - amongst the usual apologetics, Huw Fullerton drops this little gem:
“The glory days of David Tennant et al were in a different TV landscape, and if the Tenth Doctor touched down now it seems unlikely he’d command anything close to the ratings he did over a decade ago.”
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Yeah, you can all take a break to have a hearty laugh. Or throw up. Whichever. Did they just hint that, basically, the incarnation of the Doctor who continues to get as much love (if not more) than Four, who still consistently gets thousands of butts in seats in conventions worldwide, and has made the BBC hundreds of thousands of pounds sterling in merchandising “wouldn’t command the ratings he did in 2008?”
As Gary Buechler of Nerdrotic said in his response to this article: “Actually, if David Tennant had been given as many chances as Jodie Whittaker, it would’ve had Game of Thrones-level ratings.”
And I agree. Not because I’m a Tenth Doctor stan, but because it’s just ... categorically true. His seasons consistently got average rating of 7.5 to 8 million viewers - and this in a time before BBCiPlayer, so 7-day catch up ratings meant nothing. It was butts on sofas then, which, to me, speaks of a massive, sustained interest.
But Huw goes on to say that such things mean nothing. And that the huge, telling sink in both overnight and 7-day ratings between the 11th and 12th seasons, and the dismal 4.69m 7 day ratings for The Timeless Children - the lowest for a NewWho finale since its reboot - shouldn’t be taken as a loss of interest from the fandom.
Then, pray tell goodman, what does it mean? Does it mean that fans are following the Thirteenth Doctor’s adventures in spirit? Ratings are tanking. Outside of the precious few who blindly tweet and write articles about the show solely based on its now female protagonist, people are notoriously furious, especially after the execrable season finale.
Yet BBC’s Piers Wenger, who once produced the show, says “I don’t think it’s been in better health, editorially. I think it’s fantastic and I think that, the production values obviously have never been better.”
Right. Okay. So, putting Tom Ford makeup on a pig makes it haute couture, huh? The writing is appalling, and after two excruciatingly painful to watch seasons, the Doctor has failed to appear - all I’ve seen is borderline sociopathic navel gazing from an ‘alien’ wearing a pastel duster.
How dare you besmirch the unfailingly cool reputation of the long coat, Chibnall? Jodie? How?? 
I will not let someone piss on my head and call it rain ... ‘because it’s a woman.’ Assuming I’ll accept it just adds insult to injury. Who do they think we are, as female fans? I will not cosign garbage to further an agenda that is ultimately damaging one of my favorite things ever, Doctor Who. I agree that politics, and a positive moral, have always been a part of DW, but at it’s best the writing was so good that it only added to the entertainment. Now, the BBC is feeding us all the bitter pill, without the kindness to hide it in a piece of tasty cheese. It gives the impression that they believe we are already so indoctrinated that we no longer need artifice!
Well, not only am I not indoctrinated, but I refuse to ingest.
I refuse to allow people to silence me because the Doctor is now a woman, and so am I. That, I shouldn’t say anything, or complain, because it’s an act of rebellion on womankind, not only in entertainment, but in general. Well, to that I say ... er ... I disavow.
Disavow. Disavow.
And this from a woman who once criticized Peter Davison for saying that casting a woman was “a vital loss of a role model for boys,” taking it as a sexist comment when in truth, it was just a relevant narrative concern about gender-swapping the traditionally male-presenting Time Lord. Just changing a character from male to female doesn’t do anything but demonstrate a tone-deafness about the emotional and physical differences between men and women, which exist whether we want to address them or not. This is why genderswap reboots are terrible. They are trying to further the feminist agenda, while surreptitiously painting traditional, every day femininity as weakness, and something to be avoided at all costs. I reject the modern Hollywood representation of what a ‘strong woman’ is meant to be. I can be clever, yet sensitive enough to comfort a friend when they confide their fears about a cancer relapse. I can be funny, and not at the expense of the man in the room. I can be brave, but not at the expense of my friends. The mind boggles as to why they thought their current tack with the Doctor was going to be any good. The Doctor is a woman, but more importantly, she’s a Timelord. Where are they? Is the alien that we’ve known and loved for the last 60 years truly gone away, and Thirteen is from a whole different timeline? If so, I don’t want to know her. 
And it breaks my heart.
Why continue to support a corporation who thinks of me, the fan, as no more than a heartless, thoughtless consumer? A drone? A sheep who has no conscious idea of what I like or need?
I’m done. It’s been two seasons of absolute dreck, with absolutely no sign of a course-correction due to the overwhelmingly negative response. I may be many things, but I’m no masochist - even in the name of love. And Chibnall, knowing that many fans would go back to the classic stories to cleanse ourselves, went back to the beginning and took a giant shit there too. 
Oh, the cleverness! the absolute schadenfreude of not only tampering, but rewriting the Doctor’s origins! I suppose that tells me he truly was once a fan. But no longer. Even if it turns out that the Master is as full of crap as Chibnall and it’s all an orchestrated lie, I don’t care anymore. Every inexplicable, terrible thing that happened before has already exhausted my patience with the narrative.
As veteral DW writer and script editor Terrance Dicks said:
If you’re concentrating on putting forth a political message, rather than on doing a really good show, I think there is a danger, maybe, you can do both but it would be hellish difficult, and I think that there’s maybe a danger that the show wouldn’t as be as good as it could or should be, because you’re not looking at the right aims.”
It seems like all that has been lost in time. Big corporations are buying up beloved science fiction properties, and systematically destroying them by trying to mix their politics into the mythos. [see ‘the fandom menace’]
I say, don’t support things that make you unhappy, in the name of nostalgia. That’s how they continue to upset us, while lining their pockets with our hard earned money. Complaining amongst ourselves, writing emails, or making angry Youtube videos no longer works anyway. Now is the time to just ... let it go. No more special edition DVDs, novelizations, or pretty action figures. Hit them in the pocketbook. We will still have fond memories of better times. I will not let them hijack, retcon, and retool them too.
There is a telling paragraph hidden in the depths of the article, which makes my DW fangirl sink:
It’s not as simple as “the ratings are down so Doctor Who will be cancelled,” as for the publicly-funded BBC there’s an interesting question about exactly what ratings are for beyond bragging rights. Obviously they need to make TV that people want to watch – but which people?
Not us, Huw. That’s who.
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robert-c · 5 years ago
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The Pandemic
So far I’ve tried to focus on more fundamental issues that, while currently relevant, are less topical. Today I need to speak about the COVID-19 pandemic.
It should be clear to anyone who is following the real facts, that our response could have and should have been better and sooner, as there were ample early warnings. A global pandemic is a disaster scenario the last several presidents have been briefed about, because all of the experts knew it was a matter of when, not if, one would strike.
It should also go without saying that the primary opinions that matter in crafting a response are those of the medical professionals. Certainly not the “gut” of a “think they know it all”. And certainly not the concerns of multi-millionaires (especially politicians) who are afraid their stock portfolios will lose too much money. It may be possible to cloud the issue of just what could/should have been done sooner, but nothing changes the fact that this president (who deserves no more name recognition) eliminated our CDC liaison position in China six months before the outbreak in Wuhan, and has repeatedly tried to cut funding to the CDC and other critical scientific agencies.
This president’s divisive and ignorant rhetoric came at time when we needed a real leader to help us come together and coordinate a response. Instead, what we’ve been getting are potentially self-serving cure all myths (the malaria drugs which actually had more coronavirus patients die than those not given the drug), definitely dangerous suggestions (that we should look into how we could use disinfectants internally to knock out the virus), strong indications of vindictive allocations of needed supplies (away from blue states and areas in favor of red ones), and attempts to showboat as a leader while doing nothing but claiming credit for whatever good news there actually is (and making it up when there isn’t any.)
Look at what relief this president’s party has provided. A paltry sum for the average citizen (but making sure his name is on the checks), forgivable loans to small businesses with loopholes large enough to allow major corporations to benefit, as well as outright set asides for major corporations in major industries. All while making sure that unemployment funds are not supplemented for the states. While the president has refrained from some of the most heinous suggestions (e.g. that seniors and others at higher risk should just be willing to die to avoid tanking the economy), he certainly hasn’t disavowed those sentiments.
Even so, it is a ridiculous idea even if you are willing to put a dollar and cent value on lives. What sort of disastrous economic impact do you think having 500,000 to 1,000,000 deaths in the US will do to the economy versus perhaps ultimately 100,000 to 200,000 by sticking to our safety measures?
Until now, this president’s buffoonery was something to shake your head at and hope that we could quickly reverse when he is voted out of office. While there would be damage, it seemed like most of it could be repaired. But this pandemic is something we cannot undo. There will be many more dead than needed to be, and many more changes in our society than might have been necessary. Worst of all, more divisiveness, more “us versus them”; because stoking an angry emotional response is the best way to get people to NOT listen to their own reason and rationality. And that is exactly what this president needs to stay in power – people who won’t think things through, who will accept his (ever changing) version of the facts, because it satisfies fears of theirs.
I know the cowardly Republican lap dogs of the Senate won’t ever hold him accountable, but this president has done more to besmirch the office and circumvent the checks and balances of power than any president since Nixon. The lack of principle and courage to even investigate these actions should make virtually every Republican member of the Senate ashamed and rightfully removed from office by the citizens of both the left and the right.
The endless blame games, scapegoating and conspiracy theorizing of this president stand in stark contrast to the sort of leadership President Bush exhibited following the 9/11 attacks. His address to the first responders at “the pile” in NYC was even better than his speech to Congress. It was unifying and connected with people instead of tooting his own horn, or blaming others for our current problems in responding.
An ignorant distrust of science and experts characterizes this president and his hardest core supporters. When their fanciful beliefs were confined to political slander and “junk science” (like vaccines cause autism, windmills cause cancer, or denying climate change) they could largely be ignored as the rantings of the willfully uninformed. But when it comes to a worldwide pandemic that is infecting millions and killing hundreds of thousands, and is not over yet, then it rises to the level that can only be described as “criminal stupidity”.
There are real problems for the small businesses and sole practitioners who are closed completely because they are not “essential” and I sympathize as a former small businessman (actually a sole practitioner consultant). But those wanting to rush the opening of the economy don’t really care about these people, or they would have done a better job of ensuring that the aid reached these folks instead of large businesses with deep pockets for campaign donations. This rush to reopen the economy is a self-serving political stunt and panders to the least informed of the electorate.
The bungling of early warning, adequate supplies and testing put America at special risk because we are a nation of “individualists”. Often that individualism is a good thing, but sometimes, like now, it exacerbates a problem. This is when there needs to be trust in the experts and a unifying leadership to encourage all of us “rugged individualists” to think (just a little for a time) about the good of others as well as ourselves. We are not a compliant populace, so the need for leadership by example is all the more important.
We do not have a long history of being ruled by absolute authorities, like the Chinese. After a short initial period of trying to deny the outbreak for image reasons, when the Chinese government accepted the reality of the situation they moved swiftly to impose controls, and they largely didn’t have to worry about public backlash. The Swedes have avoided full lockdowns, and while there is still uncertainty about this policy it seems to be working because the Swedes trust their government and scientific agencies and their people are taking sensible precautions individually because it isn’t an “all about me” culture.
The US has neither of these situations. The first is our political legacy and the second is mostly an issue of leadership. We have shown in the past that we can come together as a nation and solve problems for our common good. But in every case, we had a leader who showed us the way, who encouraged us to listen to our better angels. We have never endured a crisis with someone who got to his position through the exploitation of fear, anger and divisiveness.
It is my fervent hope that this is not the model for how we go forward, because if it is, we are all doomed; either to die from some natural catastrophe that could have been avoided or minimized, or to fall victim to a dictatorship of self-congratulatory smiley faces – like a Kim Jong Un, whom our president likes so much.
In the absence of scientifically based leadership, I’m calling on all the people still willing to use their brains instead of their emotions to follow the directions and advice of the medical professionals in the field of infectious disease, and ignore the advice of political leaders, looking to score a win with those want a rapid return to business as usual.
For those whose income has not been affected by the closures I encourage you to give significantly to individuals you know have been hurt by the closures. These are the people whose services you used, but cannot at this time. Perhaps the personal generosity of good people can offset somewhat the inadequate and self-serving response that was all our mostly Republican Senate would allow.
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slinkyskink · 6 years ago
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62 +64
62. seven characters you relate to?
Hm, this is a hard one waa
Hod- Lobotomy Corporation
Sakura Minamoto- Zombieland Saga
Nessie Williams- My own oc lol
Ibuki Mioda- SDR2
Saki Nikaido- Zombieland Saga
Besmirched Noble’s son- Miitopia
Spinel - Steven Universe
some of them have reasons, some dont? i just click or like them ig waaa?
64. favorite website from your childhood?
Ty beanie babies had a game, it was my absolute favourite.
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mukundbharucha · 4 years ago
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The phantasmagoria of abstruse life does leave subtle impression on mind which drives human psyche to breathe intriguing stupendous beautiful eternal life on the Earth. The abstruse life is full of mysticism so innocent trivial human beings are besmirched by prevailing outright dispensation of weird phantasmal stuff. The corporeal phantasmal abstruse life is not everything because beyond your discerning senses there exists paranormal supernatural life means folks imbued in paganism & superstitions are subject of mysticism which is beyond so called intellectual rationalism. The staunch unswerving faith in respective appeasing ideology, religion or God is subject to be mutable from time to time because nobody can remain adhere to their staunch unswerving beliefs, disbelief & faith all the time. It's also quite absolute truth that naive artless great devotion to the almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari brings forth abundant prosperity & amenities in life. That's why it is said about the almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari that...
बखान क्या करू मैं लाखो के ढेर का,
चपटी भभूत में है खजाना कुबेर का।
The almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari is beyond worship & adoration practices of temporalty. The almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari is the First Cause & Final Cause of weird phantasmal stuff being dispensed on the Earth. That's why it is said that...
मैं आरंभ हूँ, मैं ��ी अंत हूँ,
मैं ही जीवन हूँ, मैं ही मृत्यु हूँ,
मैं नीलकंठ हूँ, नारायण मैं हूँ,
मैं केवल देव नहीं, महादेव हूँ।
The almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari is emblem of love so He is the true provenance of prevailing feelings in rife. The naive devotees applaud & praise the behemoth personality the almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari by outcry that...
ख्वाहिशें हजार हो सकती है!
लेकिन चाहत सिर्फ तुम हो... मेरे महादेव।
The almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari is Himself a Supreme Intelligence in entire endless macrocosm. You can swindle a innocent trivial mediocre person but can not swindle the almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari. Where there is a great devotion to the almighty God Lord Shri ShivHari which causes plethora of flippancy is also there. No consternation, no snag, no contrition etc are great characteristics of unscrupulous unrestrained miscreants nimrods. That's why it is said that...
वक्त दिखाई नहीं देता
पर,
दिखा बहुत कुछ देता है।
The best solution to this excruciating conundrum is only a scarcely found Hari Darshan (Apocalypse)...
मन तडपत हरि दर्शन को आज
मोरे तुम बिन बिगडे़ सघरे काज।
Mukund Bharucha
सत्यम् शिवम् सुंदरम्।
ॐ श्री निष्कलंकी नारायण नमः।
जय श्री कृष्ण।
Check this post from @MukundBharucha on Koo App:
"Is an ambiguous virtual imbecile absurd so called business c..."
https://www.kooapp.com/koo/MukundBharucha/ac00408d-8d34-4db3-b0d2-f6a89a6d776e
Download Koo App
https://www.kooapp.com/dnld
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wilsonmcqueen5 · 6 years ago
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The Good, The Bad and The Boats
Tony walked towards the boatshed, skin dripping with sweat. He knew what he must do.
 Tony gripped the rusty shovel in his hands as he stood at the door. "I fucking hate boats," he thought to himself as he reached out towards the door handle.
 The handle was slick from the early morning sea breeze, and it filled his nostrils with a pungently nostalgic scent of salt and brine. With a firm twist and push, the salt encrusted door swung inwards, the new musky odour from the room slapping him unceremoniously in the face. The faint light of morning silhouetted his back against the dark interior and he held the rusty shovel aloft, before letting it rest upon his shoulder. At his feet, a large, lumpy burlap sack.
 He kicked it with gentle force. "Get up," he told the sack. "Get up, you sack pile of shit."
 The sack shifted, grunting. "That's no way to wake up a friend, Tone."
"Enough of that, Scott. We've, ah, work to do, on this here boat."
The sack then did what the sack-equivalent might be of standing up straight, which I suppose is sort of like propping it so the tied end faced upward. "So what are we going to do to this waste of wood then?"
 "That's, ah, no way to talk to your Prime Minister," Tone reprimanded his sack-bound friend for his lack of manners. "I demand to, ah, be addressed properly, Scott." "Tone, you haven't been prime minister for almost three years." "I'll get that Malcolm. He's ah... a right bloody tosspot, that one," Tone gripped his shovel tightly. He took a moment to compose himself, lowering his shovel and rubbing his hand through his thinning hair. "No matter. We've ah... we've a job to do today, Scott. No doubt you've, ah, heard the news."
 Scott the burlap sack scoffed, wiggling the tie at the top of its head in a sardonic fashion, "What? Do you think I live under a bloody rock? Of course I have heard the news!" The sack strutted forward with some charisma, despite the fact it had no legs, just bulbous lumps near the floor. It stretched, wiggling to and fro in an almost too gelatinous fashion, "How about a spot of breakfast first, Tone? You had me hiding out here all night! I mean, I am a sack, you could have left me anywhere and no one would have been suspicious. A fine hotel by the beachside... next to a burlesque, maybe?" Scott wiggled his eyebrows, well, two lumps in the sack that one could assume to be eyebrows, at his salt and sweat soaked companion.
 Tone shook his head and let out a light chuckle. "Still, you are nothing but a sack of shit to me." He patted Scott and gently wrapped his right hand around his pony-tail (y'know the top of the sack where it's knitted) as he gripped his shovel with the other, then left the shack, bringing his long-time companion with him.
 Tony walked towards the harbour. From afar he could see it: the S.S. Gob-Sandgroe Thé. A shining vessel on the outside, with a fine white hull and proud blue rims. Above, a conspicuous blue flag, fastened tightly to the mast. As Tony finally approached the G.S.T. in all its might, he winced, muttering something incomprehensible, before throwing Scott on-board.
'Oof! I say, what was that for, Tony?!' riled Scott, outraged at the brutality of his comrade. Meanwhile Tony, a skilful but generally underappreciated athlete, clambered aboard with only the faintest of grunts. 'And stop calling me a sack of shit! I have feelings you know!' Scott continued, struggling to right himself from the fall. Tony, smiled as he approached Scott. He crept closer, without as much as a sound. 'Well? Are you going to say anything for yourself' and then, Tony cut the tie on the burlap sack, killing his dear, but ultimately clueless, friend. The sack spread open, and bounty of particularly vile-smelling manure could be seen within. Tony repeated himself. 'Bloody labor.'
 Tone looked at the open sack of manure on the deck in front of him. He snickered to himself. "Haha, I guess that's why they, ah, call it a poop deck," Tone chuckled. His chuckling drew to a close before he let out a sigh. "Ah Scott... you would've loved that one. Alright, let's see what we've got here..." Tone muttered, fumbling around in the pocket of his suit pants. He pulled out a crumpled pamphlet. "Ah, here it is," he said, cheerfully. He opened the pamphlet, revealing an instructional guide titled 'What To Do In Case Of Boat People' and carefully perused the pamphlet's contents.
 Tony scratched the side of his nose, squinting as he read his pamphlet a second time, just for good measure, before tipping the dead body of his once dear friend to the side. The manure tumbled out, the grotesque inner contents of his friend's corpse fizzling Tony's nose hairs and making his thinning, combed over hair shrivel. He arranged the droppings in an ornate and intricate pentagram, as detailed in his pamphlet, and took five small tea candles from his pocket; the pamphlet called for blood and five slender black candles, but his friend's 'guts" and dollar store tea lights should hopefully work just fine. With his ritual in place, he took out a small, half folded match tab from his pocket and lit each of the candles. All he had to do now was read the rights detailed in the 'What To Do In Case Of Boat People' pamphlet.
 Tony Elizaer Hamburgth the Fifth tilted his head back and cackled only a person whose name has been passed five generations down can. He then squinted his eyes and focused on the pamphlet. "Nice," he said under his breath.
 It was at that moment that the pentagram lit aflame, and a column of sickly brown and green light arose from the fecal inscription. The boat rocked violently, as a bellowing roar could be heard from the very centre of the ship itself. 'Whom do I serve?' growled the voice.
 "You, ah..." Tone stammered, "You serve your Prime Minister! Just like the rest of the, ah, people of this, ah, good nation!" The boat ceased its rocking. A deep hum emanated from the depths of the ship, as if the ship itself was in deep thought. "Tony..." the boat muttered. Its deep, gravelly voice unnerved Tone a bit. "You have not been Prime Minister... for two years."
"I'll always be Prime Minister in my, ah, heart," Tone said, keeping his resolve strong. Tone was always lauded by his peers for his nerves of steel and dedication to his principles. "I'm not here to play games, Tony," the boat growled, "state your business or disembark my vessel."
 "I, Colonpholomous, all powerful Lord of Irritable Bowel Movements, require your pathetic request, Tony, so I may return to my important business back at Taco Bell ™ ," the, large, menacing voice grumbled, vibrating the boat's deck under Tony's feet. "Your payment of my blood kin will only suffice you a meagre one wish, mortal, choose wisely." Tony stared indignantly at the rumbling linoleum floor of the boat, now besmirched by foul smelling, brown smears and spilt candle wax from the dollar tea lights. He whipped a bead of sweat from his eyebrow and stared with determined eyes at the waterproof plastic bellow him. He curtly tittered with much determination at the presence, fixing his tie and taking a deep breath. "I, ah, would have you grant me an, ah, army! There is, uhm, important, ah, yes, work to be done!"
"An army! Why, of course. I assume you've also brought the most important tool of all in order to accomplish this?" The boat asked, tilting back and forth.
Tony's face stiffened. He took a sharp breath. '...Y-yes. Of course,' he said, pulling out his wallet. The boat was at once perplexed by Tony's indecisive stutter. 'Surely, you have no issue with payment, now?' it asked. Tony's face contorted, as if in pain. A scowl eventually settled, as Tony pulled out a combination of dollar bills and coins equal to the current-day minimum wage. 'No problem at all.' He then placed the money in the centre of the pentagram, where it too grew a sickly green glow, before fading away into nothing. 'Excellent,' replied the boat, 'let's begin.'
 The vessel began to rock violently, and Tone found himself being thrown from bow to bow. "G- Goodness," Tone said, "this, ah, reminds me of that one Hues Corporation song!" Tone had begun to sing the 1974 Hues Corporation hit "Rock the Boat" quietly to himself before he was thrown into the ship's mast, smacking his large, shiny forehead against the mast's metal surface. Slowly, but surely, the boat's rocking came to a halt. Tone stumbled around for a bit before falling face first into the smeared pentagram he hastily scribbled onto the deck moments prior. He noticed a low humming noise emanating from the centre of the pentagram, along with a small green glowing ball suspended in the air, not too far above the deck's surface. The ball grew bigger, and as the ball grew, the humming sound swelled and grew louder. Larger and larger and louder and louder, the ball amassed the diameter of a truck tire, and the humming noise had swelled into an unnerving crescendo. Tone covered his ears, closed his eyes, and turned away as the demonic cacophony echoed throughout the harbour, growing louder and louder, until... Silence. The sound stopped abruptly. The ball almost immediately disappeared, spitting out a final parting gift as it went. It was a three-day-old Quarter Pounder from McDonald's. "Go..." the boat bellowed, "and take this with you. You know what to do."
 Tony straightened his tie and refastened his once well ironed suit pants, brushed his thinning, sad mop hair to the side where it belonged and bent down to pick up his newfound power. The three-day-old Quarter Pounder buzzed with fervour in his hand, shaking with absolute, unfathomable dark energies, bequeathed unto him by a greater god of true destruction and evil. Placing it in the safety of his pocket, he awkwardly thanked the boat possessed, gave it a good whack with his shovel for good measure, and dismounted down the side of the ship, legs wiggling, grunting profusely.
 Tony, with his hands both gripping the shovel tightly, twirled around and did a victory dance. Hurray for tone!
 Tony trudged back to his house, draped in various pictures of the queen across all surfaces. He emptied his pocket into a large glass bowl, then quickly showered to remove the various forms of filth that caked his face, before flopping face-first onto his... queen-sized bed. As he drifted out of consciousness, he thought he detected the faint aroma of... thousands of defrosted burgers...
 "Tony." "Ay, Tony! Wake up!" Tone was jolted awake by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. "Goodness!" Tone shouted, "Who, ah... who dares wake their prime minister!?" Tone glared at the hand on his shoulder and led his gaze along the arm attached to the disruptor of his royal slumber. A rotund man was attached to that arm. He looked to be in his 50s, and had the face of an Italian gangster. His suit was well-kempt, his grey hair short and combed, and his complexion quite tanned.
"It's real bad, boss!" The man said, still shaking his shoulder.
"Oh goodness, Joe," Tone said, irritated. "What is it this time? How bad can it be?" Joe tugged at his collar, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. "It's uh... you better come see for yourself, boss."
 Tony rolled out of bed like a lazy, blob of molasses on a cold winter day, though since this is set in Australia, I suppose the molasses would still be running rather fast. He hobbled, blanket wrapped about his shoulders like a makeshift, My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic patterned cape, gracefully plodding after his heavy footsteps. He followed Joe who scampered like a frightened rabbit towards the window, still covered in the Walmart Great Value brand drapes he bought to replace his original ones that were destroyed when Joe became frightened by fireworks one summer evening. Joe's hand trembled as he pointed dramatically out the window, and Tony let loose a belligerent sigh and rolled his eyes as he pulled back the curtains. Bellow in the yard, strewn about his well-groomed hedges, lay a vast, squirming battalion of one-eyed, two-tentacled, three-day-old Quarter Pounders, no larger than the usual sort, but would probably give a consumer at least 140% the amount of heartburn and 160% the diabetes.
 "By the great Lord Howard" exclaimed Tony. "What am I looking at Joe?"
"I'm not entirely sure Tony" the former treasurer whimpered, "They just showed up"
“Do you think The Boats sent them?"
"Boats aren’t sentient beings"
"Get my budgie smugglers we got some boats to shirt front!" Before Joe could interject further Tony was off like a bucket of raw prawns in the sun quickly trying to assemble his ikea cabinet but was missing an important screw that was, unbeknownst to him, lost in Joe's cereal
 Joe continued to sweat like a bucket of hay. Should he tell Tony, the scrambling former prime minister, his superior, his boss, that one of his screws are in his cereal? Or should he not tell him in order to save himself from any backlashes? He bat his eyelashes to flick off the dripping sweat.
 'Tony, I-' a clean right hook to the ribs came before he even finished the sentence. Joe doubled over in pain.
'Joe.'
'WHAT, Tony?'
'Ya screwed up.' Joe groaned. The pain from Tony's sheltered sense of humour toppled him, and he lay defeated on the floor. At this, Tony pivoted on his heel and strode out the front door. A makeshift staircase of burger rose to meet his foot. Tony walked onto his carpet of burger, and was carried into the morning sunrise.
 The meaty door closed behind Tony as he walked further into the giant floating burger palace. As he made his way through this colossal castle of processed meat, Tony took a moment to think to himself about what a modern marvel this was. About how privileged he was to be allowed into what is truly one of the greatest feats of mankind, and how extraordinary a person it must take to bring such a project to fruition. Tony did not let this moment linger though, as he had business. Business with the particularly extraordinary person behind the airship upon which he travelled. A man who could make things happen, and Tony needed him to make things happen for him. Tony made his way to a pair of giant, golden doors, surrounded by a large Victorian-styled arch. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a packet of Tim Tams - he knew he'd need them. A small sign was bolted to the door at Tony's eye-level. 'Knock once to enter,' the sign read. Tony made sure his suit looked as presentable as it could after having slept in it, and did as the sign instructed. A series of loud clunks followed, and the doors slowly, but steadily, opened before him. Apprehensively, Tony entered the spacious white room on the other side of the doors. There, in the middle of the room, was a throne. Atop that throne, was perched a large, but rather graceful man who Tony knew well. "Good morning, Tony." "Ah, g- good morning," Tony stuttered, "Clive."
 The undulating mass of burgers swarmed at Tony's feet as he stood before a great whale of a man, sitting in a relaxed pose upon a large throne of iron and metals. The man's portly face was half hidden by his protuberant second chin that glistened with an otherworldly aura of power. Clive licked his lips in a sinister fashion, the scent of tim-tams heady in the air, his natural prey, a proper offering brought before the great beasts hunger. His jowls rustled into a grin, his face churning expression like a vat of butter. "You must be rather desperate to have come to me, Tony," Clive chuckled, wiggling in a gelatinous way as he waved the stuttering Tony into his throne room.
 "Ahh well- y'see- I'm more confused meself Clive." Tony mumbled as he gazed upon the swollen figure before him "I've not encountered such ah sentient food products before."
 Clive winked at Tony as if he were a sex line operator "You've come to marvel at my Burgerbois have you? No. Infact it was them who brought you here... Can you keep a secret Abbot?"
 "Ah… Well... I think perhaps..." "The mines are empty Tony. The workers are growing restless. They're growing..." Clive reaches down and swallows a burger whole "Hungry..."
  "Well I don’t..."
 "Tony do you know who'd behind this? The reason the reserves disappeared overnight?" "I can’t say I ah do Clive" Clive leaned forward with a stern expression "The Boats, Tony. The Boats have returned"
  Tony's undergarments moistened. "But Joe said..."
 "HOCKEY IS A FOOL WHO BELIEVES TAMATO SAUCE COMES FROM FRESHLY SQUEEZED LASAGNA" Palmer thundered belly bouncing off the walls as it moved. "He's not to be trusted with anything of importance, Tony. Best put him back onto the budget. Believe me. The Boats are coming and my Burgerbois are unprepared. They need a general Tony. One who knows our enemy."
 "But... ah... Clive..." "Tony. Only you can stop The Boats."
 Tony's threat suddenly felt dry. Too dry. So dry, he gasped for the air, his hand clutching the chest of his shirt tightly. The caterpillar brows on Clive's furrowed. "Tony! I will not pass for this again. You cannot keep doing this." Tony stopped his "I'm so scared" act and cleared his throat. He smoothed back his hair. "Yeah," he said. "I know."
 Clive beckoned a burger guardsman, who approached Tony. 'What's all this about then, ah, Clive?' Tony began, and the armoured burgerman stood over the liberal backbencher. The burgerman extended a hand, and placed a ring of keys in Tony's palm. Tony inspected the keys, which had the engraving 'T H I C' on one side. 'And what am I driving, exactly?' He continued. 'Not driving, Tone,' replied the burgerman, 'but piloting.'
 Tony continued to sweat. Clive's ire had already struck fear into him, but the vague directives he received only served to uproot his presence of mind even further. "Why, ah, C- Clive..." Tony stammered, forcing a nervous chuckle in a thinly-veiled bid to hide his nerves, "I c- can't say for sure that I know what you mean when you... ah... w- when you say... 'Piloting...'"
"You will," Clive said abruptly, bringing Tony's nervous rambling to a halt. Clive carefully tore open the packet of tim tams on his lap, lifted the first chocolatey treat from the packaging and took a bite into it, savouring its delicious malt flavour. Tony could only fidget with his tie as the Lord of the Lard enjoyed his offerings in front of him. The silence left him completely unsure if he should maintain eye contact or avert his gaze, resulting in an awkward routine in which he ultimately ended up doing both.
"Tony." The silence shattered. Startled, Tony stood to attention, his ears opened, all three of them. "I am placing my faith in you one final time, Tony," Clive boomed. "My assistance comes with expectations and conditions, Tony, and those conditions do not involve failure."
"A- ah, yes..."
"Our meeting has drawn to a close, but before I send you on your way, I have one last demand of you. You will listen, and listen well," Clive said, sternly. He pulled himself forward on his throne, and leaned as far down as his round biological prison allowed him to. Tony edged backwards ever so slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the distance created between himself and Clive, or rather, the lack thereof. "You are to tell no one of our meeting. Not Hockey, not Bishop, not even Howard. Nobody. Goodbye, Tony."
"B- But wait a minute! How will I know-" Before Tony could finish his question, a panel in the floor opened underneath his feet, and he began his plummet back down to Earth.
 Tony hit the floor in a jiggling fashion, his knee caps taking a vacation up into his throat for a moment. As he resettled into his skin, he looked on over the horizon, standing uncomfortably at the precipice of battle. He stood on the shoreline, his best work shoes sinking into the warm morning sand, overlooking a beautiful soft pink and blue sky, lemon yellow sun rising over the washing and waning currents, but all of this lovely scene besmirched by the dotted, intimidating silhouettes on the horizon. The Boats were coming, and faster than Tony had expected! Curse him taking Scott's advice, he felt like he had been used by the sack of shit, uh, literally. He scanned the beach side for the machine for which he would lead the Burgerbois to battle with the boats, it had to be somewhere around here right? In the glare of the rising sunlight, he barely stopped himself before he walked straight into the object of his search. Standing before him, in all of its Parliamentary Glory, was the M18S-C, the Prime Ministerator, a grand, enormous bipedal mecha, gleaning with the Australian Flag emblazoned upon it's chest piece, standing tall and proud in the soft, creamy light. He looked on it in awe, he had only heard tales of its use in the great wars before, and never had he dreamed that he would pilot it. What a blessing he was given by Clive, he would have to send him more tim-tams later.
 Tony prepped himself to climb inside when he heard a voice from behind him
"Excuse me dear Tony but my lustrous eyes can’t help but notice you're clambering into my car? What's the meaning of this oh honourable minister?"
Tony recognised that pompous voice anywhere. A voice that could only belong to the most 18th century of aristocrats. "G'day ah... Malcolm didn’t know this was yours..."
 Malcom breathed in as only an owner of such an 18th century aristocratic nose can breathe. "Of all days, Tony. Of allll days." His heels clacked loudly against the floor towards Tony. "What are you doing, fool?" He demanded.
 Tony's eyes widened - partially in rage at the sight of his usurper, but also partially in awe of such a faithful preservation of conservative values. 'Malcolm, ah, what a surprise,' Tony began. Malcolm snatched the keys right from Tony's hand and strode towards the mech.
So... parliamentary, Tony thought to himself.
As Malcolm struggled to lift his atrophied body into the mech, Tony piped up with an uncharacteristic display of forethought: 'it might be best for you to wait until we've finished cleaning the wares for your use, Malcolm.' Malcolm froze mid-climb. 'If a member of parliament were to be seen in something not... presentable...' he continued. Malcolm gasped, and momentarily lost balance, nearly falling. '...Well, ah, imagine labor's response.' Malcolm's skin somehow managed to turn a shade lighter. He clamoured down immediately, and thrust the keys to Tony's chest. 'Have it cleaned at once, then, you unscrupulous vagrant!' he squeaked.
'At once, Mal-'
'And another thing, Tony,' Malcolm continued, as he strode away with that slight hip wiggle he was known for, 'call me Prime Minster.'
'Ah, r-righto.' Tony grimaced.
 Tony waited until Malcolm was out of sight. "Call me prime minister," Tony mumbled under his breath. "Why that... that man..." He fumed as he climbed into the Prime Ministerator. He had half a mind to crash it, just to spite Malcolm. After all, Malcolm had already forcibly removed a throne from Tony himself, it would only be an eye for an eye, right? No, Tony thought, I have a job to do. Petty squabbles come later. That he would be stealing the Prime Ministerator and using it for his own, non-Malcolm-approved agenda was enough of a consolation prize anyway. Tony strapped himself into the cockpit and fumbled with the keys. "Ah, cock it," Tony said to himself, realising he didn't actually know where the ignition was. Tony fumbled around the dashboard in front of him and searched the console next to him thoroughly. After a few minutes of man-looking, he found a cluster of five holes under the steering unit, each of which looked roughly the same size as the key he was given. He had no idea which hole was the ignition. Hell, he didn't even know if any of these holes were the ignition. Maybe two or three of them were the ignition and he needed two or three keys. Maybe he needed to put the key in one hole and then put it in another hole really quickly? Tony was driving himself mental trying to unravel the mystery in front of him. Come on Tony, he thought, get it together! Clive's not giving you anymore chances after this! The real prime minister wouldn't struggle nearly as much! Hold on. Tony's train of thought came to a complete halt. Yes... that's it. "I'm the prime minister..." Tony said, sinisterly.
 Tony was never a man to assess his risks, risk assessment is for the cowardly! Act first, think later, that's how we do things in God's Australia, he thought. He felt his passion grow stronger with every musing. This is just another obstacle to overcome! I'm ashamed of myself that I nearly allowed it to work! Australia didn't get to where it is now by sitting around and assessing risks! It got here through good old-fashioned gumption! Courage! Moxie! Heteronormativity! Tony lifted his arm high, key in hand, and locked on to a hole in the cluster.
"They didn't call me Mad Cunt Abbott for nothing!" Tony screamed at the top of his lungs. Something awakened inside Tony. No longer was he just the former prime minister, he was the Minister for Fearless Warriors, and he was going to prove himself. To Clive. To Malcolm. To Australia. Without a moment's hesitation, he brought his arm crashing down, and slammed the key into a random slot.
 There was a loud thunk, ka-chunk, a small, subtle humming noise of lights coming on inside of the cockpit, a loud whir and a sudden, authoritative roar as the engines galloped, screamed and settled into a ferocious growl. The entire machine grumbled and trembled with robust vigour, bumbling Tony around in the seat, vibrating his butt-cheeks and chattering he teeth. Two long armed iron snakelike seat-belts coiled around his torso snugly, and four brightly coloured monitor displays flickered into view around Tony's face and peripheral vision. Three small, simple tones played near his ear, and a gurgling, sputtering noise started and stopped, like a sink drain sucking up the remaining water. A small, iron plate extended near Tony's right hand, carrying upon it a small, delicate tea-cup, covered in ornate wee paintings of roses, a gentle curved handle and a matching plate. Steam rose from the top in a wistful fashion, and as Tony peered inside, there was a detailed rendition of Malcolm's face, skilfully created in the foam of the cappuccino that sat before him. Wrong key slot. Tasted fine though.
 Tony cursed as he looked around for something that resembled an ignition, furious that the blasted contraption had ruined his momentum. "now where is this thing god damn bloody- ah here it is" The mecha roared to life "MINI—STATO-O-OOOR PRIME A-IVE PLEASE INPUT DIREC-EC-EC-EC-TI-TIVE" it stuttered at its pilot like a Tasmanian on skype.
 "Well that’s more like it" Tony mumbled to himself. "Now ah I suppose the best place to start looking is at the scene of the crime... Ah Mr robot please make your way to Kalgoorlie... wait no that’s been empty for years, best go to Karratha." "DIR-R-R-R-RECTIVE UNDERSTOO-O--O-OOO-O-O-OD LAUNCHCHCING NOW" Tony barely had time to adjust his seatbelt as the machine took off blasting high into orbit before plummeting towards the desert shithole its occupant had requested to visit. Meanwhile inside the nearby building a shockwave knocked a certain powdered wig into some awaiting scones. "By Jove, I appear to have been had"
 After Malcolm finished stamping his foot on the ground in protest of his ruined afternoon tea, he shamefully eyed the wig that had fled from his perfectly reflective noggin. (Dentists often talked about employing the science of such a head to replace the metallic mirrors they used during dental practices.) Malcolm was well aware of the 10 second rule, an absolute truth that had swept nationwide and settled in the hearts of the Australian youth. Malcolm always found himself seeking the company of toddlers in the day-care directly across the street from Parliament after a long, hard day of ministering, so he found himself placing utmost faith in these rituals. Malcolm glanced around his room composed of entirely stale fairy bread to make sure the coast was clear before lifting the soiled wig off the scones and back atop his magnificent head. "Mama always said not to waste my food..." Malcolm muttered into a scone he had tucked into. After scoffing down the remaining scones in a manner far removed from his lower-class ancestors, Malcolm decided he, the Prime Minister of Australia, deserved a little joy ride in his M18S-C Prime Ministerator, or as he likes to call it, Shirley. Malcolm made his way to the nearest dial phone to contact one of his loyal followers to pick him up in his private TigerAir jet back to ACT where his mech was waiting for him, untouched and entirely his. Upon his arrival.
 He tripped over a frog. Malcom landed smack on his face. "OW!" the onomatopoeia rang in his head, but he could not yell it, let alone say it due to his mouth stuck in an awkward position. He tried to get up, but he needed a minute.
 'Mmmnn! Hrmmffffffmmmmtmmmmfffffrrrt!' Malcolm exclaimed, which probably translated to 'Slaves! Assist me at once!' Malcolm liked to think that his security personnel were in servitude to his Ministership. The rest of his party had opted not to explain the nature of minimum wage to Malcolm, and instead decided to secretly pay the staff extra to not pay too much heed to it. Malcolm again tried to lift himself off the floor, but due to the extreme fatigue induced by his action-packed day of trying to climb into a mech, and then later falling over, he resigned himself to laying there until help arrived. After all, who wouldn't want to help the famous and unanimously likable Prince Malcolm? He thought. Malcolm wasn't a prince, but his mother once called him one in his youth, and he never really decided to question it.
 Meanwhile, in the Kimberley, the Prime Ministerator touched down in Karratha, WA. The doors opened, and Tony awkwardly fumbled his way out and scrambled to the ground. "Goodness," Tony said, surveying the dirt-ridden landscape, "where are we?" "KARRA-RA-RA-RA-RA-RATHA, WESTERN AUSTRALIA" "Western what now? I, ah, didn't know the country even had a western side!"
 Tony squinted over that mellow yellow horizon once more, peering through his tangled eyelashes those menacing forms that haunted his footsteps to this very day. The boats, like black, wretched nightmares slinking over the azure waves, crawling with undulating and singularly disgusting purpose. They lurked, smattered against where sky met sea, and Tony could feel that Malcom cappuccino churning in his belly like a roiling child on a roller coaster. He cleared his throat, swallowing down his nerves and also a good bit of coffee bile, and readjusted his clothing, now soaked with sweat from the hot fly over Australia's girdle. From behind him he heard a noise, the rumbling of thousands of crinkling McDonald's wrappers, rolling judiciously over the beach line.
 "Right. Where to start?" Tony started to wander his way around the city looking for anything loosely resembling a porthole when his phone started to ring. "Ah... Hello you've reached Tony. Who's this?" "Ay Tony it’s me." Tony recognised that thick Brooklyn accent immediately "Oh Joe. How are ya? What's the issue?" "Where'd ya go? You said you were goin out and all of a sudden you aint come back. You get whacked or something?" "No... Ah I'm still here." "Anyway not important. What is important is the member for Hughes got stuck in the dryer and I can’t get him out!" "Oh bloody... ok look... I can’t. Just call Julia and she can sort it.”
 Over the dirt road horizon (they couldn’t afford 21st century remodelling), Tony could hear a faint "bzzzzzzt RRRRRRRRR" speeding towards him. Tony opened his big ugly mug and screamed when the source of the noise came into view. "RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrzzzzzzZZZZZZZZ! SALAAM ALAIKUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMRRR" screamed a hoard of motor boats at the now flabbergasted Tony. "Crickey! The Boats, they've, ah, evolved!"
 The Boats have two cats now instead of one. And they are coming at the speed of sound. What will our dear Tony do?!
 Tony took a poorly placed step in retreat to his mech and staggered. The townscape seemed to spin in front of him, twirling into something not of this world. He glanced back to the cat-headed aboatminations and noted they had spawned a third cat head while he wasn't looking. He blinked. The Boats grew another head. As handling perception-dependent mutation had been sorely glossed over in his brief Prime Minister training experience, Tony decided that the only honourable action would be to run piss-scared back to his metallic powersuit. As he neared the titanium goliath, the screams of The Boats became impossibly loud, and seemingly from all directions. Tony gulped, and tasted blood.
 Tony clambered into the Prime Ministerator. He fumbled with the keys in his desperate bid to power it on. Eventually, the Prime Ministerator whirred into life, and with it so did Tony's resolve. He knew what he had to do.
 "This is it, ah, my boys," Tony stuttered, wiping the spit from his lips that had accumulated there from his intense screaming. He looked out over towards those horrifying, boat behemoths, cat heads bubbling and rumbling on the bow like beating, gurgling exposed organs. The Burgerbois were around the mech's feet, in all shapes and sizes, various toppings, but all with that similar, old McyD's smell; you know the one, as if you had brought it home in the car and the scent lingered. Tony choked back a gag as he caught a whiff, but now was not the time to have a delicate stomach. The boats were closing in on him with a gallop; some literally as they took to the shore down the way and sprouted large, feline, double jointed legs. The early day seagulls cawed and nattered, eyeing his burger army with hunger, but they dare not descend close enough to the ungodly hamburger beasts. The 'vultures' were already prepared to feast upon the coming dead. Tony's heart trembled. He popped an antacid into his mouth from his suit shirt pocket and cleared his throat. A large mechanical arm swung forward, glistening in the hot dessert sun, accompanied with a twinkle from Tony's brow as his sweat caught the glare from that all too unforgiving summer heat. Tony puffed up his chest like a bird impressing a mate and hollered with all of his might:
 "I know we have only known-uh, ah, each other for a short time, but blimey, you good tinfoil wrapped, lettuce faced, ground cow sandwiches are my countrymen! My, ahhhh, Brothers! Yes! Together, we will fight, uhmm, yes, good, right, YES, FIGHT BACK THE BOAT HOARD! They shall rrrrrue the day they stepped foot on good Australian soil! We will triumph in this battle, and cr----crush!!! Uhm! OUR ENEMIES BENEATH OUR BOOTS! ON-- ah..... ONWARD, GOOD BURGERBOIS! TO VICTORY OR DEATH!!!" The Prime Ministrator lurched forward with gusto, Tony jamming his hands on buttons and squishing throttled between his soaking palms, stepping on paddles and swinging his fingers wildly through tough screens. The mech extended its palm and from it a huge metal object shimmered into being. The Prime Ministrator and Tony had become of one mind, and it summoned a weapon in dramatic anime fashion for its new rider to strike fear into the hearts of his foes.
 The armies clashed together as a bunch of people looked on very confused as to what was happening, but they were of no concern to the Boats. They had been compromised, their enemy was before them and outnumbered them 10 to 1. Thankfully 10 of the burgers didn’t really make up the size of one boat. However, their leader was a gigantic robot who very conveniently for the boats was the same size as 5 very carefully stacked boats. Tony lurched his mecha around slaying boat after boat "You'd ah best remember that you dastardly dinghy " he cried out in his best war voice. Burgers and Boats fell in the dozens before Tony spotted them. The most intimidating boats he'd ever seen. Large enough to fit hundreds of refugees and stable enough to probably only lose 2% of them on the journey. Tony locked eyes with the Red Boat, the clear leader of the 5 generals, and rushed forward. "BOATRON ASSEMBLE" Tony only made it half way before the boats started transforming. They appeared to turn into various appendages and then joined together with the aid of some duct tape
 Tony muttered under his breath. "Holy, ah, shit..." as the final piece of the boatron, the taint, assimilated to the rest of its parts. The Prime Ministerator could be seen wiping its mechanic brow in tandem with its little heroic pilot. "Ah... I-I think this calls for the a-ah, secret menu..." Tony uttered as he began fingering the build-in dial phone located in the mech's cockpit. After a few muffled whispers into the phone, not even a moment later could rumbling be heard from the ground behind the Burger Bois...
 Out came three beans, the size of two tea bags. "There they are," muttered Tony under his breath. He could feel another round of adrenaline pumping in his body. The three beans hopped on one another and formed...
 ...a ball. And a large one at that, comparable in size to, well, a Boat. The mech-suited Tony fought his way back towards the bean ball, and clasped it in his metallic hands. He gave it a heave, and, with some effort, managed to lift it from the ground. The ball began to tick.
 Tony froze. The hands of the Prime Ministerator remained clasped onto the ticking ball. He couldn't move. His fear left him paralysed. All he could do was watch this ticking ball, envisioning all the different ways it could lead to his untimely demise.
 Tony's mind fumbled, his brain stumbling over his own fear, he could barely force himself to move, he was too close, the explosion would get him, or the boats would. Neither option was particularly pleasant. Both meant he met a grizzly fate, either blown to Tony chunks or devoured by the three cat headed boat mecha monstrosity. Wait... That was it! He shouted to rally the Burgerbois, as they clambered over the mechanical legs of the boat-beast, and with his last ounce of courage, he shoved the mech's hand into the maw of the great, salivating creature, ticking bean bomb and all. He quickly unstrapped his seat-belt, the computer complaining that he no longer had his seat belt on, making annoying beeping noises and speaking in an annoyingly condescending toned robotic female voice, and he thrust himself out the emergency butt hatch like an overly excited turd leaving the rear of a horse. He flopped like a beached whale as he hit the sad, and scampered like a cockroach as far as he could away from the Prime Ministrator and the main boat menace, keeping his face away from the all too quickly coming explosion of boat bits & Malcolm's ego, burnt burger pellets, and singed cat faces.
 Tony found himself flying forward into the sand at high velocity as the shockwave from the explosion tore through the area. Screams from innocent bystanders, as they were caught in the blast because they had come to film the shenanigans for later upload onto YouTube, were drowned out by the clanks and cries of Boats and Burgerbois alike as the flames swallowed them.
"Crikey... that’s ah quite the effect" said the former Prime Minister turned ostrich impersonator as he picked himself up and surveyed the carnage.
"GOOD WORK TONY MY LAD" The voice rang out from seemingly nowhere. Tony looked around wildly who was talking to him? Then the answer was clear as Clive himself descended on his burger throne. "You've done it you've saved conservatism!"
"Ah thanks... Clive... I ah-"
"Please Tony, no thanks are needed I did nothing. You are the true hero. The land is saved for now. We owe you a great debt, but of course nobody can know."
"Oh well..."
"So instead," Clive reached into his pocket, "Have these. As a gift"
Tony was presented with the most magnificent gift he'd ever seen. A golden pair of budgie smugglers with the words "TRU" and "BLU" on each cheek. "Clive... I don’t know what to say-"
Clive put up his hand in protest "Tony, nothing needs to be said. Farewell, until the next catastrophe. Give Joe my regards." With that Clive ascended and Tony went to the beach in his new swim gear knowing that The Boats were stopped and the job was done.
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rodmilla-tremaine-blog · 8 years ago
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Liars And Loopholes || Lyonsmaine
@takalyons
Summary: Following the start of the InterPride investigation, Taka seeks counsel from Milla on what to do next. 
[Dated June 5th]
TAKA:
There was no denying that Taka was shaken after his meeting with Copper. An investigation. A formal one, at that. Of course he’d been subjected to them in the past and all had been fine, but this was something so much bigger. His drug empire in London had been nothing compared to what he was doing in Swynlake, what he had done. If he was not careful, if they dug too deep, they’d find things that needed to stay hidden.
It didn’t matter that Taka was more than certain they would find nothing. He was nothing but meticulous in his work and in covering up his dirty deeds.
Still, it warranted a visit with Rodmilla Tremaine. They needed a plan for if things were to go south. If by some strange miracle, Copper and his platoon of bumbling idiots found something, they needed to be prepared. Because this was something Milla was intricately involved with as well. And he knew that she would not let anything happen to ruin her pristine image and the empire she had built for herself.
Making his way into the office he was quite familiar with, Taka cleared his throat to gather Milla’s attention. “I’d apologize for calling you at such short notice but it would seem we may have a problem.”
MILLA:
These days, Taka Lyons always had a problem.
That had been Milla’s first thought when she’d received his call, demanding a meeting as soon as possible. She had to cancel one of her conferences with another client for it, noting the distress in Taka’s voice though he had tried to smother it. By now, she could read them like a cheap magazine left on the sofa of a dentist’s office though. By now, when she got a call from Taka, she knew what to expect-- a man coming unraveled.
It had been a nuisance before, though part of Milla enjoyed the meetings. She was in control the entire time and always soothed Taka’s ire, whatever the latest drama.
But something had changed inside of Milla following her miscarriage. Something had--broken. When she got Taka’s phone call, a part of her shriveled up like a raisin. She wanted to tell him to stay away.
But she didn’t. She agreed to the meeting and as he came in, Milla smiled at him like she normally would despite having that shriveling feeling in her soul. She was already tired, so tired. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. Maybe she needed more caffeine.
“Don’t we always?” she quipped rather snarkily anyway, though with the smile. “Come then, Taka. What’s going on now?” She settled into her chair and motioned for him to fill the one opposite the desk.
TAKA:
Rodmilla’s snarky tone, while usually endearing and fun, now only grated on Taka’s nerves. There was no cause for it. Not now with everything that was going on. He needed her legal counsel, she needed to be aware because both of their livelihoods were at stake here. There was absolutely no time for snark and quips. It needed to be down to business right away. So he quickly took his seat in front of her desk, leaning forward as his brow furrowed deeply. How had he gotten himself into such a mess? He’d been so careful, had dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s in everything and yet.
“There’s an investigation,” he started slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. For the first time he felt old. His age had crept up on him quickly and suddenly he was years older and he was tired. It no longer mattered that he kept his body in pristine shape or that he did all that he could to remain young and virile. But now, now things were falling apart and he felt as if he was falling apart. “Copper and his incompetent team are looking into InterPride’s finances. They’ve warrants for everything. My home. And I imagine they’ll be pulling you into the station to interrogate.”
Now the fatigue was replaced by the anger. The anger that someone would feel the need to have the sheriff delve into his company’s internal affairs. That his name would be besmirched because people did not agree with his tactics and ways of going about things. “I want to know who has done this. And what evidence they have that would warrant an in depth investigation.”
MILLA:
An investigation.
Milla’s eyes narrowed at the word but her insides remained still, cool, like she was nothing more than a statue. Her brain kicked into overdrive as it put together what little pieces she had at this moment. They were as follows:
Taka was being investigated because he was sloppy and something he did, or something one of his minions did, had been discovered.
The evidence must have been plucked from the offices of InterPride unless--
Milla did not know the whole story.
And that last point was the biggest, most important piece of them all. For Taka had lied to her once, hiding the truth of his plan to kill Mufasa and forcing her to clean up his mess. This feel exactly like that, Taka’s proverbial car gone off-road, skidding dangerously toward the cliff.
She would not go down with him.
Milla lifted her chin. “Never mind that,” she said to his question that she could not possibly answer. ‘If you want my help, Taka, you will tell me everything--everything-- that they might find. There’s no way this is connected with your mess from four years ago,” Milla said this with a flick of her hand. “No one has any reason to turn over those stones. So what have you done, Taka, since then? What have you done and what have you kept from me?”
TAKA:
The way Rodmilla was speaking to him reminded him of how his parents would scold him when he had gotten into trouble. And how fitting was that? Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had always been drawn to her. It had been too easy to manipulate her when he had plotted Mufasa’s death. But they were both older now. And much wiser than they had been back then.
Now Milla knew that he had been hiding things. And he was agitated that he had not thought to go to her first. If he had incorporated Milla, he likely wouldn't be in this predicament. How bittersweet hindsight was.
He smiled wryly at her, unapologetic because he did not apologize. Each move was calculated, measured. If there was a mistake it was because other people made them.
“I have been redirecting InterPride’s funds, some not all, to conduct a bit of an experiment. A series of experiments,” he started simply, looking to Milla. “Fey’s Gold. I am sure you’ve heard of it. That Bell fairy and Bonfamille had adverse reactions to it last year. I was simply researching it while producing it. Clopin and I had a deal. But he disappeared the moment one of his runners got locked up. I’m a businessman. I do not peddle like a common street rat. So I employed the help of another.”
He took a deep breath as he sat back in the chair, watching Milla carefully for any form of reaction. “It would appear there is a leak somewhere. Someone went to the police complaining, I assume, about our financial business and here we are. Me, needing your counsel once more.”
MILLA:
Drugs. Taka was no better than the common street rat peddler he insisted he wasn’t. He was a thug. A punk. An embarrassment.
When Milla had met him, she’d heard little rumours, but she ignored it because Taka had vision and ambition and talent. He knew how to play a room; he certainly knew how to play Mufasa. His classic takeover was too good to resist at the time because Milla wanted InterPride for a client and it made her think about Hamlet--so Shakespearian. Milla could admire a brain like that.
But all along, he’d really been a brute in gentleman’s clothing. She had to admit that she’d been fooled. For a long time, even. Recently she’d had her suspicions, her respect for Taka slipping as his paranoia mounted. She was comforted only by the fact that she could control him so easily.
At least she thought she could, but here he was, dabbling in such low-hanging fruit as drugs. And magic drugs (she wanted to shiver at the thought). Did he fancy himself some British Walter White? Did he want a drug empire?
Milla controlled her face, not letting any of this disgust bleed through. She simply kept her hands folded on her lap.
“You need a scapegoat,” she said curtly after a moment. She was not going to waste her time coddling Taka; this was a mess, and he knew it, and she knew it. “You must stop the investigation as quickly as you can so you have to give them something they want to see so they think they’ve found it all.”
TAKA:
If Taka had been expecting Milla’s cool reassurances, he was sorely disappointed when it never came. Instead he was given blunt and straightforward. Of course, the more rational part of him knew that there was no time for it. They had to get this figured out. The quicker the better. It would mean the investigation would close as quickly as he wanted it to and then, then he could go after whoever had given up the information.
“And what exactly should I offer up, hm? My paperwork is sound. Do you really think I would not have the best of the best working on that? Edward has a skill that I have cultivated since my discovery of him and his siblings.” His words were grated out, agitated as he was. He could not forge the papers, could not offer them the Adamson brat.
It hit him, then. What to do. A marginal error, one that was intentional that could have simply been missed. A bank account that led to someone expendable. To someone at his corporation. It was brilliant. He just needed to make it work.
“An employee. And a bank account in which to siphon some funds.” His mind was working, going through the vast lists of employees to figure out who was expendable enough. “If I were to frame this person, convince them to confess. It would be enough. Everything would be fine.” It would work. It would have to.
MILLA:
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. She was resisting a lot of things today. She wanted to sneer at Taka, wanted to lecture him like she did her girls, wanted to-- wanted to quit.
She really badly wanted to quit.
Because even if this plan went well and he managed to direct the attention of the investigation, it would just be another mess that Milla had gotten her hands in without wanting to. She had not signed on to kill Mufasa; she did not sign on to help Taka run his grandiose drug ring with terribly dangerous, irresponsible, childish magical drugs.
She wanted InterPride and InterPride’s capital and that was all. She could see the water rising. The proverbial scale tipping out of balance. The cost was going to outweigh her financial gain.
Taka was no longer a good business partner for her.
None of this she let show, just nodded along to Taka’s thinking-aloud, showing that she was listening. Inside, Milla’s gears were spinning. She was looking for her way out. No more of this, no more lies, no more games of cover-up, not for Milla. She was too tired.
Then, when Taka was done, Milla kept nodded and smiled-- just a little. Taka had seen that smile before. It was triumphant even in its understatement.
“See? You must make sure that it’s airtight, of course,” she said. “Whomever you use, they must be your most loyal of confidantes. Because you will need to condemn them and put as much distance between InterPride and this employee as possible. I can tell you right now I will not be representing such a client in a court of law. They should confess, simply as that. Take a plea bargain for reduced time.”
Taka nodded as her words sank in-- she could see some of the stress leave his shoulders-- and Milla smiled at him. She nearly reached over and pat his hand, but she resisted the urge, getting up instead as Taka did. She was eager for him to leave her office, and it looked like he was too-- and of course he was. He had important business to take care of.
“Good day, Taka,” she said with a little nod, watching the man sweep out. And with a sigh, she fell back into her chair.
It was time to find her own loophole.
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stephenjaymorrisblog · 7 years ago
Video
youtube
9/14/2017
  Yoko Ono Sings With The Minutemen
By Stephen Jay Morris
©Scientific Morality
During the 1980s, when that crappy, Synch-techno-pop was all over the charts, there was a vibrant, underground music scene bubbling. There was a lot of good stuff then! And now?  Holy Mother of God!  Not only have we been beset with an absolutely despicable president in the White House, we also have this auto tune, drone music on the charts.  Call me a conspiracy nut, but this is the type of music that is hypnotic and can brainwash you into submission of the corporate police state!  “You are getting sleepy…very sleepy.”   “Listen to that drum machine...listen…listen.”  Or, it is just a way to make the music industry rich--very rich?  Should I care about who hurt Taylor Swift’s feelings?  How about Justin Bieber’s latest publicity stunt?  Should we care?  There is a madman running North Korea who wants to blow up the USA, and there are record-breaking hurricanes and storms destroying the planet.  At least Joni Mitchell was poetic when she sang about her personal life.  But Taylor Swift?  I don’t give a hip-hop, sloop about her!  She comes off like some Narcissist with a vendetta!  Sorry, Taylor Swift:  if someone besmirches your ego, it’s not my problem!  So piss off!!!  If you think the younger generation can identify with your life, then you are living some Solipsists fools’ paradise!  Go back to doing Christian music--please!  It’s not all about you!
I have this insatiable need to hear something innovative or challenging from music.  For the past two decades, it’s all been just a rehash of old musical genres. “Well…that’s life,” I guess.  The only genuine thing I could hope for is a revival of Rock & Roll.  In the 90’s, that event presented itself as so-called “Grunge.”  It lasted about 14 years and then was gone.  For a couple of years, I had high hopes for a Punk revival. The band that inspired it was Russia’s “Pussy Riot,” but it lasted for only two years on just a lot of sectional publicity.  Following that was a Punk Anarcho-agitprop band out of Chicago, “The Orwells,” however they never got any traction.  This pattern brings to mind the perennial punk band, “Anti-Flag,” a politically progressive band from Pittsburgh, who’d been around since 1988.  They were well-known for their politically-charged lyrics and activism focused around sociopolitical causes.  The only agitprop-Rock act to make it into the mainstream was the New-metal Rap band, “Rage Against the Machine.”  That was during the 90s and early 2000s.  Jeez!  Since then, all my hopes of a musical revolution have been dashed.  That is, until now…
I have a taste for the experimental and the Avant-garde. Be it from Captain Beefhart, all the way to Yoko Ono.  I used to play Yoko’s records in my room, and it drove my parents crazy!  My neighbor, whose window was directly across from mine, made loud, verbal threats that she’d call upon the Israeli army if I didn’t “shut that noise down!”  Even my peers hated Yoko’s music.  It all made me love her work even more!  My cause-Célébre and life’s mission was, and still is, to embrace the un-embraceable!
In 2017, I spied a new band when they appeared on the leftist news show, “Democracy Now!” Usually it takes a while for me to warm up to a band, but to my surprise, my reaction was very receptive! It was like seeing a long lost friend after many years.  The band’s name is, “Deer Hoof.”  Their lead singer is a Japanese woman known as Satomi Matsuzaki.  Her vocal style reminds me of Yoko Ono, and also Nico of the early “Velvet Underground.”  The band actually started performing in 1994, but, apparently, they’d gone under my radar until recently.  For that I feel guilty, in that I am usually on top of current music trends.  Their sound consists of a lot of discord and off-key dissidence.  They do some synthesizer ballads, sounding similar to “Wall of Voodoo.”  Lyrically, they cover all subjects ranging from inner-personal relationships to politics.  I especially appreciate that their political lyrics aren’t about sloganeering or rhetoric, but are presented in a poetic fashion.  Their sound is so damn eclectic that it can’t be categorized! Here is my attempt at doing so: Post Hip Hop/Punk/Art Damage.  If you don’t agree, then come up with your assessment.
“Deer Hoof” is original!  You would be hard-pressed to pigeonhole them.  If you like your music nicely structured and well produced, I highly advise you avoid this band.  On the contrary, if you like to be challenged and take your music offbeat, this band is for you!
I really like this band and I just might fall love with them!
Here are a couple links for a taste:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtK3kBCjdRc
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7e2f1hgOo0k
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realtruebeauty · 7 years ago
Text
“…to permit AIPAC to operate as an undeclared agent of a foreign nation… we should acknowledge our true status as nothing more than a colony of Israel, pull down the Stars and Stripes and raise the Star of David over our nation’s capitol.While representing the final act of submission, it would also be the first truly honest act that occurred in Washington DC, in many years”
— Scott Ritter UN weapons inspector in Iraq, 1991-1998, and author of “Iraq Confidential: The Untold Story of America’s Intelligence Conspiracy.”
AIPAC: American Israeli Public Affairs Committee
“Every time anyone says that Israel is our only friend in the Middle East, I can’t help but think that before Israel, we had no enemies in the Middle East.”
— Fr. John Sheehan, S. J.
“You must understand. The leading Bolsheviks who took over Russia were not Russians. They hated Russians. They hated Christians. Driven by ethnic hatred they tortured and slaughtered millions of Russians without a shred of human remorse…More of my countrymen suffered horrific crimes at their bloodstained hands than any people or nation ever suffered in the entirety of human history.It cannot be overstated. Bolshevism committed the greatest human slaughter of all time.The fact that most of the world is ignorant and uncaring about this enormous crime is proof that the global media is in the hands of its perpetrators.”
— Famous Russian author, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, in his last book, “200 Years Together,” carefully not published or talked about in America.
The cry of “persecution,” has always been used to cover the crimes of the only people on earth whose very religion teaches them that murder and enslavement and cheating of all other peoples is a sacred right.
— Elizabeth Dilling, “The Jewish Religion and it’s Influence Today“
“We can no longer continue worrying about offending ‘the nice Jewish man next door whose sister lives in Israel’… If the nice Jewish man resents the fact that grassroots Americans don’t like the way the Israeli lobby is dictating U.S. foreign policy to the detriment of America’s interests, that’s his problem.”
— Michael Collins Piper
“Be a Proud American. Swagger and strut. Pretend that you are not besmirched by the shame that your government has heaped upon you. Take refuge in your ignorance, fostered by 60 years of Israeli lies, that the murder of Palestinians and the theft of their lands is “Israel’s right of self-defense.”
— Paul Craig Roberts, “America’s Shame“
“…I wish to directly refute Mr. Schoenfeld’s claim that I “cast aspersions on American Jews.” I do not cast aspersions, I forthrightly damn, and pray that God damns, any American – Jew, Catholic, Evangelical, Irish, German, Hindu, hermaphrodite, thespian, or otherwise – who flogs the insane idea that American and Israeli interests are one and the same. The nation-state of Israel is an intolerable burden to the treasury and security of the United States, and Washington’s current relationship with Israel – sanctioned by the AIPAC-funded political leaders of both parties – is one of several factors that are leading to full-scale American participation in other peoples’ religious wars…”
— Dr. Michael Scheuer, “The Anti-Americanism of the Israel-Firsters,” November 8, 2007 Anti War.Com. Scheuer is the former Chief of the CIA’s Osama Bin Laden unit.
“Mr. Forrestal next tried to strengthen the hand of the State Department, in its resistance to the President [Truman], by a memorandum (January 21, 1948) in which he analyzed the dangers to American national security flowing from this entanglement: ‘It is doubtful if there is any segment of our foreign relations of greater importance or of greater danger…to the security of the United States than our relations in the Middle East.’…The Zionists demanded the submission of American state policy and offered in return a four year tenure of the presidency to the highest bidder…”
Douglass Reed in “Controversy of Zion,” p 299
“The very word “secrecy” is repugnant in a free and open society, and we are as a people, inherently and historically, opposed to secret societies, secret oaths, and secret proceedings. For we are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence. It depends on infiltration instead of invasion, on subversion instead of elections, on intimidation instead of free choice. It is a system which has conscripted vast human and material resources into the building of a tightly knit, highly efficient machine that combines military, diplomatic, intelligence, economic, scientific, and political operations. Its preparations are concealed, not published, its mistakes are buried, not headlined, its dissenters are silenced, not praised, no expenditure is questioned, no secret is revealed… I am asking your help in the tremendous task of informing and alerting the American people.”
— President John F. Kennedy, 1961, assassinated 1963.
“I’ve never seen a President — I don’t care who he is — stand up to them. It just boggles the mind. They always get what they want. The Israelis know what is going on all the time. I got to the point where I wasn’t writing anything down. If the American people understood what a grip these people have got on our government, they would RISE UP IN ARMS. Our citizens certainly don’t have any idea what goes on.”
— Thomas H. Moorer (1912 – 2004) Admiral US Navy & Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff during a interview on August 24, 1983. From Andrew Hurley’s book “One Nation Under Israel” p.124.
“I fear the Jewish banks with their craftiness and tortuous tricks will entirely control the exuberant riches of America. And use it to systematically corrupt modern civilization. The Jews will not hesitate to plunge the whole of Christendom into wars and chaos that the earth should become their inheritance.”
— Otto von Bismarck
[“Jewish banks” is usually replaced with “foreign bankers” for PC purposes]
“Whoever controls the volume of money in our country is absolute master of all industry and commerce, and when you realize that the entire system is very easily controlled, one way or another, by a few powerful men at the top, you will not have to be told how periods of inflation and depression originate.”
— James A. Garfield, 20th U.S. president, two weeks before he was assassinated in 1881.
“It is well enough that people of the nation do not understand our banking and monetary system, for if they did, I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning.”“I am convinced that nearly all wars are caused so that someone will profit and those who profited and those who are profiting now are the International Financiers, the Jews. Gather together the fifty most wealthy Jewish Financiers, the men who create wars for their own profits, control them and you will put an end to it all.”
— Henry Ford
“If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their money, first by inflation and then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around them, will deprive the people of their property until their children will wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered.”
— Thomas Jefferson
“I believe there are more instances of the abridgement of freedom of the people by gradual and silent encroachments by those in power than by violent and sudden usurpations.”“History records that the money changers have used every form of abuse, intrigue, deceit, and violent means possible to maintain their control over governments by controlling money and its issuance.”
— James Madison (attributed)
It doesn’t require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires to people’s minds.
Sam Adams (1722 – 1803)  
“The consolidation of the states into one vast republic, sure to be aggressive abroad and despotic at home, will be the certain precursor of the ruin of all that has proceeded it.”
— Robert E. Lee
“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.”“There is nothing more frightening than active ignorance.”
— Goethe
“If you make people think they’re thinking, they’ll love you; but if you really make them think, they’ll hate you.”
— Don Marquis
“The great majority of mankind are satisfied with appearances, as though they are realities, and are often even more influenced by the things that seem than by those that are.”
— Niccoló Machiavelli, “The Discourses.” 1517.
… No, instead of wishing, like the young man, to tear away the veil from divinity, I wish to tear the veil from human twaddle and from the conceited self-complacency with which men try to convince themselves and others that man really wants to know the truth.
— Søren Kierkegaard
“A slave is one who waits for someone to come and free him.”
— Ezra Pound
“The most dangerous man to any government is the man who is able to think things out… without regard to the prevailing superstitions and taboos. Almost inevitably he comes to the conclusion that the government he lives under is dishonest, insane, intolerable.”— H. L. Mencken, “The Sage of Baltimore.”“A nation can survive its fools and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable for he is known and carries his banners openly. But the traitor moves among those within the gates freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself… for the traitor appears no traitor: He speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their faces and their garments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the souls of all men. He rots the soul of a nation; he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city; he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is to be less feared.”
— Cicero (Roman orator)
“They are the boastful, arrogant rascals who to the present day can do no more than boast of their race and lineage, praise only themselves, and disdain and curse all the world in their synagogues, prayers, and doctrines. Despite this, they imagine that in God’s eyes they rank as his dearest children.”“The sun has never shone on a more bloodthirsty and vengeful people than they are who imagine that they are God’s people who have been commissioned and commanded to murder and to slay the Gentiles. In fact, the most important thing that they expect of their Messiah is that he will murder and kill the entire world with their sword.”
— Martin Luther, “On the Jews and Their Lies,” 1543
The Jewish nation dares to display an irreconcilable hatred toward all nations, and revolts against all masters; always superstitious, always greedy for the well-being enjoyed by others, always barbarous — cringing in misfortune and insolent in prosperity.
— Voltaire, Essai sur les Moeurs et l’Esprit des Nations (1753), Introduction, XLII: Des Juifs depuis Saul
… [Jews] are, all of them, born with raging fanaticism in their hearts, just as the Bretons and the Germans are born with blond hair. I would not be in the least bit surprised if these people would not some day become deadly to the human race.
— Voltaire, Lettres de Memmius a Ciceron (1771)
“The Jew alone regards his race as superior to humanity, and looks forward not to its ultimate union with other races, but to its triumph over them all and to its final ascendancy under the leadership of a tribal Messiah.”
— Goldwin Smith, Oxford University, 1881
There is no such thing in America as an independent press, unless it is in the country towns. You know it and I know it. There is not one of you who dares to write his honest opinions, and if you did you know beforehand that it would never appear in print. I am paid $150.00 a week for keeping my honest opinions out of the paper I am connected with—others of you are paid similar salaries for similar things—and any of you who would be so foolish as to write his honest opinions would be out on the streets looking for another job. The business of the New York journalist is to destroy the truth, to lie outright, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn at the feet of Mammon, and to sell his race and his country for his daily bread. You know this and I know it, and what folly is this to be toasting an “Independent Press.” We are the tools and vassals of rich men behind the scenes. We are the jumping-jacks; they pull the strings and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual prostitutes.
— John Swinton, a once famous New York journalist and editor, is supposed to have said at a banquet in 1880.
“i’ll be witness for my mother who’s worked as a producer for abcnews for 3 decades now. she’s always said that if herself or any1 else employed by her company dared to question the terrorist state of israel & more recently the obama bin biden deity, they’re to be fired immediately . so there’s got to be some truth to this video, we cant deny it…”
– Comment left on one of my videos at Youtube before they deleted my account (SymAmineC8H11N).
“All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”
— Edmund Burke (attributed)
“Tolerance is the virtue of men who no longer believe in anything.”
— G. K. Chesterton
“There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root…”
— Henry David Thoreau
“What is coming is the complete triumph of Jewish ideas, before which, sentiments of humanity, the thirst for truth, Christian feelings, and the national and popular pride of Europe must bow. And what will be in the future is known also to the Jews themselves: Their reign is approaching, their complete reign!”“The Jews look forward to world domination. This requires them to maintain their own close-knit identity. If the Jews are given equal legal rights in Russia, but are allowed to keep their ‘State within a State,’ they would be more privileged than the Russians. The consequences of this situation are already clear in Europe.”
— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, “Diary Of A Writer,” 1877.
“In violent opposition to all this sphere of Jewish effort rise the schemes of the International Jews. …this world-wide conspiracy for the overthrow of civilization and for the reconstitution of society on the basis of arrested development, of envious malevolence, and impossible equality, has been steadily growing… It has been the mainspring of every subversive movement during the Nineteenth Century; and now at last this band of extraordinary personalities from the underworld of the great cities of Europe and America have gripped the Russian people by the hair of their heads and have become practically the undisputed masters of that enormous empire.”
— Winston Churchill writing the early 1920’s, soon after the Bolshevik revolution in Russia. Churchill was later corrupted by Big Jew money in the 1930’s and helped Roosevelt get America into WWII to destroy Jew-aware Nazi Germany.
“These hopes were frustrated by the gradual gains in power of the more irresponsible and socialistic elements of the population, guided by the Jews and other anti-Russian races. A table made in April 1918 by Robert Wilton, the correspondent of the London Times in Russia, shows that at that time there were 384 “commissars” including 2 Negroes, 13 Russians, 15 Chinamen, 22 Armenians and more than 300 Jews. Of the latter number, 264 had come to Russia from the United States since the downfall of the Imperial government.”“It is probably unwise to say this loudly in the United States, but the Bolshevik movement is and has been since its beginning guided and controlled by Russian Jews of the greasiest type, who have been in the United States and there absorbed every one of the worst phases of our civilization without having the least understanding of what we really mean by liberty.”
— Captain Montgomery Schyler, speaking of events following the decline of the First Provisional Government (the Bolshevik Jew revolution in Russia) in a Report of the American Expeditionary forces to Siberia, on March 1, 1919.
“Western man towers over the rest of the world in ways so large as to be almost inexpressible. It’s Western exploration, science, and conquest that have revealed the world to itself. Other races feel like subjects of Western power long after colonialism, imperialism, and slavery have disappeared. The charge of racism puzzles whites who feel not hostility, but only baffled good will, because they don’t grasp what it really means: humiliation. The white man presents an image of superiority even when he isn’t conscious of it. And superiority excites envy. Destroying white civilization is the inmost desire of the league of designated victims we call ‘minorities.'”
— Joe Sobran (well-respected conservative writer who suffered constant attacks on his character because of what he dared say about Israel)
“The inferior races hate the white race precisely because of its superiority. It is galling to the lower races to be reminded of their inferiority, and white superiority instills in them a burning desire to tear down whites and their creations in order to make themselves whites’ ‘equal’. This is not all, however, for tearing down whites removes a burr from their consciousness — that of being reminded of their inferiority — and indeed is an act of revenge for such reminding. Accordingly, when whites are so stupid as to treat the lower races as equals, this but whets the appetite of those races to see whites destroyed, for they see vulnerability in this stupidity, and thus an opportunity for inserting their grappling hooks into the edifice of white civilization.”
— JBR Yant, Mortal Words v 11
“I have given my life to try to alleviate the sufferings of Africa. There is something that all white men who have lived here like I must learn and know: that these individuals are a sub-race. They have neither the intellectual, mental, or emotional abilities to equate or to share equally with white men in any function of our civilization. I have given my life to try to bring them the advantages which our civilization must offer, but I have become well aware that we must retain this status: the superior and they the inferior. For whenever a white man seeks to live among them as their equals they will either destroy him or devour him. And they will destroy all of his work. Let white men from anywhere in the world, who would come to Africa, remember that you must continually retain this status; you the master and they the inferior like children that you would help or teach. Never fraternize with them as equals. Never accept them as your social equals or they will devour you. They will destroy you.”
— Dr. Albert Schweitzer in “Afrikanische Geschichten” (African Notebook), original German edition, 1938, deleted from American reprints.
“I will say, then, that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races—that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of making voters or jurors of Negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this, that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I, as much as any other man, am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race.”
— Abraham Lincoln, fourth debate with democrat Steven Douglas in Charleston, Illinois, 1858
“Homosexuality is not a civil right. Its rise almost always is accompanied, as in the Weimar Republic, with a decay of society and a collapse of its basic cinder block, the family.”“Homosexuality involves sexual acts most men consider not only immoral, but filthy. The reason public men rarely say aloud what most say privately is they are fearful of being branded “bigots” by an intolerant liberal orthodoxy that holds, against all evidence and experience, that homosexuality is a normal, healthy lifestyle.”
— Pat Buchanan, September 3, 1989
“Capitol Hill is Israeli-occupied territory”“Congress has become “a Parliament of Whores incapable of standing up for U.S. national interests if AIPAC (the American Israel Public Affairs Committee) is on the other end of the line.”
— Pat Buchanan, St. Louis Dispatch 10/20/90
“Global elites view the West as the main obstacle to a future world government. Multiculturalism is a tool used by such elites to dismantle White Western civilization.”
— Pat Buchanan, in a speech in Falls Church, Va. 2004
“America was founded by men who understood that the threat of domestic tyranny is as great as any threat from abroad. If we want to be worthy of their legacy, we must resist the rush toward ever-increasing state control of our society. Otherwise, our own government will become a greater threat to our freedoms than any foreign terrorist.”
— Texas Congressman Ron Paul in “Freedom vs Security: A False Choice,” May 31, 2004
“The politician who betrays his country as a whole by pandering to a minority group because it appears to hold the balance of power is of all creatures the most pitiful.”
— Carleton Putnam
“I have already said that we are not hostile to the United States. We are against the [U.S. Government] system, which makes other nations slaves of the United States, or forces them to mortgage their political and economic freedom. This system is totally in control of the American-Jews, whose first priority is Israel, not the United States. It is clear that the American people are themselves the slaves of the Jews and are forced to live according to the principles and laws laid by them. So, the punishment should reach Israel. In fact, it is Israel, which is giving a blood bath to innocent Muslims and the U.S. is not uttering a single word.”
— Osama Bin Laden (the real one) in an interview published on September 28, 2001 by the Karachi-based Pakistani daily newspaper, “Ummat.” This interview was completely kept from the American public at the time by our Zionist Jew-controlled media, telling us that it might contain “embedded secret codes to terrorists.” Public action site
“So don’t be shocked when our grandkids bury much of this generation as traitors to the nation, … , leaving the country vulnerable to unchecked, unchallenged parasites.”
— Kevin Tillman (brother of NFL player turned soldier, Pat Tillman, killed in Afghanistan by “friendly fire”) in his powerful essay, “After Pat’s Birthday.”
“A healthy body will destroy harmful germs. Only a fool would willingly sabotage the natural function of his body and call it ‘anti-germism.’ A wise person will do everything he can to support the fight against dangerous parasites.”
— W. F. Hermans
“People may dismiss what I say as the rantings of an angry old man, but given what is taking place today regarding the war in the Middle East and everything that may happen, my suggestion is that–while there is time–people turn off the Britney Spears, the Desperate Housewives and the football games and listen, listen carefully to what happened, as it is likely to happen again, because, as the old saying goes, ‘a leopard does not change its spots.’”
— Phil Tourney, Survivor of the Israeli attack on the USS Liberty
“I’ve checked out the six volumes of Churchill’s Second World War and the statement is quite correct – not a single mention of Nazi ‘gas chambers,’ a ‘genocide’ of the Jews, or of ’six million’ Jewish victims of the war.
Eisenhower’s Crusade in Europe is a book of 559 pages; Churchill’s Second World War totals 4,448 pages; and De Gaulle’s three-volume Mémoires de guerre is 2,054 pages.
In this mass of writing, which altogether totals 7,061 pages (not including the introductory parts), published from 1948 to 1959, one will find no mention either of Nazi ‘gas chambers,’ a ‘genocide’ of the Jews, or of ’six million’ Jewish victims of the war.”
— Richard Lynn, Professor Emeritus University of Ulster, December 5, 2005
“Do I “deny the Holocaust”? No! No indeed. I hope the holocaust is not denied and never forgotten. I hope the holocaust is remembered as the greatest propaganda effort and hate campaign ever waged against a civilized people. We must never forget. We must look at the despoliation of our people and our culture and ask: Why do the heavens not darken? We have lost the will and courage to defend ourselves. The time has come to commit the new blasphemy. It is time to deny the gods of the New World Order.”
— Tom Blair, ‘The New Blasphemy’
“The alleged Hitlerite gas chamber and the alleged genocide of the Jews form one and the same historical lie, which opened the way to a gigantic political, financial fraud, whose principal beneficiaries are the State of Israel and international Zionism, and whose principal victims are the people of Germany – but not their rulers – and the entire Palestinian people.”
— Robert Faurisson
“Why should we worry about Islamists commandeering airplanes when we have Israelis commandeering our entire government?”
— Mary O’Brien, American citizen, NY
“‘Conspiracy stuff’ is now shorthand for unspeakable truth.”
— Gore Vidal
“During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.”
— George Orwell
“When Jews step forward as innocence itself then the danger is great.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche, “The Will to Power,” section 199.
“All truth passes through three stages: First, it is ridiculed; second, it is violently opposed; and third, it is accepted as self-evident.”
— Arthur Schopenhauer
“Every time new and promising opportunities for meddling have arisen,” he brought out, “the Jew has been immediately involved. He has demonstrated an uncanny ability to sniff out like a bloodhound anything which was dangerous to him. Having found it, he uses all his cunning to get at it, to divert it, to change its nature, or, at least, to deflect its point from its goal.Schopenhauer called the Jew ‘the dregs of mankind,’ ‘a beast,’ ‘
the great master of the lie
.’ How does the Jew respond? He establishes a Schopenhauer Society.”
— Dietrich Eckart
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viewwrangler · 7 years ago
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Ryan surrenders the citadel ... along with everything else of importance
One wonders how much, if any, of our current national agony we would have been spared had he surrendered his citadel sooner. Or, conversely, defended it better. (Yes, I know that’s not what that phrase means. Still appropriate.)
House Speaker Paul Ryan, citing family, will not seek re-election in November (Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, jsonline.com)
House Speaker Paul Ryan’s decision not to seek re-election spells the end of a meteoric congressional career, caps an awkward struggle with the ascendancy of Donald Trump and sends an ominous signal about his party’s prospects of holding the GOP majority in the US House this November.
“This is a job that does not last forever,” Ryan said at a press conference in Washington Wednesday morning, saying his desire to spend more time with his wife and three teenage kids was the main factor in his decision, and denying that his party’s cloudy election outlook played a role...
His family probably did play a role. Not just that he would have been a weekend dad throughout his children’s entire pre-collegiate life (though one wonders how much difference being there for just the last two years will make), but that if he was re-elected, he would have been a weekend dad that was always and acutely miserable. Not necessarily at being a father -- although that would certainly have been a consideration -- but because he has been plainly and visibly miserable throughout the entirety of this presidency and the electoral campaign leading into it.
That said ... to say that his party’s current electoral outlook played no role in his decision is also plainly a lie. And nobody’s buying it.
He’s also made of himself the oddest of lame ducks, a speaker with no authority. He now gets to preside over what promises to be a vicious battle to become the heir apparent. (Well ... “preside” in the sense that he gets to sit there and watch and there’s not much he can really do about it. It’s like an exceedingly low-rent version of King Lear, played out in real time and real life. (Lear rather ignores the effects on everyone else in the kingdom while they’re effectively having a behind-the-scenes civil war.)
Paul Ryan is abandoning the ship before it sinks (Jennifer Rubin, washingtonpost.com - “ Jennifer Rubin writes the Right Turn blog for The Post, offering reported opinion from a conservative perspective.”)
...  The political reality is less noble. One can hardly imagine a more obvious signal that Ryan fears the prospect, if not of losing his own seat, than of losing the majority and hence his speakership. In the past, speakers — understanding the demoralizing impact that premature white-flag-waving would have on their troops — had the good sense to wait until after the election to announce that they would exit the leadership of their party. Ryan’s move has several consequences...
[...] In sum, Ryan retreats from the scene after loading the country up with debt and leaving virtually every other agenda item save tax cuts undone. He fantasized that in backing Trump, who lacks conservative principles (or any principles), he’d have carte blanche to enact the entire GOP agenda. He made his Faustian bargain with Trump on the false assumption that Trump would be compliant, take direction from House Republicans and demonstrate enough discipline to get through a slew of initiatives. That did not come to pass, because Ryan, in making his disastrous decision to place party over country and corporate tax cuts over defense of democratic values, failed to comprehend the depth of Trump’s unfitness and the centrality of character in determining a president’s success.
Instead of achieving the entire GOP agenda, Ryan will leave a besmirched legacy defined by his decision to back, enable and defend Trump, no matter how objectionable Trump’s rhetoric and conduct. Ryan has come to embody the nasty scourge of tribalism that dominates our politics. The inability to separate partisan loyalty from patriotic obligation — or to assess the interests of the country and the need to defend democratic norms and institutions — is proving to be the downfall of the Republican Party and the principle threat to our liberal (small “l”) democracy. And no one is more responsible for this than Ryan. No one.
I recommend reading the entire Rubin editorial; it is absolutely scathing. 
For many black voters, Paul Ryan’s legacy will be his insufficient criticism of Trump on race matters (Eugene Scott, washingtonpost.com - “ Eugene Scott writes about identity politics for The Fix. He was previously a breaking news reporter at CNN Politics.”
Oh, Eugene. Dude. You can do better than that headline. This is, after all, the opinion section AND an encomium on Ryan’s tenure. Let’s just tweak that headline a bit, shall we? Let’s shall.
For many black voters of color, Paul Ryan’s legacy will be his profound silence in the face of The Candidate’s thundering racism and nativism, which assisted and enabled the administration’s vicious and racist attacks on all people of color in this country
There, that’s better, isn’t it? And far more accurate. After all, it wasn’t just black folk that the administration attacked -- it wasn’t even black folk who were primarily attacked. Muslims and Latinx have far more issues with this administration than blacks do -- and that’s saying one hell of a lot, considering the issues that blacks do have.
But hey! Ryan was a deficit hawk, right? Goes for the spending so that he can bequeath a more solvent country to the children for which he has such concern! 
Yeah ... not so much, actually.
Paul Ryan's Legacy of Red Ink (politico.com) The speaker of the House’s reputation as a budget hawk has somehow survived his actual record. By MICHAEL GRUNWALD April 11, 2018
Paul Ryan promotes his brand as a deficit hawk so diligently that he has been known to refer to himself in the third person as Paul Ryan Deficit Hawk. “Paul Ryan Deficit Hawk is also a growth advocate,” he said on Fox News in November after releasing the Republican tax-cut plan. “Paul Ryan Deficit Hawk knows you have to have a faster-growing economy, more jobs, bigger take-home pay.”
Ryan’s “fiscal conservative” brand has gotten impressive traction, but now that he’s announcing he’s leaving Congress in January, it’s worth noting (not for the first time) that Paul Ryan Deficit Hawk has never behaved like a deficit hawk. In his two decades in Washington, Ryan has consistently supported tax cuts and spending hikes that have boosted deficits, while consistently trashing Democrats for failing to cut deficits. It will inevitably be described as “ironic” that Ryan came to Congress when the budget was in surplus and left with deficits heading toward $1 trillion, but those deficits are his greatest legacy....
(Also that third-person bit is kind of creepy.)
So spectacular deficits and enabling the most regressive administration since the 1950s and the McCarthy-era red scare will be Ryan’s main legacy to the country. Which is saying something.
Just nothing you would want said about yourself.
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canaryatlaw · 8 years ago
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So, I’d want to say today was an adventure, but that wouldn’t really be true because it was more like 90% boring and 10% adventurous, lol, but the adventuring was still good. Alarm went off at 7 and I came really, really close to staying in bed- I mean, my supervisors on vacation, the other attorneys on the calendar don’t pay attention to my schedule, I could easily skip and nobody would notice….but I somehow convinced myself to get up, and sadly enough like none of the attorneys were in the office and I totally could’ve gone unnoticed, lol. Oh well, need to get those damn hours in. So I was asking around for anything interesting in court, so we went down and hung out for a bit, and we got something at least marginally exciting. It was a 7 sibling temporary custody for mom that came in last night. The judge wanted to move forward with a hearing even though the PD wasn’t there and the person who was getting shoved in to cover for her was freaking out, like she hadn’t even seen the case file she was like I could get an ARDC complaint for this, but the judge is like idc we’re going forward because the mom wanted a hearing, so we did and thankfully the actual PD showed before they got to their questioning. Not that there was any chance temporary custody wasn’t gonna be taken when mom was beating her kids with a broom and saying she wants to kill them. Sigh. Court went down pretty early though, so we went back upstairs and had to deal with the rest of the 7 sibling case. It had come in late last night, and the judge on duty put in a mandate to see all the kids within 24 hours, and their in three different placements, two of which are in the suburbs…..like, it was kind of insane. So I wound up speed filing out three emergency interview requests to get the paperwork through, so hopefully they pulled that off. The 3 oldest kids were in a shelter at least temporarily, and that sucks so I hope they get a better placement soon. After that pretty much everyone had headed out, but the one attorney I had been working with throughout the day wanted me to fix her client list for her in excel and basically retype the whole thing, which was fine until the numbers got fucked up on the different columns and this is exactly the kind of shit that causes my super genius brain to short circuit because my mind just will not process it correctly and it’s actually maddening. So I spent a while trying to fix that and I think I got most of it right before it was 5 and I left. Went right over to school for our PAD networking event, I didn’t have to participate but just kind of you know supervise and all that good shit, so mostly just sat around and chatted, but got to see some alumni lawyer friends and such so that was nice. I had small group at church at 7:30 so at about 7:15 I headed out, already knowing I would probably be late, and here’s where one of the cooler moments of the day happened. If you’ve read like, any of these posts, you know being late is legit my biggest pet peeve and it drives me nuts, even when it’s something that doesn’t matter if you’re actually late to, it just drives me nuts. So I leave school and I see Anthony standing across the street and my first thought is “I can’t stop, I’m already going to be late” but then something in me just said wait, stop. You’re on your way to your church small group that is literally titled “knowing God and loving others” and you’re more concerned about getting there on time than showing a tangible expression of love to someone in a vulnerable position you’ve come to know and built a friendship with, knowing that even seeing me for a few minutes can make his whole day he tells me, and I couldn’t help but think about how selfish I am and how completely out of whack my priorities are. So I ran across the street and talked for a few minutes, gave him an energy bar and the dollar in my wallet before heading out. As I was walking to the train I pulled my bag of popcorn out of my lunch box intending to eat it on the train, then I come across another homeless man I’ve seen around but never really spoken to all that much, so I offer him a bar and I was holding the popcorn in my hand, and it just felt right so I gave it to him as well. Hopped on the train, and as I was getting off at my stop a woman asked if I could swipe her on the train, and I said sure but I wasn’t sure if it would work because my card won’t allow double swipes sometimes if you just did it not long ago, but it worked for her so that was good. So I get to small group late, only to find out only 2 other members showed up this particular week, so 3 of us and the 3 leaders. It was kind of nice really, we just talked about our lives and things we’re dealing with, and I got to talk a lot about my ideas on showing the love of Christ to people in every action I take, so that I don’t need to have “Christian” emblazoned on my chest to be a good witness, as well as my other thoughts on just loving other people, which I’m sure you know by now is a subject I could go on about for hours, about how awful we’ve become at truly loving our neighbors and how when we claim the title Christian, you’re taking on the responsibility that every action you take, people will associate with God- and of course there’s grace and mercy and forgiveness and nobody is perfect, but it should be something you take very seriously- because so often the actions of “Christians” are the things that drive people away from the church, not the actual church teaching itself. And while we were sitting there talking I started to think about how frustrated and upset I’ve been at the church lately, and how it’s such an odd feeling because it’s not like I’m mad at God as people often get- I’m great with God, I actually feel like I probably have a stronger relationship with Him now than ever before. It’s not God or his teachings I have a problem with- it’s everything else. It’s the people who claim the title but proceed to violate every commandment in the most vile ways possible, and directly contradict the very words in the bible- and while I don’t want to fall into bitterness, I think I am justified in my indignation at this point- I’m not trying to compare myself to Jesus (at all, really) but it reminds me of when He saw all the people turning the temple into debauchery and He absolutely lost it on them, because they were besmirching the name of God in their actions, and that’s what I have a problem with. You want to be a terrible person and take away people’s health care and livelihood? Fine, but don’t you dare claim to follow a God whose vital commands are to love God and love your neighbor as yourself when your actions show you couldn’t care less about your neighbor. Don’t try and tell the world God wants them to institute cruel policies that can and will ruin lives in the name of corporate gain. Don’t pretend that you believe in a God who defines Himself as love (1 John 4:8) and take actions that show the complete opposite. Don’t you dare. Sigh, I didn’t want that to turn into a rant but it did anyway. Clearly I have a lot of thoughts on the subject, but I’m sure most of you already knew that by now. But small group was good, and they brought mini cupcakes for my birthday, which was nice. The journey home was where the real adventure began. So I get on the train, I get off the train and check for the next bus and oh great, it has “delayed” status 2 miles away with no way to know when it will restart, and the next bus behind it is 29 minutes out. Fuck. It’s like 9:40 at this point and the donut shop right there closes at ten, so I figured I could at least get something hot to drink and hang out in there instead of the freezing rain that’s been going on all day. So I go inside and order my tea while two young guys, late teens early twenties, worked on closing things up, and there were a few other people there talking. A few of them leave and then as I’m putting sugar in my tea I see a guy banging on the window trying to get the attention of one of the girls, who was trying to get him to leave. But then he comes inside and is trying to get all up in her face, not saying anything aggressive but it was obvious she did not want him there and she was just like “leave, get away from me” and I was legit ready to jump in and be like “get away from her” but the guy did leave at that point. Once he was gone I turned to the girl and asked if she was okay, but before she could even answer me one of the guys working there came over to her and was like “ma’m I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, you haven’t bought anything and blah blah blah” so they just send her out to right where the guy is and I’m just like WOAH NOT OKAY and like I understand not wanting trouble to break out in your store, but there’s no doubt in my mind if there was a female employee working there instead she would have let her stay. But I can’t just do nothing here. So instead of waiting for the bus inside the shop, I go back out into the freezing rain and find the girl out there. Luckily it seemed like the guy had disappeared, but I asked if she was okay and she seemed kind of shaken up but said she was, she just needed two bucks to get on the train to get out of here, and I had two since I just broke a 5 to buy my tea, so of course I gave them to her and she was saying that that guy was bothering her and she didn’t I know why they kicked her out like that and I was just like yeah I know, I couldn’t just ignore that I had to make sure you were okay, and you know us girls have to stick together, and she seemed very grateful and less shaken up, so that made me happy to see (not that I show kindness for the purpose of getting thanked, but I was glad I could at least help her a bit). You guys probably know this by now but I’m big into tangible acts of kindness and standing up to injustice when I see it, instead of just turning a blind eye. All in all this was a fairly mild situation, and it obviously could’ve gotten a lot worse (I’m very glad it didn’t) but I’d like to think that if it had gone there I still would’ve done what was right, even when it might me dangerous and mean putting myself between a girl and a man who wants to hurt her. So I guess I just encourage you to not let these little moments pass- even the small ones, just go a little bit out of your way to give a hand to your fellow girl- after all, we do need to stick together to keep each other safe. Sigh. But anyway. At that point I walk across the street to the bus station. Check the app, the first bus still hasn’t moved from its delayed status two miles away, and the second one is still 20 minutes out. Ugh. So we waited, there was a solid group of us there at that point, quite a few girls. After at least 15 minutes standing out there and the bus still 10 minutes away I was freezing cold and I was just like fuck this, I’m calling a Lyft so I did and I was so happy to get out of there because like I was so cold from the freezing rain, it was only drizzling but my hair was soaked just from being out there and like my toes were freezing. So I was very happy to be in a car and then in my apartment. Made some food quickly since I’d mainly only eaten mini cupcakes at small group. I was debating between watching this week’s arrow or supergirl since I hadn’t seen either yet, but decided on arrow more out of curiosity of what they were doing with the plot than actual interest in the show (and a bit because I was tired of watching supergirl become the Meh-El show week after week). The episode didn’t really feel like it accomplished anything, like they didn’t really make any profess with Chase until the very end, and now the Oliver just doubled his enemies by pissing off the Bratva too. Chase actually being on the run seems interesting though, so we’ll see where they go with that. I was majorly bored with the main Oliver feeling sorry for himself for being a terrible person storyline because I feel like it’s been so overdone at this point by multiple characters in this universe and just like, alright already, we all know he’s gonna end up back in the suit (or some sort of suit) soon enough, can we just skip all the moaning and pity partying? But yeah, those are my thoughts. Tired now, so I’ll say goodnight. Tomorrow should be fun, busy, but I’ll tell you about it then. Goodnight my loves. Happy Friday.
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ridthedisease · 14 years ago
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pitch-black-progress · 11 years ago
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Band: Xisforeyes Genre: Blackened Deathcore Album: Absolute Corporeal Besmirchment Song: Saturday Night Cleaver
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