#lawlessness

[reality-detective]

Illegal immigrants are able to buy firearms now.  The illegitimate fake administration made an exception to allow these illegal immigrants to purchase firearms. 

Are you beginning to see the writing on the wall? 🤔

[davidstraange]

Lawless, 2020

[shamrockqueen]

Wasteland paradise

Chapter 1

Pairing : Boyka X Reader (Post Apocalyptic AU/ inspired by but not in the universe of Fallout new Vegas)

Warnings : R18, human trafficking, purchased reader, eventual Smut, rough smut, eroticism (not every chapter has smut), death of minor characters.

Word count : 1498

Scott Adkins Masterlist

They say that the decay was gradual, overtaking humanity like a spiderweb of cancer and bleeding into the very bones of modern society. The elite sat comfortably on their pedestals as the earth below them crumbled—that is, until the rot reached them too. They say that when the tallest tower finally fell, it was already too late.

The underbelly was all that survived, becoming this new aristocracy within what once were major cities. Those who fled were left with the scorched landscape they had left barren. Some founded small communes; others formed almost farel gangs that roamed further out into the wasteland. Some settlements fizzled easily; some were attacked and picked clean by invaders; but a few seemed to live long enough to spawn other generations.

You’d never know what that modern world was truly like, and sometimes you’d find yourself wondering how your life would have been if the older generations had ensured a better future. It wasn’t worth thinking about anymore. No, living through the week has greatly outweighed depressive fantasies.

You found yourself alone—finally and horribly alone.

You tried your best to wash the blood stain out, but no amount of scrubbing could make the dress clean again. It felt low, repurposing the very clothes your mother died in while she lay naked in a shallow grave, but you couldn’t afford to waste the fabric. The dress would never come clean, but the pattern was a beautiful yet slightly faded floral blue, so the cleanest part of the fabric had to have been worth something. Anything to put some food on that empty table now that you’d be the only one left to provide for it.

Almost all of your time had been spent taking care of your mother until her slow demise, which had her coughing up most of her own blood. It was always hard to look at her while she was in that state, and the only hope now was that she would be at peace.

You looked at the once-beautiful dress you had bundled in your hands. It had been her favorite, but it was too late to bury her with it now. You pulled the small switchblade from your pocket and began cutting off the stained portion of the fabric. You didn’t bother to cut the seams, as whoever bought it off of the trader once it left your hands would just do it themselves.

You bundled the dress under your arm and left your little home. You had shared this poorly constructed, one-room shanty house with what was left of your family. The small shanty village wasn’t very big and didn’t yield very much production, but the few traders that came through were often a godsend as they brought in many much-needed supplies. A tiny smudge on their map, and they still remembered to visit all of you.

You hoped to get there early so as not to be stuck in the hot sun for most of your day. The caravan was normally parked over by the moonshiners shack, an old man who made a pretty good hootch and would sell a lot to the passing traders.

It was the main reason the caravan came at all and often a great reprieve from everyday life since he’d let the townsfolk get drunk at a hefty discount.

He was nice enough for an old coot, and more often than not, he could be seen sitting in front of his home with his dog Trixie, waiting for the traders to show up.

Old Trixie was sweet and would wonder over and nuzzle up to passersby in search of extra affection and maybe a bit of food. She usually rushed the hill when anyone got close, but when you rounded towards the shack, she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

You crested over the hill and looked down at the lonely little shack at the bottom. There were vehicles all around the house, alongside the trader’s trucks, but you didn’t see any people. You used your hand as a visor to shield your vision from the bright sun overhead to get a better look at the scene before you.

A mound of fluff lay motionless next to the door. Trixie’s telltale brown and white spots were stained in a deep, terrifying red splattered along her small body.

More bodies, larger and human, came into view, all of which lay slain by the side of the caravan. You stopped walking, shaking in your boots at the prospect of getting caught by whatever had caused this entire scene. You nearly pissed your pants off when the mirador walked out of the shack with a jug of hooch in each hand. He wore a torn armored vest doused in a fair amount of blood that most likely wasn’t his.

He turns back towards the house as if to talk to someone behind him, and you take this chance to turn tail and run back the way you came. The fabric was let loose from where you’d clutched it under your arm, kicked away by the dusty wind in exchange for your meager life. The desecration, the sacrifice, the loss—none of it was worth anything now, and all was forgotten in the wake of a possible bullet to the teeth.

The only sound you could hear was the crunch of dirt under your boots as the blood rushed to your ears. You sprint off as fast as you can, propelling yourself down the hill almost faster than your legs can keep up with.

You barely caught the sound of someone shouting after you with a jovial “Woah, where’s the fire?”

All were silenced after a loud bang of gunshots went off not far behind you. Everyone scattered like ants as more shots rang through the air.

You make the mistake of turning back to look at the whirring of a spiked vehicle as it rounds over the hill. You tried to run as fast and as far as your feet could carry you until you could find ample cover from the impending doom.

The flicker of the blue plastic tarp as it got caught up in the breeze stole your sight as you switched your direction towards possible safety. Your boots nearly slid out from under you as you dove towards the tarp. It proved to be a small, unused alcove between two shanty houses, with the plastic cover leftover from a collapsed partial roof.

You kick yourself underneath it and fling the tarp back over your body. You had to squeeze in among the long-forgotten junk as you tried to steady your heart.

You watched as the shadows flickered from the outside of your small cover; many were from those running away just as you had, but others were larger with more sharp edges. Your stomach ached as the shrill and broken voices of your neighbors disappeared into the distance, but it would be the first crack of gunfire that made your guts drop entirely. The cries of the fallen were quickly devoured by the roar of scrap metal against the rough terrain vehicles that rolled by.

You held your breath to keep from hyperventilating, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as tears dribbled tracks down your dirtied cheeks.

You hear heavier, slower footsteps that clinked as they hit the dirt. The sound of it was horribly clear as they got closer and closer to you, hidden only by a tattered blue tarp. When the cracked leather of the side of a boot came into view, you had to choke down every ounce of fear that wanted to burst forth, practically forcing it back down into your lungs as it twisted your face in horror.

You wait just as they wait. The boots don’t move for however long it takes to make your heart nearly beat out of your chest. Then they started to turn towards you.

The next sound is deafening as bits of rusted metal go flying as the blue sheet is ripped right off of it. Old car parts clunk and scrape together, and you have to cover your head with your hands as the small avalanche of junk falls over you.

As the hot sun hit your body once again, there was no use in staying quiet, and a scream finally forced its way out of your body.

To your dismay, you weren’t shot; you were only dragged out by the roots of your hair as the raider dug his fingers into your scalp. You're barely kicking as your legs fight, only to wiggle out from under the junk pile.

He pulls you out onto the road before giving you a kick and a quick order of “get up, off the fuckin ground.”

You scramble up, hands over your head, his rusted gun pointed to your face. He barked out “walk” through his broken teeth, pointing ahead of you with his weapon before kicking the back of your knee when you didn’t already turn and start moving. Your leg buckled but kept you upright as you limped ahead of him towards the chaos they had created.

Shanty houses were lit on fire after being looted and knocked over. A few children were being pulled away from the corpses of their parents left laying in the street; some were caught in the crossfire and laid not far from their fallen family.

“There’s almost nothing here aside from the hooch and the cargo from the caravan!” One man shouted out to the one following not far behind you, his gun still pointed to your back.

“Grab some survivors and load'em into one of the empty wagons. We can sell them off at the trade center for good money.” The voice behind you called back. “If they try to fight you, just shoot’um.”

When your knees shook, it slowed your pace, and you heard him yell at you, “Move, damn it.” And you picked your feet up as quickly as you could towards the caravan.

True to their word, anyone who fought back was shot immediately. They would say that they could still get plenty of money for a few of you, so losing 1, 2, or maybe 5 wouldn’t be an issue.

When everyone was loaded into the wagon, it pulled off with a kick of dust. You watched your old town smolder and smoke in the distance until it disappeared into the wasteland. You’d never see the shanty town again, not that there would ever be anything left to look for.

Chapter 2

Tags : @annwoods91 @jasminrt1

[immaculatasknight]

Europe's shameful legacy

[olivia007009]

In this video from Mr. Detective, we explore the scenario of encountering a notorious "Karen" whose behavior turns a mundane situation into a chaotic scene. We witness Karen's disruptive behavior at a grocery store checkout, where she berates the cashier, bangs on the display, and threatens to escalate the situation. See More...

[trmpt]

“‘The defendant attempts to rewrite the indictment, claiming that it charges him with wholly innocuous, perhaps even admirable conduct — sharing his opinions about election fraud and seeking election integrity,’ wrote assistant special counsel James Pearce in the filing, ‘when in fact it clearly describes the defendant’s fraudulent use of knowingly false statements as weapons in furtherance of his criminal plans.’”

“‘[T]he defendant stands alone in American history for his alleged crimes,’ Pearce wrote. ‘No other president has engaged in conspiracy and obstruction to overturn valid election results and illegitimately retain power.’”

[scotianostra]

On November 5th  1667 The borders custom of paying blackmail to avoid kidnapping was outlawed; the local population was urged to hound such criminals from the community.

The term blackmail itself was originated in the Scottish Borders meaning payments rendered in exchange for protection from thieves and marauders.

In the 16th century, blackmail was a tribute paid by farmers along the border of Scotland and England to freebooters for protection from their raids. The freebooters are often identified as the Border reivers, descended from both Scottish and English families in the region. They resorted to pillage and plunder, apparently, due to the disruptions and devastations wreaked by the ongoing war between the two peoples in the late Middle Ages. The Oxford English Dictionary first dates the term to the 1530s in Robert Pitcairn’s Ancient Criminal Trials in Scotland.

The "mail" part of blackmail derives from Middle English male meaning "rent or tribute". This tribute was paid in goods or labour. Alternatively, it may be derived from two Scottish Gaelic words blathaich - to protect; and mal - tribute or payment.

Some etymologists point to black rent and white rent. Black rent, so the theory goes, could be paid in work, goods, livestock, or produce, the color associated with cattle or the ‘baser’ quality of the forms of payment. White rent, meanwhile, was paid in money, like silver, whose metal was once called “white.” Black rent was an indeed an earlier (1420s) form of blackmail, but the OED enters white rent as a variant of quit-rent, a kind of historical property tax that exempt (quit) renters from other obligations concerning the land under feudal law. Folk etymology probably accounts for the confusion.

Blackmail is said to signify payment in cattle.  Whitemail in silver money. [nb elsewhere “greenmail” is payment for land]

More likely, the black in blackmail refers to the “illegal” (black market) or “evil” (black magic) nature of the extortion. 

James I first tried to rein in the activities of  Border Reivers in the early 1600′s , although his Grandfather, James V had previously hung around 50 Reivers including  John Armstrong of Gilnockie in 1530, I think the upsurge of violence during the Bishops Wars and the civil war in general will have seen an upsurge in their activities for a time. 

Interestingly I can only find one source for the outlawing of blackmailing, but the Reivers in general started to become a spent force  following the Restoration and long-running lawlessness by Moss troopers, who were basically the Reivers of the late 17th century,. In 1662 the  Moss Troopers Act  had started the clamp down of the lawlessness on the English side of the border.  A series of acts during the next century covered the whole country, the original acts stated that  “the notorious thieves and spoil-takers in Northumberland or Cumberland were to be transported to America, there to remaine and not to returne"

Border Clans involved included  Armstrongs, Irvings, Bells, Grahams, Beatties,  Littles, Maxwells,  Elliott's, Crosers, Nixons and Hendersons, not all were outlaws, I am generalising a wee bit. 

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

"Vast multitudes of professing Christians call Jesus 'Lord,' but they practice lawlessness. They profess faith in Jesus, but have no regard for the Divine Law." - Ray Comfort

[reality-detective]

🚨🤯 This NEW LAW gives the government access to all the data on our devices, including cell phones, smart watches, smart cars/tvs, anything "Smart" even alarm clocks, Ring and home security apps.

It would be a crime to use a privacy device, and if you use a VPN, you could get 20 years in prison and a million-dollar fine on the say-so of the Secretary of Commerce. The bill would remove the right to privacy for all internet users, and the government could freely review, prosecute, and take possession of personal information without permission.

The Restrict Act (S. 686) is a government bill that would allow the federal government to review and prohibit certain transactions between persons in the United States and foreign adversaries, including any acquisition, importation, transfer, installation, dealing in, or use of any information and communications technology product or service. The bill is vague and gives the Secretary of Commerce the power to decide if a transaction involves a foreign adversary, without any input from Congress. This could lead to the government silencing free speech with little effort.

A corrupt government could use this bill to control the population and remove freedom by accessing personal information, silencing free speech, and punishing those who use privacy devices or VPNs. The bill would give the government authority over all forms of communication domestic or abroad and grants powers to "enforce any mitigation measure to address any risk" to national security now and in any "potential future transaction."

Politian's Responsible (remember the names, they are enemies of the people): Mr. Warner (for himself, Mr. Thune, Ms. Baldwin, Mrs. Fischer, Mr. Manchin, Mr. Moran, Mr. Bennet, Mr. Sullivan, Mrs. Gillibrand, Ms. Collins, Mr. Heinrich, Mr. Romney, and Mrs. Capito. 🤔

[whiteshipnightjar]

🌹 Joanna Newsom 🌹

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Bullets fly, some finding homes in hospital walls. Sick bodies lie in bays waiting to be triaged because of staffing shortages. Someone is ambushed while treating patients, jerked to the ground by her hair from behind and kneed in the head so hard she suffers a head trauma. She is now a casualty, out on leave with PTSD. No, this not Afghanistan. This is a routine night at a hospital emergency room in downtown Minneapolis.

Minneapolis nurse would give up ‘every ounce of raise’ in exchange for safety

"Minneapolis isn’t safe anymore. Our staff isn’t safe. We’re constantly getting security text notices about lockdowns. We get text messages at least every other day about drive-by shootings, assaults, robberies, or guns being brought into the ER," a nurse told Alpha News.

This war-zone like work environment has become common for nursing staff there, who will participate in a strike next week with 15,000 nurses from 16 hospitals in the Twin Cities and Duluth area.

While many media reports have pointed to staffing, retention, and patient costs as motivating factors, other nurses are citing safety as the primary reason they’re willing to walk off the job.

“This isn’t about money. Sure, it’s important, but money means nothing if you’re worried about your safety and your ability to care for patients,” said an ER hospital nurse who spoke with Alpha news and requested to remain anonymous. Alpha News spoke with nurses employed at two different hospital locations in the city.

Their concerns are identical, and they both requested their identities be concealed.

“Minneapolis isn’t safe anymore. Our staff isn’t safe. We’re constantly getting security text notices about lockdowns. We get text messages at least every other day about drive-by shootings, assaults, robberies, or guns being brought into the ER. It’s a mess,” she said.

They say they are frightened, frustrated and constantly on edge.

“I’d give up every ounce of a raise for security. This is not about money,” one nurse said. “I used to love what I do. I still do. But when we don’t feel safe and can’t safely care for our patients, it’s exhausting.”

The union vote to strike required a supermajority to pass, according to a press release from the Minnesota Nurse’s Association. The vote authorized nurse negotiators to call a strike following a 10-day notice to hospital employers. The strike is scheduled to begin Sept. 12 and last at least three days.

The strike would be one of the largest nurses strikes in U.S. history, according to the union.

“We want safety, adequate staffing and equipment to do our jobs,” one nurse said. “We don’t have the staff or equipment to properly care for patients.”

Just last week at Fairview Riverside, Crime Watch reported a “suspect barricaded himself in the bathroom, jumped and crawled through the ceiling, jumped the desk and attacked the staff. He may have had a firearm.”

One of the nurses recounted another story. She said “Code 21s” — when a patient is out of control — have become commonplace among pediatric and adult populations. COVID has made mental health situations worse, she said.

“Recently, a patient was brought into the emergency room. He was out of control. We were finally able to contain him in a locked room. Security was watching him using the cameras in the security system. If he got out, they were instructed to alert us, and we were instructed to shelter in place or lock ourselves in the med room. Even the doctor refused to enter the room for fear of being attacked,” she said.

Staff are abused, and ER shootings are not uncommon, she said.

“When there’s a shooting and the victim doesn’t die, it’s not uncommon for the shooter to follow the ambulance to the hospital, go in and try to finish the job. Criminals are not stupid. They know no police are in the hospital,” she said.

In addition, one of the nurses only has three security guards for the whole campus where she works.

“We have a panic button, but the response time (waiting for a hospital security guard) is quite long and when hospital security does arrive, there’s not much they can do. Even when we call the police, it’s 20 to 30 minutes before they show up. They’re short staffed, too,” the nurse said.

The bottom line is, she said, she feels unsafe.

“I never used to feel I had to watch my back walking in and out of work. Now I always do,” she said.

“I’m not saying money isn’t important. Some people do need more money. But when we only have five to six nurses on staff, workload and security are number-one issues. How can they hand out millions of dollars in bonuses and can’t afford metal detectors?” she said.

During the pandemic, they called hospital nurses and doctors frontline workers. Now these nurses feel as if they are on the frontlines of a war zone, but they’re not “essential workers.”

One nurse fought back tears as she told her story.

“I want to be compassionate. That’s why I went into the profession. I think most people went into the profession for that reason, but I don’t feel the same way I used to,” she said.

“What ifs” are always looming in the back of her mind, she said. “What if … no security …no equipment ….”

Despite the hardship and volatile working environment, this nurse is committed to her work. “This is our community. This is my home. You want to have your family member be safe. If I leave, who is going to be that caring and compassionate person to care for your loved one?”

She’s willing to stick it out, even though she feels like hospital administration does not care about her needs.

[constantly-deactivated]

The new normal in L.A.👇

Where everything is free 🤔

[immaculatasknight]

I zee notink

[thepopoptic]

The freedoms you have today are because someone said, "Give me liberty or give me death!".

STAND UP FOR YOUR COUNTRY

[agentfascinateur]

Common Sense to Most except ...