#meggi goering

[meggigoering]

📖August 31st, 2023

🦈In general, I had never followed Shabbat rules before, exactly until 2023. Since this winter, I began to try to do what all Jews consider mandatory to commit, but to be honest, I did not succeed too much in it. My active character and active body could not accept the fact that you just need to turn off for a day and devote yourself to blissful doing nothing. In the end, I found a compromise - I began to devote Saturday to reading paper books. This simple thing, just one day a week to read paper books, turned out to be incredibly effective for me. The first book read on the Shabbat was a manual for forensic investigators of Gross, which strengthened my confidence in the correctness of the hypotheses made. One of the sections of the manual was devoted to the methods used by criminals to avoid punishment or escape from the investigation. One of the traditional and common methods is to simulate a disease, mainly deafness, memory loss, speech loss, dementia, and other mental disorders. It is enough to read the biography of any werewolf who, with a help of the ZR/RIFLE program, became an official in Russia in pursuance of the Ost plan, being already wearing the uniform of a monk, pop star, or other prominent figure. Most of them simulated schizophrenia or other mental disorders. Vivid examples are Vyacheslav Ivankov, aka Patriarch Kirill Gundyaev. There is a full set of parameters - both the origin from the two Nazis, and the imitation of death, and the simulation of schizophrenia, and the head injury with a passion for circus craftsmanship, in the end - a thief-in-law who became the Primate of the Russian Orthodox Church. His subordinates are just as worthy - Gena-Chervyak, serial killer Sergei Shcherbakov, and other scum of society, who now disguised as cassocks preach in social networks about how to live properly. Gena-Chervyak, Papa Nose, and the misognose Shcherbakov have a lot of fans. A vast flock is fed by fraudsters.

Cancer simulation was actively used by another serial killer Sergei Tkach, better known in the world also as serial, but entrepreneur Oleg Tinkoff with a fake pedigree. Finally, a stinky opossum Shumilov Sergey Mikhaiovich with a fake passport, who sat in my inherited apartment, also plays out at the same time a selective loss of memory, speech, constipation, kidney disease, and schizophrenia, a certificate that he has a psycho. Only in the history of Samara, Orekhovskaya gang's graduates with a certified mental disorder, together with his Orekhovskaya gang girlfriends Shumilova Tatijana Vladimirovna with morbid obesity usually following the mental

illness (like a part of schizophrenia symptoms) and sick on the whole head (she fried cockroaches on the stove, made gingerbread by order for children, and this despite the fact that there was a knee-le-deer mustard gas, and her hair in the kitchen, and she tried to force me to deliver this "gingerbread" to the customers - by the way, don't think about ordering anything from her. The explosive mixture of mustard gas, cockroach shit and her pubic hair can only be acquired by gourmets like herself or such as Orekhovskaya gamg's stinky opossum).

Yesterday, the stinky possum doused the entire sofa (which I used to be allocated as a bed) with his poisonous chemistry and closed the windows more tightly so that my dogs would get sick faster. Since the chemistry turned out to be fresh and caustic, the sofa went for forensic examination along with other things poured at previous addresses in Moscow on Bakinskaya and Malaya Tulskaya. Well, there were some little things, from which there was also a train, be healthy. Let the experts now to understand, pour different substances on my things, documents and the sofa, or the same thing. This stinky schizophrenic is fully confident that if he has not yet been put his face on the floor, it will never happen, a complete moron. How else could we get such amazing fresh samples of his chemical poison and his DNA. I have DNA tests for myself and my dad. It is obvious that the stinky schizophrenic from Orekhovskaya gang is clearly not a prince from the Gediminids. Or, may be he expected that somebody wil invite him for tests? Haha. No.

In short, it's better not to order gingerbread from these assholes - they have certificates that they are crazy, and if your children from the gingerbread go to heaven, then these homegrown confectioners will still cover their asses with a certificate from the mental health hospital that they are psychos.

Digital image: by Kazuaki Horitomo.

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[boostcmg]

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[artificialqueens]

Amoretto - Chapter 3 - (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: I am back! Sorry for the extremely long delay. Uni is kicking my butt - mostly because I genuinely assumed they would go easy on us in the first two weeks. Well - that wasn’t the case. I hope you can somewhat enjoy this chapter! Big thank you again to Meggie for being an amazing beta!

“We should get outta here.”

The blonde only rolls her eyes, as she carefully stretches her wings, at Vanessa’s exaggerated lash fluttering and her suggestive smirk. Not even buying her act for a second. The cackle afterwards already ruining her flirty illusion.

“And where do you wanna go in the middle of the night, ‘Ness?” Brooke asks, desperately trying to sound uninterested as she eyes the crowd around them, still not forgotten why she had stayed in the first place. Yet there isn’t a single sign of the other immortal, hiding in the crowd, to be seen. With one last disappointing glance she sighs heavily and lets her act fall, finally facing the young woman by her side. Desperately wanting to leave this hormone driven place.

“Ohh we’ve got a nickname - cute, Mary - so you don’t hate me all that much?”, Vanessa giggles as she elbows the ethereal women, doe eyes searching for the slightly hidden exit. Long brown curls bouncing as her head snaps around, attempting to find a way out of the sultry club in her highly intoxicated state.

“Also it’s a secret - so I can’t tell you where we are going”, she finally remembers to answer the blonde’s question, placing her left index finger in front of her dry lips - attempting to highlight her wannabe mysterious aura. Within a second though a cheshire cat smile peeks out beneath her finger as Brooke shakes her had - amused by the brunette’s state -, before she lets it drop down and grabs the blonde’s cold wrist instead, banning her way through the crowd. Unknown shoulders bump into the swaying Latina’s small figure, elbows nearly landing in her face and even a beverage finds its way on her dress, as she drags Brooke out of the bar - Cupid obviously evading any harm. Bypassers moving aside, subscousinsly making room for the present goddess. 

Brooke is seemingly impressed by the fact that Vanessa actually manages to find her way outdoors without getting into a heated fight with the guy who managed to spill some soda on her - according to the brunette - very expensive dress. Her olive-toned hands were already neatly tightened into fists, but one pointed look by Cupid was enough for her to turn around and let it go. Stomping through the barely lit corridor towards the exit.

As the cold wind hits their flushed bodies, even Brooke begins to shiver. Goosebumps cover her limbs and leave the woman, normally so used to the cold, a bit shaken up, though she welcomes the change of temperature, having felt like she was being cooked in a big soup bowl for the past two hours. Her grande wings are finally able to stretch to their full capacity. Tense shoulders roll back as she cracks her neck, trying to get rid of all the accumulated tension.

The bright pink neon sign of the night club illuminates the two stranded figures, painting them in a soft heavenly glow, highlighting Brooke’s empty leather quiver - a successful night, if you asked Venus . Both women deeply inhaling the cold air, eyes closed, simply enjoying the silence after a long night.

The blonde beauty’s mind tries to process tonight’s events. Running in circles - overthinking one life changing encounter. But she tries to keep her cool. Exhale. Inhale. Just breath. 

The inner peace found within these two beings is destroyed within a second. A car speeds by as men in their late twenties shout obscene comments at Vanessa, honking and laughing at the brunette’s fury painted cheeks.

Brooke expects an explosion. She can see the fire igniting  right in front of her eyes, waiting for Vanessa to unleash her irreparable destruction. She had seen it during lonely nights she spent looking out for the young woman - had seen her explode with anger at her heartbreaks.

But all she does is calmly flick them off and intertwines her fingers with a stunned Brooke, tugging her along while they turn the corner. Two figures walk in silence, hand in hand, the brunette taking the lead, following the directions written in her heart. 

With each corner they turn, they start to leave the inner city circle and all of the dark alleys littered with drunk party-goers behind.

Brooke silently lets herself dragged into uncertainty for the second time this night, blindly trusting the woman she barely knows. Stormy eyes carefully take in every inch of all the lonely streets they pass. Darkness, filling the space around them. Only the hum of overly loud TV screens disturb the calm silence every once in a awhile.

Occasionally she can spy strangers making out at a corner - none of them searching for something lasting - homeless people crashing on park banks or sleeping in the streets, stray dogs howling in the night - catching the younger woman off guard. A hint of a smile can be found on Brooke’s lips as the brunette jumps at the sound.

“Are you sure you we are going the right way?” Brooke asks after half an hour of lost wandering through less crowded streets. Fewer houses started to frame the ground they walk on as patches of nature claim their place.

“Trust me, Mary! I know where we’re going - it’s real special,” Vanessa calmly answers softly.

Brooke does a double take at the woman beside her, not having expected a soft mutter by her counterpart. Both of them had spent the majority of the walk in utter silence, simply enjoying the night silence around them, appreciating nature’s beauty around them. Not even a quick ramble from the brunette to conceal the awkward moment as Brooke let go of Vanessa’s hand.

They continue their journey until they reach the outer brim of the city. Slowly making their way through the forest adjacent to the meadow behind the last houses of the most rural area. The blonde catches sight of fireflies lighting up the bushes around them and baby rabbits settling down for the night in a small cave. Brooke immediately feels the shift within her as the two women disappear between the trunks. Complete calmness flood her being, feeling at home, far away from most humans. No need to hide, no need to pretend - even though no one could ever see her, besides Vanessa. Yet she still felt the pressure to behave a certain way since she discovered someone could actually see her - suddenly feeling the need to change. Wanting to fit it. Concealing her large wings and blood red arrows with a practiced smile and a polite nod in whatever direction she feels the imaginary eyes come from.

The deeper they make their way through the forest, the darker and louder it gets. Terra is celebrating Cupid’s arrival, bees are humming and birds are chirping their welcome melody, having missed their goddess. 

Brooke isn’t the only one to notice. Vanessa stops in her tracks to pet a little fox and comments on the fireflies and cooling breeze circling the two women.

But once they cross the last line of trees and arrive at abandoned lake, nature’s creatures fall silent after reaching their crescendo. Outer calmness can be felt on the meadow. Brooke feels the mysterious aura surrounding the place deep in her core as a harsh shiver runs down her body.

Vanessa stalks up to the lake, slightly swaying - Brooke wasn’t sure if it’s her high heels or the alcohol - taking a seat on a large rock right next to the edge of the lake. The brunette pulls her long locks into a low ponytail and lets her feet sway above the ground, staring down the stretch of water in front of her. 

Cupid watches from afar, keeps track of the Latina’s every move but doesn’t dare to come closer. Her feet are bound to the floor while she contemplates her next move. 

She could just run. Stop giving a crap about the woman she barely knows. Just leave her behind and return to her safe space and comfort zone. Yet something was holding her back. An invisible string of yarn pulling her closer to the mysterious girl - the one and only who has every properly laid her eyes on her. 

As if the brunette could read her mind, she turns around and pets the space on the rock next to her with a “What’s taking you so long, Mary?”

Apparently Brooke has no choice, but to follow the brunette’s request. 

So she lets her wings carry her the last few meters and joins the other woman on her rocky seat, nervously waiting for an explanation. One that she doesn’t immediately receive.

“And what are we supposed to do here?” she finally asks out loud, suspiciously eyeing the dark water, watching the reflection of the moon dance on its surface.

“Go skinny dipping,” Vanessa replies matter of factly, a sly grin stretched across her face as she pulls off her high heels.

The blonde snaps her head around, confusion written all over her face.

“What?” Furrowed brows stare at a cackling Latina who can barely control the harsh tones escaping her throat. 

“You know we just get nakey-nakey, Mami, and then dip our toes into the water. Go for a swim and shit - have some deep-ass conversations,” Vanessa explains, giggling along as she points towards the lake and bumps the other one’s shoulder. 

Within the swift of a moment she stands up and asks Brooke to unzip her dress. The blonde silently complies, watching the brunette take her panties off and make her way into the water, dipping her toes into the cold. Small waves lap at her olive tanned skin, hugging the woman’s figure, drenching all of her. 

Brooke hesitates shortly, as she keeps an eye on the short woman, yet she still somehow feels the strong urge to just run away. Bees are buzzing in her bones, keeping her restless, prepared to flee the place. 

Yet she is still being held back, like a stone in her chest weighing her down. An indescribable force clinging to her feet, keeping her in place. 

So with a deep yet shaky breath she decides to join the other woman, instead of giving into her primal urge of flight. Shy fingertips carefully peel of her white sheer robe, letting it pool around her bare feet.

Her wings flutter nervously as she catches the brunette staring. Doe eyes scan over her naked soul, pupils dilated as she bites her lipstick stained lips. Shamelessly enjoying the view.

“Do you always take your friends here to stare at them naked?” Brooke teases the brunette, whose eyes immediately snap back to her eyes, trying to break the heavy tension.

Vanessa’s soft smile falls for a second, before she catches herself and answers flirtatiously with a wink: “Just the real special ones, Brookey.”

The blonde quietly steps into the water, toes already drenched in the ice cold wet. Simply enjoying the added coolness to her frame. She closes her eyes as the water sweeps over her breasts, letting her head fall back, wetting her delicate hair.

“It’s actually quite nice here,“ she whispers after opening her eyes again, slowly walking into the deeper parts of the lake until she can’t stand anymore, stretching out her frame for a little swim.

“Yes, haven’t been here in a while though, not since the first girl I took here broke my heart and shit,” Vanessa mumbles, looking up to the stars as if she was reading memories of the past carved into the night sky.

“I am sorry,” Brooke whispers. Genuine regret leaking out of her throat - knowing she is responsible for that heartbreak. Wishing she hadn’t brought anything up in the first place even though she couldn’t have known Vanessa’s story.

“Nah, it’s fine. Aquaria wasn’t even really my type. Sure she was pretty but we didn’t click. I wanted a big ass romance, just like in the movies. Didn’t get one though,” Vanessa rambles on, while avoiding immediate eye contact as she walks in circles at the edge of the lake. Arms crossed across her chest, a shivering figure attempting to keep the warmth, finally daring to completely immerse herself in the deep wet, taking Brooke’s lead for once.

“Why would you even want that?” Brooke carefully voices, facing the brunette, studying her expression, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Nervously chewing at her bottom lip at asking her deepest rotted questions finally out loud.

“Want what?” Brown doe eyes fixate on her counterpart again, not fully grasping the depth of her question just yet.

“Love. Why are you so hung up on it?”Cupid elaborates her question, her wings hung low, swinging softly beneath the surface, creating tiny waves around her.

“I - I don’t know. I mean sort of I do know - I am human - we all just wanna feel loved, I guess?” Vanessa tries to answer the other woman’s way too existential question for her intoxicated state, pausing for a second to gather her thoughts, wanting to properly elaborate her thoughts. “You know ever since I was a child I dreamed of finding ‘the one’  - my prince or princess charming. I saw those romantic movies as a kid and read those fairytales with my abuela. I just always wanted that dream to come true - and still do. Just want to have someone that sticks by your side, no matter what. Deep down I just wanna be someone’s number one I guess. Give them my all in return and shit.”

For once the coldness of the water is actually hitting the young woman. A shiver runs up her entire figure as she hugs her bare frame, arms above the surface, graced by cool wind gusts. Feeling vulnerable for the first time this evening as she slowly sobers up, goosebumps covering her chest and arms. She slowly crosses her arms, hugging her own figure as she attempts to somewhat hide her bare soul. 

Brooke hums and nods her head at Vanessa’s explanation before stating the thoughts running through her mind: “I wish I could understand you humans and your obsession with it. It just seems like such a strange concept to me. Even if the relationship isn’t doomed, like most are.” Cupid rolls her eyes at her own statement, as if it was common knowledge. “I still don’t understand how it formed in the first place. Sure I play a big role in that, but still - I dont think I could care about someone enough to stick around.”

“I guess you just know why once you’ve actually been in love. Sure it isn’t always fun and games, especially if you have such bad luck like me, but there is always hope for a brighter future one day - shit I don’t know Mary, but love is just beautiful when it all works out - the warm fuzzy feeling and all…” Vanessa’s voice grows soft as she moves to the edge of the lake, carefully lowering herself into the shallow water.

A soft “mhh” escapes the goddess’s lips as she joins the other woman, letting her wings stretch above the lake’s surface, illuminated by the soft moonlight  as it reflects on her porcelain skin and nearly white hair. Making her glow from inside, contrasting her self-proclaimed, dark interior.

“But there must be someone you love. Don’t you at least love your parents?” Vanessa carefully studies the immortal’s side profile as she quietly voices her question, craving to know more about her strange counterpart.

“I don’t know my parents,” Brooke softly replies, nervous fingertips playing with shorter strands of hair. Stormy eyes flutter shut for a second - a sting to the place where her heart is supposed to be. 

“Hold up, bitch. You don’t know your parents?” Vanessa screeches, hands thrown in the air and eyes opened up wide, unobservant of the blonde’s pained expression.

“No,” Brooke replies coldly. Not ready to unpack her dizzy memories of the past.

“Then who raised you?” Vanessa asks seemingly confused, head leaning on her hand. Shuffling even closer to the mesmerizing girl.

“My two older sisters,” Cupid cuts her answer short, not willingly wanting to dig her own grave by giving away too much too soon.

“Sisters?” the Latina screams one octave higher than her usual truck driver voice, mouth hanging agape at Brooke Lynn’s sudden revelation. Her shoulders slouch back, nearly falling back into the deep water at her sudden twitch.

The blonde simply nods, her chest constricting at the thought. She hadn’t seen her sisters in millenia. All alone ever since their last encounter - only left with a hole in her chest. Left with her self-deprecating thoughts and ever burning questions.

“Spill the tea, sis.”  The brunette shifts again and pulls her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, now completely facing the blonde.

With each passing second the blonde’s face gains more resemblance with a ice statue. Hollow eyes stare down her own reflection on the lake, words caught in her throat.

Moments pass in silence. Two figures lost in their own worlds.

“Well there are three of us. Detox, Kameron, and me. Three sisters. Three goddesses. We grew up together, they taught me everything I needed to know. But that was a long time ago. I don’t remember much,” Brooke mumbles, avoiding bright doe eyes, simply staring down her feet immersed in the cold liquid.

“Two sisters? Are they also Cupid ?” The brunette’s big eyes seem to grow even bigger in size with each new piece of information she receives. Lapping up all the answers she gets but still craving more.

“I don’t really know. I don’t know much about our existence in general. The humans just nicknamed me Cupid, I guess - don’t know what they call them though,” Brooke trails of, not fully knowing how to put her experiences into words.

“Have you seen them since?”

Brooke’s stomach sinks at the innocently voiced question.

“I lost contact to them once I was old enough,” she tries to vaguely answer.

“And you never saw them again? Like ever?” Vanessa attempts to dig deeper, shaky legs beneath the surface painting a picture of her inner state. 

Shit.

“Well I might have,” Brooke admits. The water plants besides her figure suddenly more interesting than anything else.

“I knew it! Spill it!” the brunette demands. Her body shaking with excitement as her grin grows bigger in size. 

“Tonight I might have seen one of my sisters - actually, she was talking to you Blue crystals peek out beneath slightly damp lashes. She takes a deep breath as the blonde furiously tries to blink away the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. 

Deep green painted sorrow floods her lungs at the missed opportunity of the night. 

“Wait - no way - Kameron is your sister?” the brunette loudly whispers, slender hands clapped above her mouth. Eyes brightly lit at her revelation. 

"I don’t know if your friend was her, she just looked really familiar.” Brooke shrugs, not knowing why she even shared her suspicions. Attempting to casually wipe at her wet lash line, trying to erase any evidence of weakness. 

"But where are her wings though?” Vanessa furrows her brows, the underlying and unvoiced questions nearly burning a hole into the ground. 

“I have no idea.”

Flashes of memories and never dealt with emotions swirl through Cupid's head. Constricting her chest and never wanting to let go. 

"That’s why I stuck around, you know - tried to figure out who she actually is,” Brooke attempts to explain, not knowing any answer to Vanessa’s urgent questions - and neither to her own. 

“Damn mami, that’s a goddamn mystery. Should be on Buzzfeed Unsolved ”, Vanessa cackles as she shakes her hair like a wet dog just getting out of the rain. 

“Wait what?" 

"Never mind.” The brunette’s laugh just intesifes at the blonde’s visible confusion. 

Vanessa crawls down out of the shallow water they’ve been sitting in and silently battles putting on her dress again - before the ladylike creature offers her help. 

"So that’s all you have. Two sisters. No parents. You are Cupid , don’t get the concept of love and neither know much about your existence. Real cute - Mary. Nearly as much of a mess as I am. " 

Two equally as intoxicating laughs haul through the night air as the two figures take a seat on a still mildly warm rock. Heavy doe eyes flutter shut as the young woman falls asleep on her shoulder during sunrise. The first ray of sunlight illuminates the wings of cupid as she carries the woman home, lovingly tucking her into her bed. 

[khalilhumam]

COVID-19 causes Trinidad and Tobago to cancel its Carnival for 2021

New Post has been published on http://khalilhumam.com/covid-19-causes-trinidad-and-tobago-to-cancel-its-carnival-for-2021/

COVID-19 causes Trinidad and Tobago to cancel its Carnival for 2021

There is still hope for a virtual festival

“Carnival Tuesday meggie”: Carnival lover Attillah Springer gives a “meggie” – a hand gesture that brings the thumb and four fingers together in a sign of derision, scorn or rejection. Photo by Georgia Popplewell, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

It may have been anticipated, but now it's official: thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, Trinidad and Tobago's 2021 Carnival celebrations have been cancelled. Prime Minister Keith Rowley made the announcement on the afternoon of September 28, calling the national festival “the perfect environment for the spreading of the virus.” Despite the inevitable economic blow the decision will have, he said, he's not prepared to take the risk. Reaction, predictably, was split. While most people applauded the decision, calling it both “expected” and “solid”, others wondered about the fate of those whose income depends on the national festival. When one Facebook user called the decision “insane”, Josie Aché-De Goulard retorted:

NO! it's realistic and logical is what it is. Everyone else has already gone ahead and cancelled theirs. I do not possibly see how any “right thinking” citizen of T&T could possibly think to put the country under further threat from Covid-19.

Trinidad and Tobago Carnival 2020 was already over by the time the country recorded its first case of COVID-19 in March. Other countries that host annual Carnivals, including Brazil, have already postponed their 2021 events, but it is only the third time in history that Trinidad and Tobago has put theirs on hold—a history that Trinidadian author Michael Anthony chronicled in his book “Parade of the Carnivals of Trinidad, 1839-1989″. In the chapter etitled “Carnival in a World of War,” Anthony noted that the festival continued as usual during World War I, which was fought largely in Europe. After the war ended, the 1919 celebrations were known as “Victory Carnival”. During World War II, the festival did not take place at all between 1942 and 1945, although “spontaneous” celebrations happened on May 8 and 9, 1945 in honour of Victory in Europe (VE) Day, and on Aug 15 and 16, 1945 for Victory over Japan (VJ) Day. The country's street festival was postponed from February 1972 to May 1973 because of the threat of the polio virus, so it is not as if the move to put off next year's Carnival celebrations is unprecedented. In fact, many netizens saw it coming, but hoped that a virtual celebration might take its place. In a Facebook status update on June 24, Maria Rivas-Mc predicted that “promoters are going to have to Zoom in fete-goers to the music and the vibe from concert halls in ‘foreign’ [abroad]!” Virtual Carnivals are something that costume designers like Clary Salandy have already been experimenting with—the band she and her husband created for Notting Hill Carnival 2020 was showcased online. Trinidad and Tobago's Carnival stakeholders have also expressed excitement about the opportunity to share their creativity in the virtual realm. Facebook user Marc Bejai suggested:

We keep forgetting that there are elements of carnival that are outside the realm of the street parade. We should adapt and showcase our calypso, pan, extempo and dimanche gras much like how sporting events are still being carried out.

Both calypso music and the steelpan instrument originated in Trinidad and Tobago. Extempo refers to an extemporaneous form of calypso, and Dimanche Gras, literally translated as “Big Sunday,” is a grand show at which coveted titles like the Calypso Monarch are decided. Franka Philip of Trini Good Media, which produces the “Talk ‘Bout Us” podcast, crowdsourced opinions on what a virtual Carnival might look like. Most commenters felt that simply delaying the celebrations would be best, with Zahra Gordon suggesting that it may be an opportune time “to re-focus to community Carnivals and limit the size of large bands.” Anthony Bisnath added:

Aside from the issue of a vaccine being made available globally, it’s difficult to envision any Carnival 2021 at all, due to the commercialization of the festival, and the limitations of two major sources of revenue: Government expenditure will be prioritized elsewhere, and corporate entities will slash sponsorship budgets. Having a 2021 Carnival may jeopardize the planning cycle for one in 2022. It will be almost impossible to execute, as Carnival mas [costume] production is essentially a 12 month cycle. So there are challenges to logistics, Sponsorship, Supply Chain, Manufacturing, Costuming, International Travel, Consumer Patterns, Disposable Income and Statutory Approvals all changing for the next 18 months.

Carnival enthusiast Tillah Willah was not perturbed, however. She posted on Facebook:

You don’t always need a crowd to observe your ritual, to praise your ancestors, to offer thanks to the universe for your life.

One Twitter user, however, wasn't quite so optimistic:

I woulda rather get horn than be told it having no carnival — Travis World (@itstravisworld) September 28, 2020

“Horn” is Caribbean slang for infidelity. Other netizens wondered whether, given the cancellation of the physical street parade, they would have to go to work on Carnival Monday and Tuesday. Apart from essential services, most workplaces are closed on those two days, even though they are not official public holidays. It didn't take long for the memes to surface. This one poked fun at what the 2021 designs in a sought-after band—known for its skimpy costumes—might look like:

Meme about Trinidad and Tobago Carnival 2021, widely shared on social media.

It is a question that both the producers and loyal participants of Trinidad and Tobago Carnival are still trying to figure out, but stakeholder Rubadiri Victor certainly hoped that a virtual Carnival 2021 is in the offing:

Trinidad and Tobago should see virtual Carnival 2021 as the launch of T&T's virtual economy! […] We are creating a telegenic event with brilliant filmmakers and Carnival, Creative, and Business stakeholders for international consumption with brand T&T as the winner!

< p class='gv-rss-footer'>Written by Janine Mendes-Franco

[meggigoering]

📖October 8, 2023

🦈I haven't written anything these few days because I was very busy with my studies. I remind you that I study at two American universities, and my working and  learning day looks very tight. From this dense calendar and to-do list, every day at least 40% was bitten by a stinky with his girlfriend Tanya Shumilova, and their heavenly patrons - the Angara maniac Mikhail Popkov (if anyone forgot, aka Sylvester, the leader of the Orekhovskaya gang, in the world an honorary elder, the patriarch of the Ancient Orthodox Church Kornily Titov), and his henchiks from the Sberalfa-VTB Systema. The fact that these scum devoured, I picked up time in the early mornings, but still both work and study suffer a lot because of these condoms. On Friday and Saturday, they ate just two days of cleaning after the fire and the lack of light in the apartment. What the fck is the fire, you ask? The real fire.

In short, in the long-suffering flat on Maslennikova 16-13 in case you missed everything, where I and my dogs were generously sweated by the mustard gas poison, there was expected to be a shmon. I mean, a search. Mustard gas is such a shit that is simply unrealistic to weather from the apartment where it has been for a long time. This crap penetrates through the chemical protection suit in 40 minutes, is easily absorbed into porous materials, and it is impossible to wash it from plastic and wood. Therefore, there were so many samples of chemistry in the apartment that the field for samples for toxicological and chemical examination was not plowed here. Since the stinky itself poured snot and pus from the lungs, the epicenter of storage and one of the main sources of distribution of deadly chemistry was in his pissed chambers. I assume that this bastard kamikaze wanted to live, so he probably kept his chemical shit on the balcony. Obviously, this outside storage did not save stinky, because his snot hung to his knees, and the pus from his lungs could be raked out with a shovel. So one visit to the smelly balcony and his pissed bedroom would basically make him the most flawed character in history.

In addition, there was a genetic test for the stinky, from which it clearly follows that this bastard is not related to me or to my testators. This genetic test was sent to me by the stinky himself. The test is a sample of stupidity, and its manufacturer (Academy of DNA Genealogy) deserves to receive the Darwin Award along with the stinky. A test with two fundamental errors that completely exclude the chance of a stinky not only of kinship with me, my grandparents, but the chance that the test is true. I will not provide a manual on how to deceive the law and "sweet fryers," I will briefly note that the stinky at the Academy of DNA Genealogy (remember this name) generated a fake combined test, in which they picked up a haplogroup from some princes just in case, and a haplotype from others, so that if anything fits in both cases. The little truth is that they were a little bit wrong with the names of the princes, and who on what line is related to my family. And so for the inhabitants of the object, the test looked very convincing. The stinky the great-grandson of Ivan the Terrible himself, in a straight male line, Rurikovich! Everything is beautiful and absofckyamazing, only the direct male ancestor in the male line of my dad and his dad was not Rurikid by direct male line, he is Gediminid. I'll save the rest of the details for later.

Well, I somehow remembered that the stinky was lying in a psychiatric hospital and many times he was visited at home by a good psychiatrist-narcologist.

Again, the performance of the stinky a week ago, when I asked for compensation for an ovarian rupture. I'm sticking out here with the Moscow medical insurance, I don't want to change it. I feel pretty lousy after a stinky confused me with a boxing bag and beat me - a stomach bruise, an ovarian rupture and a closed abdominal injury is not a light runny nose. As I wrote a week ago, the stinky (I remind you, a permanent client of psychiatrists and narcologists, who was lying in a mental hospital, who was diagnosed last year and written in the recommendations to solve the issue of his sanity) immediately called Tanya Shumilova, and asked her to organize the following: to falsify me a diagnosis of an alleged schizophrenia, and send me forever for compulsory treatment to free the apartment from my presence. Tanyushka sleeps and sees to get access to my property as soon as possible, and does not hesitate to falsify the grounds in order to get the right to dispose of it. Well, Tanya wants to ride my Porsche and live in my flat 196 on Leninsky 64/2, you can't order her heart! There and her daughter Valeria has already set up for me in the HASHEIGHT business - she bought Porsche sneakers, a business suit, IT textbooks, and books on law and accounting just stole from me. In short, the "family" is ready to accept my belongings, inheritance and property completely free of charge, there is only one issue left to solve - I'm still alive. Therefore, all the dialogues and gossip of Tanya and stinky about "schizophrenia" were due to the fact that these creatures were going to take care of me, and send me with someone else's name to a mental hospital, where I would be missing. It is clear, the treatment of my torn ovary was not in the plans of caring "parents" who only for the maintenance of their daughter the prostitute Lera milked more than 7 million rubles from me.

I accidentally recorded Tanya's conversation with the stinky, and without waiting for it to finish, I immediately went to the Investigative Committee to the investigator on duty.

In short, there were more than enough reasons to close the stinky and his girlfriends Tanya Shumilova and her relatives in the pre-trial detention center by October 1, 2023.

Feeling that the stinky and his girlfriends, instead of my inheritance, will now really draw a preventive measure in the form of sending to the madhouse, where they so diligently wanted to hand me over instead, this cute nut (in all aspects) family shit themselves and decided to solve the issue radically. Well, like there is no person and no documents - no problem.

So here it is. On Friday morning, October 6th 2023, I needed to run to the library, I'm now describing the functionality for prototypes, I need to read a couple of books with at least one eye. Well, that is, I have a plan for books that I need to read for work and study, and I, like in the movie "Quiet Place" every day, I go out on business and to the library.

It's scary, of course, the stinky with his girlfriends are rare scum, but no one promised that it would be easy. After learning that there would be a shmon (search), the stinky got up all week, neither light nor dawn, and even reduced the degree of mustard gas. On Friday, at 10:30 a.m., he finished his morning promenade, and I felt the chance to run and rushed to the library. I go out at 11-20, go to the library, and a funeral car is blocked on the way. I don't think to myself, damn it, will they really take the stinky and I'll finally make a funeral for my parents? I come to the library, and now I set a timer for 25 minutes due to an acute shortage of time. And so the timer rang three times, I'm looking at the cameras - everything seems to be calm in the apartment. Well, I think I'll allow myself another sprint. And what do you think - immediately a fire alarm starts yelling in the library. In short, remembering the morning funeral car, I put my feet in my hands and run back to the apartment. I think there are too many distracting unpleasant elements today. I come - a stinky in the apartment. Well, I think it's great - I'll feed the dogs now and go back. Harry eats 8 times a day after poisoning with mustard gas on fractional feeding. I gave the dogs semolina porridge to cook, and a kettle for myself. As soon as the stinky found out about the shmon, he lost his peace and sleep, he couldn't find the key to the attic, he needed urgently for unknown reasons. And wow - while the dogs were waiting for cooking porridge, I found the key under the closet when I was washing the floor. The stinky saw the key, rushed into the room to his place, took the key and left the apartment. I'm sitting waiting for the kettle. I feel that burnt paper stintles, it's not clear where it comes from. And then somebody knocks on the door: a neighbor from the 14th apartment says: hey your balcony is burning. I say - the stinky locked the rooms with a key. In short, the firefighters were called further. Three minutes later, there was such smoke in a pillar that I could barely open the window. At that moment, the stinky returned, and began to try to put out the fire himself. I managed to pull suitcases with documents to the stairs and bring the dogs out. Then, as in a bad dream, firefighters with oxygen cylinders for breathing began to climb the stairs, the spectacle is pure Silent Hill. But what is especially original, the freshly found key to the attic of the stinky did not share with them, pretending that there was no key and I took it for myself. This is still a plus the time while the firefighters were squeezing the door to the attic.

In short, 6 fire trucks, 24 firefighters, an ambulance, police, the Ministry of Emergency Situations, a day without light. And the day before, I put all my things and documents in bags and suitcases. So when everybody moved out, I went in, rubbed the bags and washed the floor. Well, since there was no light, I had a real Sabbath. The only shitty thing is that there used to be mustard gas with stinky urine, and now combustion products have been added to it. I'm sitting like in a "Hard's Hell" smokehouse. I understand that the absence of posts from me for several days, barbecue customers from the sistema "Sberalfa-VTB" secretly hoped that there was at least one human victim in the fire. Yes, guys. Your mental stinky employee Sergey Shumilov has a burnt face, because at your order, instead of a barbecue of me, my dogs and a fire from my documents, he burned in my apartment, which you rewrote on for your second psychic employee Lera Shumilova, one room and a balcony. Greetings from all the neighbors at this house section entrance, who perfectly understand what a fire in an apartment with a gas column means. They don't give a fck about your ways to solve problems and steal Andrey Leonidovich Kostin, Vladimir Petrovich Evtushenkov, Peter Olegovich Aven, German Oscarovich Gref. After the Lame Horse, the fire in the Winter Cherry, and the fire in the Samara Department of Internal Affairs, for you, of course, 60 people burned alive in the house section entrance, it's like not fucking doing. But for the population of the entrance, which was the day before yesterday very close to share the fate of these unfortunate people, your KPIs, bonus plans, and your understanding of "corporate social responsibility" do not matter. Fcking "Atlants" of Russian business.

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[meggigoering]

🦈I am an author of several inventions. The information about those which were already announced and submitted for registration, you may find in this section of my website. Also, I am an author of all designs, web pages, and their content which you observe in the internet on the websites of mine and my businesses.

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[meggigoering]

📖September 8th, 2023

🦈There is such an anecdote: standing in front of the mirror is a pimple, sweaty, smelly freak, with dirty dandruff-covered hair, in a crumpled old short-sleeved shirt, in shorts, and sandals worn on socks. He stands, looks at himself, and repeats: "I'm a shit (sounds like a "chmo" in Russian), I'm a chmo, I'm a chmo, I'm a chmo." From the next room, his mother shouts: "How many times should my son tell you, not a chmo, but a macho."

Today has outdest to many others in terms of its degree of disgust. I'll start from afar. Usually in crime movies, books and pop culture, criminals as antagonists appear as courageous testosterone males who dress with a needle, and can easily discharge the clip of the gun with their eyes closed into the seven of spades lying under the pillow in the next room. Such machos seem to be harsh and fair honest Robin Hoods in terms of concepts that are cooler, more effective, and faster than the law. Like here they are - real men, live according to the laws of honor and justice, will protect the widow and the weak, punish the scum-coundree. In short, after watching such bullshit, we then get a brood of children who want to be as cool and fair as Don Vito Carleone, or at least as cool crazy boys as Sasha Bely, the prototype of which is said to be Sylvester, the leader of the Orekhovskaya gang, aka Angarsk maniac Mikhail Popkov, a werewolf who was in the form of a policeman, who is in the top 4 in the world ranking of serial killers in terms of the number of victims. Just in case, I remind you that then Popkov imitated his death, and reincarnated in a new werewolf, only in a cassock. Pronin's operation "Werewolves in uniform" spoiled the image of the policeman's infallibility. Pronin himself was then framed by a set-up in the form of Evsyukov. Therefore, Popkov decided to become just a saint - Patriarch of the Old Believers Orthodox Church, Cornelius Titov. In Russia, paternalistic fatalism is the basis that brings darkening to the ignorant mind of the layman. The wolf can cut sheep right in the church without being ashamed of anything. On the contrary, believers "priests" will still prove that this is now a new trend in the liturgy.

What do these disgusting details say? Yes, about the fact that films idealizing criminals are shot with the money of the criminals themselves, this is a banal PR campaign. Serial killers in them appear in the image of almost holy just masters of the world. But what is happening in real life, and what I personally face, and other people who know the unsightly picture of the daily business of these "semplates" is so disgusting, awful, and nauseating that if at least one film about serial killers was shot honestly about what their life really looks like, instead of popcorn at the entrance to the cinema it would be necessary to distribute bags for vomit, as in airplanes. I'll give just two examples of what an ordinary day of two peppers of one from a cosa nostra and the second from the Orekhovskaya organized criminal group looks like. If you've already eaten tightly, it's better not to read it, otherwise it will turn it out.

In short, there was such a Genovese dick in the cosa nostra in the United States. He had a life sentence opportunity, and he pretended to be a psycho so as not to go to prison. He was fed almost around the clock by the police, and at the first flashes of consciousness he would immediately go for life sentencing.

Genovese wandered the streets in a bathrobe and slippers, talking to parking meters. On one of the shooters, Genovese chose one of the juniors in rank as his mouthpiece, but did not say a word for the whole meeting. During the meeting, he put his bare foot on the table, and began to cut his nails, cut his fingers, and blood flowed from the cuts. After the meeting, Genovese's acting skills were believed by all those present, who decided that he went really crazy. Great fate, that's exactly what you wanted for yourself and your child, dreaming of becoming a cool member of the cosa nostra clan, obviously. If this is not convincing enough, then here is the second example - a stinky opossum, who is currently serving his labor service in the apartment I inherited, pretending to be my murdered father, the news of which I received from the investigation. The stinky possum does not lose hope, hoping that I will die before the investigation ends, so he also pretends to have lost his memory, speech, frontal lobes of the brain and nape, about half a cent of the muscles, and the whole penis as a result of a stroke. Fck, science has never known such rare symptoms. The stinky walks along the entrance in panties, does not wash, does not shave, does not comb, playing all at the same time - a stroker, an alcoholic, and a schizophrenic with loss of memory and speech. In order for me to die faster, the stinky pours his hellish chemistry from the hernipreads everywhere he can reach, including my personal belongings and BOOST documentation. Really, when I made the BOOST website a couple of years ago, which had a photo of a girl who clamps her nose over something smelly and poisonous, I didn't know that I would definitely get into the topic. As I now remember this vanilla shit from standard publications in social networks: "what are we going to do with toxic assets" - increase value, and blablabla. Guys, remember the one thing - toxic assets they are not about value management

at all. Let this shit go, and believe me - there will be an ocean of shit. Just swim and even don't try to dive.  So now, 9 years after the start of my business, I answer: wash, dry and ventilate, then number, sign and put on balance. No more than 15 minutes a day, and only in a spacious room with a through air flow. In a chemical protection suit.

I left the most juicy detail for those who still want to become like Sasha Bely from the series "Brigade." The stinky opossum interfered with his fucking stinch with his own urine, which he pissed in a three-liter jar. This explosive mixture of his urine and mustard gas, Sergei Mikhailovich Shumilov poured on the sofa brought by Shumilova Tatiana Vladimirovna into this flat, and where I was highly recommended to sleep. When I discovered the source of the stench, and demolished the soft part for examination (really - the perfect proof, as in the old joke about the inscription "the king-fool": the urine of the Duke of Buckingham, and the handwriting of the Queen), the stinky began to pour his urine with the mustard gas (just to remind: it is in liquid form) under the door so that it flowed into the corridor from which I am not separated by another door. And he poured urine with mustard gas on the stairs of the ladder standing in the corridor. Using it, the loving "daddy" barricaded the door from his "favorite daughter." Well, for sure, you dreamed of such a career for yourself or your child, wanting to become cool like Sasha Bely and his Orekhov prototypes. Mix an urine with a mustard gas, and play a schizophrenic.

Honestly, having collected today the flushes and swabs of urine with mustard gas from all the smelly puddles, the bathroom, taking samples of claws, fur, green purulent snot, skin scraping from ulcers from the dogs, and making a request to the SES for analysis of where to bring a suitcase of shit and a bucket of a mixture of urine with mustard gas, I'll tell you so. If you imagine the work of a lawyer as a dude who receives a lot of money for drawing up a standard application in a clean office in a freshly cleaned suit, then your ideas about the profession of s lawyer are akin to the idea of the image of a fair tractor driver from the Nizhny Novgorod region Sylvester and Vito Corleone according to the version of pop culture. That is, they are in a roughly different universe in relation to what is happening in real life.

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[meggigoering]

📖September 1, 2023

🦈When I call an stinky oposssum a self-confident idiot, I personally don't try to insult him, I'm just trying to describe him. There is nothing more valuable than direct monitoring of the activities of the offender pat the time of the commission of the crime. It's only Vysotsky in "Meeting Place Can't Be Changed" threw a wallet to the Brick. We aren't in Disney. Everything is real with me.

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[meggigoering]

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[meggigoering]

How to translate "baring Vostok" from Reichslanguage into modern literary ZR/RIFlE American?

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[meggigoering]

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[meggigoering]

To offer turkey's bones as holy relics for Orthodox christians unrecognized for decades is the distinguished sign of ZR/RIFLE. The reason for that is neither stupidity nor pride. It is the sincere simple like children have self-confidence that all nations from the West are aborigines, who needs Gods from the East bringing beads.

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[meggigoering]

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[meggigoering]

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