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spaceclefairy · 8 months

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The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Ch. 17

Pairing: Michael de Santa/ OFC; Trevor Philips/OFC; Michael de Santa/OFC/Trevor Philips; Michael de Santa/Trevor Philips

Summary: Los Santos is a hellscape, but if you’ve got brains and a little determination, it can be a real hell of a playground. Michael needs money, Trevor needs whatever Trevor wants, and Franklin’s moving up in Los Santos. Jen’s just along for the ride.

This is gonna be fun.

Author’s Note: I’ve been writing this beast of a thing since 2013. It’s been through a thousand different incarnations, but it’s been in my drafts for the last six years. I realize this fandom isn’t as popular as it used to be, but I might as well have a little fun and finally start posting it.

Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!

Tagging: @verbo-volant for being an inspiration always

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 || Part 11 || Part 12 || Part 13 || Part 14 || Part 15 || Part 16

--- --- ---

Senora Freeway, Three Years Ago

Michael’s flying down the Senora Freeway, Jen’s in the passenger's seat, Night Moves is playing gently in the background, and life is fucking good.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Jen asks, leaning over to card her fingers through the back of his hair. “What's your curfew?”

“Haven't got one tonight,” Michael says, leaning into her hand. “Amanda's out of town for the weekend. We can do whatever you want, baby.”

“Really? Whatever I want, huh?” Jen teases, rubbing his neck. She can see one of his tattoos peeking just over the edge of his collar, and she runs her finger across it. “We could… go see a movie? There's a drive-in on the edge of the canyon right before the county line. We could grab some greasy takeout and not pay attention to whatever they're showing.”

“And what would we be doing instead of paying attention?” Michael shivers from the brush of her fingertips, a full-body shiver that runs from his shoulder to his toes.

Jen laughs. “Fucking in the backseat, duh. That's what drive-ins are for.”

Michael chuckles to himself - that sounds like a good plan to him. “What if we get caught? Don't want you to lose your job or anything.”

“Please, we're so short-staffed, that old codger wouldn't fire me if I set the mayor's house on fire,” Jen says with a grin. She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs up in the passenger's seat, relaxing against the door. “He’s gone senile anyway. We’re all just trying to stay afloat.”

“You should run against him, bring in some new blood.”

“Me? DA?” Jen snorted. “I'm not really much for leadership. Or politics.”

“I think you'd be good at it,” Michael replied. His hand settled on her thigh, squeezing her knee briefly. “You’re smart, you’re hard-working - you’ve got the Los Santos look. Good face for politics.”

“Maybe I'll think about it,” Jen shrugs. She’s never one to get sheepish, but she can't deny she's flattered. “Hey, turn here - let’s grab Cluckin’ Bell and head to the drive-in.”

--- --- ---

Present Day

Thanks to Michael, Jen had been in a bad mood all weekend.

Saturday had been little more than a nuisance - a formality of time enforced by the sheer ticking of a clock. Jen had given up calling or texting Michael not long after he'd bolted Friday night, leaving Saturday an open wound. She passed the irritable hours by sticking her nose in her laptop and coming up for air for coffee, and coffee alone.

Sunday was just another twenty-four hours of blind irritation stemming from hurt and confusion. Sunday was spent on the couch watching reruns of old mafia movies and nursing a bottle of wine.

Monday, well… Monday was not a good day to be this angry. It was a status hearing for Jen’s serial killer trial - the trial that would last at least a month. The hearing was a formality - little more than standing up to tell the judge that, yes, the State is ready for trial, and, yes, half the LSPD and FIB are witnesses on said trial, and, yes, it will take at least a month to try.

And, while Jen prided herself on etiquette and professionalism within the courtroom, that Monday was not her finest day. Jen was seething, and everyone could tell. Therefore, no one would talk to her, nothing was getting worked out, and nothing was getting done - at least, not for her cases.

When Jen’s case was called, she stood in her tall, tall heels, the spiky ones she wore specifically on days like today, and stood at the podium in front of the judge. "The State is ready to proceed with trial."

The judge, a curmudgeonly woman in her late sixties, similarly, and perhaps impossibly, was in a worse mood because a month-long trial wasn’t going to be enjoyable for anyone. The judges - especially this one in particular - did not like it when Jen announced that a trial would take place, as Jen's trials generally took a week or more.

The judge sighed. "How long do you expect this to take, Ms. Dixon?"

"Three weeks, maybe four. There's eight counts of murder in the first degree and nearly forty witnesses."

The judge, deadpan, asked, "Seriously?"

Jen nodded, tapping her pen against the podium. "Serious as a heart attack, Judge. This is the serial killer the FIB arrested last year."

The judge looked as if she'd like to retire immediately. "Alright, we'll set it down for trial. I'll send out the scheduling order this afternoon."

Jen stepped away from the podium, click-clacking back to the State's table. The other attorneys hastily made room for her, careful not to scoot too close. With the exception of MaryAnn, they all seemed to be mightily preoccupied with the files in their hands. MaryAnn, on the other hand, stared her down with every step.

Leave it to MaryAnn to be the only person unafraid to ask. She leaned over to whisper in Jen’s ear. "What crawled up your ass?"

Despite Jen’s irritation, she almost smiled. "Nothing."

MaryAnn rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, I haven't seen you this angry at work since the morning after you went on that date with Haines."

That had been an exceptionally bad day, after an exceptionally bad date. They did not speak of that date. Nor the day that followed.

"We agreed never to talk about that." Jen crossed her arms and watched another lawyer stand up for his case. "Mike's being a dick."

"Did you have a fight?" MaryAnn asked. She watched the judge out of the corner of her eye, waiting for her next case to be called while she chatted with Jen.

"More like he fucked me seven ways to Sunday and ran out of my apartment before he'd even zipped up his pants. And didn’t bother to answer the phone."

"Ouch," MaryAnn winced. "Want me to cover for you so you can go home?"

Jen shook her head. "No, I've got too much to do, and we need to keep prepping for trial. I'll take care of it tonight."

"I feel sorry for him…"

"I wouldn't if I were you."

As Jen sat at the table monitoring the goings-on of the courtroom, her phone vibrated. She frowned down at it when Michael’s name flashed across the screen.

Michael: dinner @ natalias @ 6

How eloquent. Michael wasn't known for his hip-and-happening texting skills.

Jen: okay

She received no further reply, which wasn't unexpected even on a good day. Nevertheless, she spent a few too many seconds glaring down at the screen. Two of her employees (who had been watching carefully to make sure a blow-up wasn’t imminent) vacated their seats and scurried away, pretending to discuss a case they were working together. She rolled her eyes at their retreating backs, but she could admit it wasn’t their worst idea to go run and hide.

Jen chewed on her lip, deep in thought, until she tasted the rust of blood. Dinner could go one of several ways. Michael could ignore the problem - that was the most likely possibility. He could bring presents and buy her dinner and expect that to fix things. Or, equally possible, he could finally run the other way. That… also wouldn’t be entirely unexpected. Whatever method Michael decided to try, Jen had already determined a conversation needed to be had.

Once court had adjourned, Jen grabbed MaryAnn and led her back to her office.

“We have to call Haines and Norton,” Jen said. “They worked the last of the murders before his arrest, so we need to start working on their testimony.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to take your anger out on your favorite punching bags?” MaryAnn asked, curling up on her favorite chair in Jen’s office. She stared up at the whiteboard where Jen had drawn out their trial plan. “You’re not going to have one of them sit with us, are you?”

“I was planning on Haines sitting at the table with us. He has public appeal with that dumbass TV show,” Jen replied, tapping out a message on her phone. She usually tried to warn Haines before she called him. She dialed after she sent the message. “As much as I don’t want him there, he has good ratings - might help with the jury's perception of us.”

Both Jen and MaryAnn were well-known for being rather… contentious during trial.

“I hate it when you’re right… sometimes,” MaryAnn said. She quieted when Haines answered the phone on the third ring.

Haines’s voice rang loud and clear over the speaker. “How can I help you, Jenny?”

Jen’s eye twitched. “That serial killer you and Norton arrested last year is electing to exercise his constitutional right to a trial. Clear your schedule - you’re sitting at the table with us.”

“I guess you need a pretty face for when the camera’s come rolling in,” Haines commented loftily. “I don’t know… I’ll have to check my filming schedule.”

“Well, when I serve you your subpoena and you don’t show up,” Jen started as MaryAnn snickered quietly in her seat, “I can have you arrested on your own TV show. How's that for ratings?”

“Eh, I guess I could use some more screen time,” he corrected quickly. He wouldn’t put it past her to actually do it. “I’ll make sure to let my makeup artist know.”

“If you fuck up this testimony and this guy walks, don’t forget your home address is public…”

Haines scoffed quietly. “Calm down, Jenny. When have I ever fucked up testimony?”

Irritatingly, the answer was never. Haines, for all his flaws and despite his patriarchal athleisure wear, was actually fairly good on the stand. He was somehow able to charm a jury, despite the glaring surface flaws and deep-seated jackassery.

“Just be prepared. You’ll be on the stand for a couple of days,” Jen said, "And wear a fucking suit. I don't want you up there looking like you're going out for a round of golf."

“Yeah, fine.”

Jen hung up. MaryAnn was still snickering quietly in her chair.

“Well, if all goes poorly with your old man boyfriend, there’s always Steve Haines.”

“I would genuinely rather die, MaryAnn.”

--- --- ---

Michael was late. Of course, he was late. Even neutral ground for a conversation wouldn’t make that man deal with the consequences of his actions in a timely fashion.

Jen took a sip of her wine. It was good wine, she determined. She’d already asked the hostess (a woman she’d become incredibly friendly with over the years of being a steady and dedicated patron) to bag up an extra bottle to take home. She had a feeling she was going to need a tall, stiff drink when she got home.

Jen already knew where this date was going just by virtue of Michael being late, and Michael was clearly having trouble getting himself together to do it.

She could tell him that it was okay, that she was expecting it. She could tell him she'd always known it would end like this - that they'd had a good ride together. She could be kind and make this easier for him, just get up and grab her bags and forget that he existed. And make him pay for the meal, obviously.

But Jen certainly wasn’t known for being kind. If Michael was going to do this, she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Michael finally arrived, dressed in his usual suit and tie. Judging by the pink flush on his cheeks, he’d had a couple of drinks before he’d walked in - a little liquid courage. Jen watched him idly as he sat down and adjusted his tie, though it didn’t need to be adjusted. He was looking anywhere but at Jen, though she’d fixed him with a cool, even stare.

Finally, Jen spoke, tone flat. "Explain."

"I don't really know what to say…"

She cocked her head to the side. "Take your time."

"I- uh," Michael trailed off as though words had entirely escaped him. He paused, trying to hold himself firm against Jen's colder-than-death stare. "I'm- well, I'm- fuck - I'm sorry for runnin' out the other night-"

"I didn't ask for an apology, Mike. I said explain."

Michael knew his choices were limited. He could take what he determined was the chicken-shit way out: apologize and keep on doing this with Jen. Or, he could do what he figured was the right thing to do if he wanted Amanda back - break it off right here and now.

Begrudgingly, Michael admitted Trevor was right - he had to let one of them go. And he'd chosen Jen.

Time to pony up.

"Jen, I can't keep doing this," Michael said, his voice hollow. It's like he couldn't hear the words coming out of his mouth - like he was trapped in an icy bubble. "I mean, we had a good ride. It's been a good six years-"

"Seven years."

Michael coughed. Right. "Seven years. But we knew we'd have to move on from this eventually."

Jen crossed her arms. "Uh-huh."

"Look, you deserve someone who can give you a good life."

"I have a good life as it is, but keep talking if you’d like,” Jen said, raising an eyebrow.

“I'm still married, Jen.”

That, despite Michael's attempt at a hushed whimper, caught the attention of the table next to them. Two blondes, one tall and statuesque even sitting, the other squat and muscular, ducked their heads together and traded sideways looks.

“Oh, I'm aware, but did it ever cross your mind that you’re married when you were getting your dick wet?” Jen asked, tone getting icier by the minute. “Or when you dragged me into your new bank-robbing 80's movie reboot?"

Michael struggled to keep his temper in check. If he raised his voice, which he knew he shouldn’t do, she’d lose her shit on him (which was not something he ever wanted to experience and would ultimately make things worse). And then he’d lose his shit on her (again, not something he'd ever done nor wanted to experience). He didn’t want to have a screaming match or some knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of this restaurant. He’d wanted this to be as quick and painless as possible, but he had a short temper and a bad mouth.

"Yeah, I’m sure you really hated the money you got from those jobs. You're really gonna pull the morality card on me right now?" Michael snapped. “You knew I was married from the get-go. I never hid that from you.”

And with that, quick and painless fell out resolutely out of reach.

Jen sneered. “Morality got thrown out the window seven years ago when I fucked you on my couch. You don't give a shit about me or Amanda. You just want your idyllic little life back, with your white picket fence and wife and two-point-five kids and all that shit."

Jen had never spoken to him like this before - not this icy, toneless clip. Screaming was one thing, yelling and cussing another, but this emotionless, icicle tone was downright terrifying. Michael thought he might prefer yelling.

"We never agreed on anything more than strictly casual and you know it!” Michael snapped. He wanted to disengage, he really did, but he was notoriously terrible at backing down.

The neighboring table was outright staring now, more out of the Los Santos love for drama than any real concern.

"Doesn't matter what we agreed to at this point, especially considering the past few months. This arrangement is no longer strictly casual, Michael,” Jen said. “Whose bed did you sleep in when Amanda left you, huh? Who’d you come running to?"

Michael leaned in, trying to keep his voice down, and failing. "Why are you making this harder than it has to be?"

Jen pointed at him, her long, tapered nail ending in a point. "Because you know how I feel, and you know how you feel, and you’re just blindly fucking ignoring it."

"I've got to take care of my family."

"I’m not telling you not to take care of your family,” Jen hissed, “I’m telling you not to go back to someone who made you miserable for twenty years, and who, I’m sure, you made equally as miserable.”

Michael didn’t have an answer, because Jen wasn’t wrong.

"The fact of the matter is, you want this to be easy for you. This is not easy for me, and I am not going to make this easy for you, Michael," Jen snapped. This was an absolute promise. “You’ve always walked away from everything you’ve done scott-free - not this time."

"Well, don't worry, you'll get your wish. I gotta carry this with me every fucking day."

"And I hope you carry it with pride."

With that, Michael stopped and took a deep breath. He cared, he really did. And Michael, in his infinite capacity to make everything worse, went for the final blow. "Look, I care about you, Jen. I lov-"

"Don't." She uncrossed her arms and stood up. "Don’t say another fucking word - I don’t want to hear it. You are such an asshole."

"Jen, come on-"

Jen grabbed her bag and coat, retrieved her bottle of wine from the hostess station, and left, the restaurant door swinging shut behind her. Michael could pay for the fucking waters and the bottle of whiskey he was probably about to order - Jen was out of there. The valet, taking a quick look at the expression on her face, wasted no time retrieving her car.

Of course, Michael would pull that card. Jen wasn't stupid - and neither was Michael. Both emotionally stunted, stubborn fools - but not stupid. That had manifested years ago, but, of course, the end would be the moment Michael decided to pull it out.

Asshole.

Jen revved her car and turned out into Los Santos traffic. God, it would be weeks before she’d be able to go back to Natalia’s after that blowout. She couldn’t stop herself from letting it get out of hand, and there was no way Michael wasn’t going to make a scene. How embarrassing. She’d have to leave an extra tip next time.

She didn't want to go home yet, not after that. She needed someplace to cool down, get a clear head. Some catharsis.

Tequi-la-la’s would be a good place to cool down. Have a couple of drinks, grab some bar food since she’d never actually ordered at the restaurant. Find someone to take home with her. Yep, that was the best plan. Alcohol, food, and a quick fuck. Mends broken hearts, does the trick every time. Well, probably not this time, but self-destruction was the only option Jen would consider right now.

Yet, rather than taking the exit for Tequi-la-la’s, Jen found herself turning right onto the Strawberry exit. A short drive later, and the glow of the Vanilla Unicorn sign flooded the dark streets. She’d driven around aimlessly until she’d seen the giant neon sign and cut into the parking lot.

Catharsis. She could get catharsis here, too. She cut the engine on her Jester and sat staring up at the flashing lights.

“Fuck.”

Jen slammed the Jester door behind her and locked the car. She was greeted at the door by the bouncers by name, asked if she wanted her usual table by the hostess. She declined and headed straight up to the bar.

Tiffany, blonde Tiffany - one of Jen's favorite girls at the Unicorn - was bartending tonight. Jen didn't prefer blondes, but Tiffany was undeniably gorgeous and surprisingly quite sweet. And she made a great cocktail. And gave great head.

Jen leaned against the bar and waved Tiffany over. “You busy?”

“Kind of,” Tiffany snorted. She looked around and saw that she was not, in fact, all that busy, so she shook her head. “Actually, not really. Mondays are slow. Speaking of which, why are you here?”

“Bad day,” Jen responded. “Came in for a drink and… to say hi. Take a break?”

Tiffany raised an eyebrow and called over her shoulder. “Jill, I’m going on break. Be back… eventually.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Jen grinned. “Hey, have you seen Trevor tonight?”

“Uh, yeah, I think he’s in the office. Why?”

“Got a problem with using the office?”

“With him in it?”

“Maybe, if he’s lucky.”

Tiffany shook her head. “No problem at all.”

“Good girl,” Jen said with a wink. “Let’s go.”

Tiffany ducked out from behind the bar and led Jen back towards the office, pulling her by the hand past the private rooms where thudding music filled the dark hallway. Bouncers lined the wall, standing guard past the curtains in case customers got too rough with the girls. Judging by the soft sound of panting, some of the bouncers had been paid extra to look the other way.

Trevor's office was down at the end of the hall, but the girls didn't quite make it there before Jen pulled Tiffany into a heated kiss. One of the bouncers gave them a look, more out of curiosity than concern, then went back to monitoring the couple past the curtains. It wasn't like the bouncers didn't know what was going on - they'd all seen Jen with a girl or two before - but what happened at the Unicorn, stayed at the Unicorn.

Jen shoved a hand up Tiffany's cropped shirt, finding no bra to impede her in her goal, and busied herself playing with Tiffany's nipple. Tiffany wound her hand into Jen's hair and shoved her back against the wall.

“How do you want to do this?” Tiffany asked, panting in Jen's ear.

Jen tweaked her nipple until she moaned, thumb circling the nub relentlessly. “Whatever happens, happens. You okay with Trevor joining in?”

Tiffany nodded. “Fine with me. You give the word.”

“Safe word is pineapple if you get uncomfortable,” Jen said. “Now, come on, I want to stick my tongue in your pussy.”

They didn’t bother knocking on the door - it was unlocked anyway. Cue Trevor doing whatever it is that Trevor does in this vacant office (currently, snorting coke off the desk). ‘

He looked up and broke out into a grin. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“Shut up,” Jen said as she backed Tiffany up against the desk. “You can stay as long as you’re quiet.”

Trevor mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

Jen nudged Tiffany onto her elbows on the desk and sank down to her knees in front of her. She hiked Tiffany's skirt up her thighs and peeled her underwear down before sealing her lips over her slit.

Tiffany's hand gripped the roots of her hair. “Ah - getting right to it, babe?”

“Mhm,” was as much of a response as Jen could give with her mouth full. She flicked her tongue along her slit, pausing to suck at her clit, before spreading her open with her fingers and sinking two digits in. She pumped her fingers in and out, tonguing the space in between with reverence, until her mouth was soaked and fingers were dripping.

Tiffany grabbed Jen’s shoulders and arched up into her mouth, thighs shaking. “Fuck, Jen - right there -”

Jen could just barely hear Trevor unzip his pants over the sound of Tiffany panting, but hear it she did. She stopped sucking Tiffany's clit and stood up, leaning over the girl on the desk so she could kiss her.

“Okay so far?” Jen asked softly, mumbling against Tiffany's mouth. Her black lipstick was smeared down her chin, and Jen could only imagine what her own face looked like.

The breathless yes made Jen smile.

“Do something for me?” Jen asked. “Go fuck Trevor. If he doesn’t finish you, I will.”

Tiffany nodded and stood shakily up from the desk. She crossed over to where Trevor sat and climbed into his lap. He moved to grab her ass, but stopped when Jen told him no.

“You don't touch. I touch, you be quiet and take what we give you. Understood?”

He stared over Tiffany’s shoulder at Jen and nodded. To his credit, he followed orders and didn’t speak, likely because he thought Jen would tell Tiffany to stop if he did. (She wouldn’t have, not this time. This was a night for catharsis, not discipline.)

Jen stood behind Tiffany and held her hips steady as she slid down onto Trevor's fat cock. She reached up and tucked Tiffany’s hair away so she could trail kisses down her neck as Tiffany grinded down on Trevor’s lap.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Trevor?” Jen said, reaching around to play with Tiffany’s nipples while Trevor watched. “Tiffany’s so fun to play with. Too bad you can’t touch.”

He leaned his head back against the top of the chair and groaned, eyes squeezed shut. His knuckles had turned white from the force of clutching the arms of his chair, the pulse point in his neck fluttering, tendons tight.

“Open your eyes and watch, Trevor,” Jen said, teasing one of Tiffany’s nipples before reaching down to play with her clit. “If you’re a good boy and make Tiffany come first, I’ll fuck you, too.”

Another groan, but it makes him buck up into Tiffany, matching her pace. Tiffany moaned in turn, one hand gripping Trevor's forearm, the other hand wrapped around Jen's hand while she played with her clit.

Jen grinned, spreading the slick over Tiffany's clit. She reached further, massaging the place where Trevor's cock plunged into her. “How’s that feel, Tiff?”

“Good - so good-”

“Gonna come for us?”

A high-pitched, breathy yeah.

Jen grabbed Tiffany's chin and turned her head so she could kiss her. She felt the tremor wrack Tiffany's body as she came, the sharp moan spilling from her lips muffled by Jen's mouth.

Beneath them, Trevor was absolutely wrecked, hips stuttering as he rode out Tiffany's orgasm without succumbing to the one threatening to slam through him. His bottom lip was caught between his wolfish teeth, eyes wild, knuckles so white from the strain that Jen could almost see the veins running through his hands. He still didn't speak, but he stared a hole through Jen's forehead, silently begging to come.

Jen held onto Tiffany's hips as she climbed off of Trevor's cock, keeping her steady. Trevor's hand immediately fisted around his shaft, pumping viciously to keep his high going.

Jen kissed Tiffany again, this time gently. “You okay, Tiff?”

“I'm great, sugar,” Tiffany replied. “Do you want me to stick around?”

“Yeah, I like when you watch,” Jen replied. “Besides, someone should watch Trevor get fucked like a good boy.”

Jen turned back towards Trevor, watching him beg silently as he fisted himself. “You can talk if you're good.”

Trevor nodded furiously, groaning. “I'll be good - I'll be so good, Jen, please -”

“I know you will, baby boy,” Jen said, lifting the hem of her dress out of the way as she straddled Trevor's lap. “You always do such a good job for your Princess Jen.”

His hands latched onto her thighs immediately, fingertips digging into her skin as she moved her underwear to the side and sank down on his cock. It was an easy slide, made easier by the mix of Tiffany's come coating his shaft and the precum dripping from his flushed tip. Her hand found his throat, thumbs teasing the prominent veins bulging under his skin, and forced his head against the back of the chair.

Jen's name, at that moment, was the closest thing to a prayer to have ever come out of Trevor's mouth, followed closely by fuck and please. She gripped his shoulder with the hand not currently wrapped around his throat. When she moved in his lap, it was slow and torturous, not quite enough to push Trevor over the edge with the explosive force he'd started to feel with Tiffany. No, this was worse - this was a wave lapping at his skin, teasing him, pushing him closer and closer -

“You can come now, Trevor,” Jen said, permission like music to his ears. “Be a good boy and come on yourself.”

And he does. He bounced Jen up to the tip of his cock and slammed up into her before pulling her soundly off his cock and coming all over the bottom of his shirt. She kept his head pinned to the back of the chair, the edges of his vision starry and fuzzy, forcing him to keep eye contact until his cock softened against his stomach.

From the desk behind them, Tiffany made herself come again, the sound of her moans bubbling up underneath Trevor's. Jen climbed off of Trevor's lap to help Tiffany clean herself up before waving Tiffany out with another kiss.

Jen sat on the edge of the desk and offered Trevor Tiffany's forgotten underwear to clean himself up. She watched idly as he stuffed the used underwear into his back pocket.

“Not that I'm complaining,” Trevor said, “but what was that?”

“What do you mean, what was that? You got fucked by two women. Don't think that needs an explanation.”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

Trevor, unfortunately, was a lot more perceptive than Jen gave him credit for sometimes. “What happened?”

Jen, wholly unwilling to relive the events of the night prior to her arrival at the Unicorn, climbed down off the desk and smoothed out her dress. “Why don't you call Michael? He'll explain.”

“Maybe I’ll just go pay him a visit,” Trevor replied, zipping up his pants with some finality. “It’s been a while since I said hello anyway.”

#grand theft auto #Grand Theft Auto 5 #Grand Theft Auto V #gta #GTAV #GTA5 #michael de santa #michael de santa x oc #trevor philips x oc #trevor philips

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nicklloydnow · 3 months

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“But it only recently struck me that in this new Cold War, we—and not the Chinese—might be the Soviets. It’s a bit like that moment when the British comedians David Mitchell and Robert Webb, playing Waffen-SS officers toward the end of World War II, ask the immortal question: “Are we the baddies?”

I imagine two American sailors asking themselves one day—perhaps as their aircraft carrier is sinking beneath their feet somewhere near the Taiwan Strait: Are we the Soviets?

(…)

A chronic “soft budget constraint” in the public sector, which was a key weakness of the Soviet system? I see a version of that in the U.S. deficits forecast by the Congressional Budget Office to exceed 5 percent of GDP for the foreseeable future, and to rise inexorably to 8.5 percent by 2054. The insertion of the central government into the investment decision-making process? I see that too, despite the hype around the Biden administration’s “industrial policy.”

Economists keep promising us a productivity miracle from information technology, most recently AI. But the annual average growth rate of productivity in the U.S. nonfarm business sector has been stuck at just 1.5 percent since 2007, only marginally better than the dismal years 1973–1980.

(…)

We have a military that is simultaneously expensive and unequal to the tasks it confronts, as Senator Roger Wicker’s newly published report makes clear. As I read Wicker’s report—and I recommend you do the same—I kept thinking of what successive Soviet leaders said until the bitter end: that the Red Army was the biggest and therefore most lethal military in the world.

On paper, it was. But paper was what the Soviet bear turned out to be made of. It could not even win a war in Afghanistan, despite ten years of death and destruction. (Now, why does that sound familiar?)

On paper, the U.S. defense budget does indeed exceed those of all the other members of NATO put together. But what does that defense budget actually buy us? As Wicker argues, not nearly enough to contend with the “Coalition Against Democracy” that China, Russia, Iran, and North Korea have been aggressively building.

In Wicker’s words, “America’s military has a lack of modern equipment, a paucity of training and maintenance funding, and a massive infrastructure backlog. . . . it is stretched too thin and outfitted too poorly to meet all the missions assigned to it at a reasonable level of risk. Our adversaries recognize this, and it makes them more adventurous and aggressive.”

And, as I have pointed out elsewhere, the federal government will almost certainly spend more on debt service than on defense this year.

It gets worse.

According to the CBO, the share of gross domestic product going on interest payments on the federal debt will be double what we spend on national security by 2041, thanks partly to the fact that the rising cost of the debt will squeeze defense spending down from 3 percent of GDP this year to a projected 2.3 percent in 30 years’ time. This decline makes no sense at a time when the threats posed by the new Chinese-led Axis are manifestly growing.

Even more striking to me are the political, social, and cultural resemblances I detect between the U.S. and the USSR. Gerontocratic leadership was one of the hallmarks of late Soviet leadership, personified by the senility of Leonid Brezhnev, Yuri Andropov, and Konstantin Chernenko.

(…)

Another notable feature of late Soviet life was total public cynicism about nearly all institutions. Leon Aron’s brilliant book Roads to the Temple shows just how wretched life in the 1980s had become.

(…)

In a letter to Komsomolskaya Pravda from 1990, for example, a reader decried the “ghastly and tragic. . . loss of morality by a huge number of people living within the borders of the USSR.” Symptoms of moral debility included apathy and hypocrisy, cynicism, servility, and snitching. The entire country, he wrote, was suffocating in a “miasma of bare-faced and ceaseless public lies and demagoguery.” By July 1988, 44 percent of people polled by Moskovskie novosti felt that theirs was an “unjust society.”

Look at the most recent Gallup surveys of American opinion and one finds a similar disillusionment. The share of the public that has confidence in the Supreme Court, the banks, public schools, the presidency, large technology companies, and organized labor is somewhere between 25 percent and 27 percent. For newspapers, the criminal justice system, television news, big business, and Congress, it’s below 20 percent. For Congress, it’s 8 percent. Average confidence in major institutions is roughly half what it was in 1979.

It is now well known that younger Americans are suffering an epidemic of mental ill health—blamed by Jon Haidt and others on smartphones and social media—while older Americans are succumbing to “deaths of despair,” a phrase made famous by Anne Case and Angus Deaton. And while Case and Deaton focused on the surge in deaths of despair among white, middle-aged Americans—their work became the social-science complement to J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy—more recent research shows that African Americans have caught up with their white contemporaries when it comes to overdose deaths. In 2022 alone, more Americans died of fentanyl overdoses than were killed in three major wars: Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan.

The recent data on American mortality are shocking. Life expectancy has declined in the past decade in a way we do not see in comparable developed countries. The main explanations, according to the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, are a striking increase in deaths due to drug overdoses, alcohol abuse, and suicide, and a rise in various diseases associated with obesity. To be precise, between 1990 and 2017 drugs and alcohol were responsible for more than 1.3 million deaths among the working-age population (aged 25 to 64). Suicide accounted for 569,099 deaths—again of working-age Americans—over the same period. Metabolic and cardiac causes of death such as hypertension, type 2 diabetes, and coronary heart disease also surged in tandem with obesity.

This reversal of life expectancy simply isn’t happening in other developed countries.

Peter Sterling and Michael L. Platt argue in a recent paper that this is because West European countries, along with the United Kingdom and Australia, do more to “provide communal assistance at every stage [of life], thus facilitating diverse paths forward and protecting individuals and families from despair.” In the United States, by contrast, “Every symptom of despair has been defined as a disorder or dysregulation within the individual. This incorrectly frames the problem, forcing individuals to grapple on their own,” they write. “It also emphasizes treatment by pharmacology, providing innumerable drugs for anxiety, depression, anger, psychosis, and obesity, plus new drugs to treat addictions to the old drugs.”

(…)

The mass self-destruction of Americans captured in the phrase deaths of despair for years has been ringing a faint bell in my head. This week I remembered where I had seen it before: in late Soviet and post–Soviet Russia. While male life expectancy improved in all Western countries in the late twentieth century, in the Soviet Union it began to decline after 1965, rallied briefly in the mid-1980s, and then fell off a cliff in the early 1990s, slumping again after the 1998 financial crisis. The death rate among Russian men aged 35 to 44, for example, more than doubled between 1989 and 1994.

The explanation is as clear as Stolichnaya. In July 1994, two Russian scholars, Alexander Nemtsov and Vladimir Shkolnikov, published an article in the national daily newspaper Izvestia with the memorable title “To Live or to Drink?” Nemtsov and Shkolnikov demonstrated (in the words of a recent review article) “an almost perfect negative linear relationship between these two indicators.” All they were missing was a sequel—“To Live or to Smoke?”—as lung cancer was the other big reason Soviet men died young. A culture of binge drinking and chain-smoking was facilitated by the dirt-cheap prices of cigarettes under the Soviet regime and the dirt-cheap prices of alcohol after the collapse of communism.

The statistics are as shocking as the scenes I remember witnessing in Moscow and St. Petersburg in the late 1980s and early 1990s, which made even my native Glasgow seem abstemious. An analysis of 25,000 autopsies conducted in Siberia in 1990–2004 showed that 21 percent of adult male deaths due to cardiovascular disease involved lethal or near-lethal levels of ethanol in the blood. Smoking accounted for a staggering 26 percent of all male deaths in Russia in 2001. Suicides among men aged 50 to 54 reached 140 per 100,000 population in 1994—compared with 39.2 per 100,000 for non-Hispanic American men aged 45 to 54 in 2015. In other words, Case and Deaton’s deaths of despair are a kind of pale imitation of the Russian version 20 to 40 years ago.

The self-destruction of homo sovieticus was worse. And yet is not the resemblance to the self-destruction of homo americanus the really striking thing?

Of course, the two healthcare systems look superficially quite different. The Soviet system was just under-resourced. At the heart of the American healthcare disaster, by contrast, is a huge mismatch between expenditure—which is internationally unrivaled relative to GDP—and outcomes, which are terrible. But, like the Soviet system as a whole, the U.S. healthcare system has evolved so that a whole bunch of vested interests can extract rents. The bloated, dysfunctional bureaucracy, brilliantly parodied by South Park in a recent episode—is great for the nomenklatura, lousy for the proles.

Meanwhile, as in the late Soviet Union, the hillbillies—actually the working class and a goodly slice of the middle class, too—drink and drug themselves to death even as the political and cultural elite double down on a bizarre ideology that no one really believes in.

In the Soviet Union, the great lies were that the Party and the state existed to serve the interests of the workers and peasants, and that the United States and its allies were imperialists little better than the Nazis had been in “the great Patriotic War.” The truth was that the nomenklatura (i.e., the elite members) of the Party had rapidly formed a new class with its own often hereditary privileges, consigning the workers and peasants to poverty and servitude, while Stalin, who had started World War II on the same side as Hitler, utterly failed to foresee the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union, and then became the most brutal imperialist in his own right.

The equivalent falsehoods in late Soviet America are that the institutions controlled by the (Democratic) Party—the federal bureaucracy, the universities, the major foundations, and most of the big corporations—are devoted to advancing hitherto marginalized racial and sexual minorities, and that the principal goals of U.S. foreign policy are to combat climate change and (as Jake Sullivan puts it) to help other countries defend themselves “without sending U.S. troops to war.”

In reality, policies to promote “diversity, equity, and inclusion” do nothing to help poor minorities. Instead, the sole beneficiaries appear to be a horde of apparatchik DEI “officers.” In the meantime, these initiatives are clearly undermining educational standards, even at elite medical schools, and encouraging the mutilation of thousands of teenagers in the name of “gender-affirming surgery.”

As for the current direction of U.S. foreign policy, it is not so much to help other countries defend themselves as to egg on others to fight our adversaries as proxies without supplying them with sufficient weaponry to stand much chance of winning. This strategy—most visible in Ukraine—makes some sense for the United States, which discovered in the “global war on terror” that its much-vaunted military could not defeat even the ragtag Taliban after twenty years of effort. But believing American blandishments may ultimately doom Ukraine, Israel, and Taiwan to follow South Vietnam and Afghanistan into oblivion.

(…)

To see the extent of the gulf that now separates the American nomenklatura from the workers and peasants, consider the findings of a Rasmussen poll from last September, which sought to distinguish the attitudes of the Ivy Leaguers from ordinary Americans. The poll defined the former as “those having a postgraduate degree, a household income of more than $150,000 annually, living in a zip code with more than 10,000 people per square mile,” and having attended “Ivy League schools or other elite private schools, including Northwestern, Duke, Stanford, and the University of Chicago.”

Asked if they would favor “rationing of gas, meat, and electricity” to fight climate change, 89 percent of Ivy Leaguers said yes, as against 28 percent of regular people. Asked if they would personally pay $500 more in taxes and higher costs to fight climate change, 75 percent of the Ivy Leaguers said yes, versus 25 percent of everyone else. “Teachers should decide what students are taught, as opposed to parents” was a statement with which 71 percent of the Ivy Leaguers agreed, nearly double the share of average citizens. “Does the U.S. provide too much individual freedom?” More than half of Ivy Leaguers said yes; just 15 percent of ordinary mortals did. The elite were roughly twice as fond as everyone else of members of Congress, journalists, union leaders, and lawyers. Perhaps unsurprisingly, 88 percent of the Ivy Leaguers said their personal finances were improving, as opposed to one in five of the general population.

A bogus ideology that hardly anyone really believes in, but everyone has to parrot unless they want to be labeled dissidents—sorry, I mean deplorables? Check. A population that no longer regards patriotism, religion, having children, or community involvement as important? Check. How about a massive disaster that lays bare the utter incompetence and mendacity that pervades every level of government? For Chernobyl, read Covid. And, while I make no claims to legal expertise, I think I recognize Soviet justice when I see—in a New York courtroom—the legal system being abused in the hope not just of imprisoning but also of discrediting the leader of the political opposition.

(…)

We can tell ourselves that our many contemporary pathologies are the results of outside forces waging a multi-decade campaign of subversion. They have undoubtedly tried, just as the CIA tried its best to subvert Soviet rule in the Cold War.

Yet we also need to contemplate the possibility that we have done this to ourselves—just as the Soviets did many of the same things to themselves. It was a common liberal worry during the Cold War that we might end up becoming as ruthless, secretive, and unaccountable as the Soviets because of the exigencies of the nuclear arms race. Little did anyone suspect that we would end up becoming as degenerate as the Soviets, and tacitly give up on winning the cold war now underway.

I still cling to the hope that we can avoid losing Cold War II—that the economic, demographic, and social pathologies that afflict all one-party communist regimes will ultimately doom Xi’s “China Dream.” But the higher the toll rises of deaths of despair—and the wider the gap grows between America’s nomenklatura and everyone else—the less confident I feel that our own homegrown pathologies will be slower-acting.

Are we the Soviets? Look around you.”

#ferguson #niall ferguson #soviet #america #russia #communism #empire #collapse #bari weiss

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godisarepublican · 5 months

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How DANGEROUS and SENILE is Biden? The rest of the planet is so convinced they can see what Biden has planned that Poland announced that we can position nuclear weapons within their border

Here's a Newsweek article. Poland is saying that "NATO" can station nuclear weapons on their soil, along the border with the Ukraine. Because, you know, there isn't a nuclear war coming...

The Ukraine doesn't want peace. Google it: One of their conditions for peace, and this is the Ukraine I'm talking about, is that Putin and the rest of the Russian leadership has to all surrender for war crimes trials. The war can't end until that happens, according to Zelensky.

Does THAT sound like a reasonable, rational person who wants the war to end?

Then there's the terrorism. No, not just the recent Moscow terrorist attack where an "Iranian backed group" is infuriated with Russia for their excellent relations & trade partnership with Iran. Besides that. There have been terrorist bombings inside of Russia and even a fairly recent train derailment. And then there's the radiological bombs.

The Ukraine keeps trying to bust open nuclear reactors, spew their radiation everywhere, render vast treks of land uninhabitable while condemning all the contaminated people to a slow cancer death. There's been lots of such attempts, including attacks on one particular reactor THREE DAYS IN A ROW. When? Last week. But they weren't the only such attempts.

Biden insists that the United States is in a suicide pact with the Ukraine. And the Ukraine is doing everything it can to bring about that suicide.

End this. Stop it. If there's no other way then give all the aid to Russia, let them solve our problem for us.

The Ukraine crisis is very much like the situation in Gaza, where a genuine solution requires reasonable, rational people. Hamas isn't reasonable, isn't rational. If they were and honestly cared for the Palestinian people, they would have surrendered months ago, ending all the death & destruction. And the Ukraine isn't governed by reasonable, rational people. They're terrorists who are desperately trying to raise the stakes, provoke a nuclear war. They're also fascists who cancelled elections and persecute thought criminals, such as the Orthodox Church.

#Orthodox #The Ukraine #Israel #Hamas #god is a republican #suck my freedom #make america great again #trump #congress #donald trump #kyle rittenhouse #gop #republicans #conservatives

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seikilos-stele · 1 year

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Ah! You added this since last night!

I got so focused on the “younger” part that I forgot the AoH example. That’s tricky, because in AoH, Thrawn isn’t just older — he’s gone through extreme torture and has some severe symptoms as a result. When you push a character into the “elderly” range, you have to deal with the ableism and ageism that you get in the real world — fiercely intelligent characters who are no longer respected for it, who are considered senile by default. Independent soldiers who are seen as frail — and sometimes are. It’s a deeper category of angst, and maybe more affecting, because that lack of respect, that loneliness, is built into our society, and age comes for us all.

It’s a deeper category of angst. Going to be processing this all day.

A lot surprises me about fic, but one of the biggest shocks is how well-received Thrawn/Pellaeon is. No matter what era the fic is set, there is no stepping around the fact that these two guys are old. Yet, in a fandom that probably has an average age of 30 at the most, this mature relationship thrives!

Very cool.

Yeah, it’s kind of heartwarming 😆 I do think there’s way more emotional material for Thrawn/Pellaeon, and a more interesting dynamic than Thranto — but you can’t get past the fact that Eli is a young twink and Pellaeon is 70-something with a dad bod. It’ll be interesting to see if Ahsoka impacts the thranto fandom at all, with Thrawn explicitly in his 70s. Lars Mikkelsen is incredibly handsome but for a lot of people, attraction doesn’t seem to exist past the age of 25 😆

(Well, a lot of the fandom is young, and there’s nothing wrong with being attracted to people your own age. With books, it’s easier to get past that. Everyone can imagine Thrawn however they want. Those of us who know Thrawn is old and prefer him that way just have to suck it up)

But yeah, I really love Thrawn/Pellaeon and I’m glad it’s still going strong. It’s hard NOT to ship them. The strength of Pellaeon’s grief, how much he still misses Thrawn ten years later, the painful, conflicting emotions that come when he surpasses Thrawn’s legacy as a Grand Admiral — knowing he doesn’t have Thrawn’s genius, but still managing to broker peace when Thrawn couldn’t — aughhh. The Hand of Thrawn duology, more than anything, is what made me ship Thrawn/Pellaeon 😆 I love them. I see a lot of the Thrawn/Pellaeon dynamic echoed in Thranto fics, where people clearly crave that storyline and want to see it with Eli, too. It’s a shame that we didn’t get that (yet). In a perfect world Disney would just give Zahn a massive paycheck and carte blanche to tease out those storylines and develop his side characters to his heart’s content — I would love to see how Eli’s growth parallels Pellaeon’s and how it diverges (imo Eli doesn’t have Pellaeon’s knack for leadership, and as both a writer and a reader, I wouldn’t want to see Zahn write the same story over again — it would be more interesting to explore how Eli’s path changes, since he’s less of a leader/tactician and more of a mathematician). I would love to slip into a parallel universe where Zahn got to develop a cohesive trilogy with Nightswan as Thrawn’s nemesis in all three books. And I would especially love to see more from Faro. A Faro-centric trilogy — or just one novel — would be my dream. She’s a severely underrated character. Ar’alani as well, though tbh, I think Ar’alani works best when paired with Thrawn, and I would kill for a stand-alone novel that follows them on a mission.

#my asks #Thrawn #you accidentally triggered Fan Mode and now I’m just thinking about Ar’alani

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thoughtsbeewild · 1 year

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I quit

since i am unemployed, i will.have so much time till i find a new job. Hope anyone reading this, will make a show or a movie. All the bad stuff started to happen with 2020 rigged united states election. We all know Joe Biden didnt win by American people. He won by cheating and getting those dominion machines to

insert fake voters(illegal immmigrants he made deals with the worldwide governments). Then having other state officials buy time to get more votes in. The orange haters were so focused getting orange man out. We all know that horror was going start the day they announced that puppet shit show of a celebrity Inauguration of President of United States . Democrats i think they got list a list of all american people who voted for orange man started doing over millions of layoffs. Real talk people are losing their jobs, family's, leadership, hiring managers across the united states,within 3 years of this senile corrupted USA president, USA was not the same anymore. This is due to hatred of celebrities brainwashing their 100-200 million of followers. Now all celebrity and stupid uneducated people are taking over. American dream of working hard seems lost. Reality will soon be this to many others. Inflation, violence, we have stupid corrupted people in place(movie Horrible Bosses but 10 times worst), stupid dummy's be hired on at a low pay rate bragging on social media like they the shit, you got the ghetto being hired with no education, young and stupid at fast food restaurant, and people voted 15 wage increase, you killed us all with inflation-cost of food,gas, rent, etc. How do you not turn mentally insane in your fucking head from all this ? Seriously people..

#cryforhelp

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lettersfromthelevant · 11 months

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A shockingly good article from The New York Times, for once. Sums up things pretty well.

Wish we had competent leadership like this right now, instead of a fucking senile coward 😒

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the-firebird69 · 8 days

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Couple other things are happening here and in Charlotte County we have a huge deal it is regarding this guy Trump there are several people that cannot stand him in any way at all one of them is Mac Daddy and he's been telling him to get out and stay out it's not a game for children to screw around with everything and that's kind of what trump does he's a little idiot he told him if I see you bother him one more time I'm putting an execute order on you so of course the idiot doesn't the next few minutes And he came up to Mac Daddy and said did you see it and Matt Daddy said no but I thank you and that one counts. So there's a hit on him and he will die quite a bit and trums a piece of filth. This is a valid execution order and ordered tump remvoed to make the execlution possible.

There are several other things that are going on here and they are huge and important

and they are huge and important

---= There are tons of people in the rings this morning it was 1.4 billion as of right now almost the end of the day 2.5 billion were added to it and by midnight there will be another two billion almost six billion for today no those numbers are gigantic we anticipate tomorrow morning that leadership will probably be at or below 3.5 percent for mac morlock and they will only have their top level leadership here and they will begin becoming absorbed quite rapidly into the rings and they will be severely weakened and there are cities and bunkers of them all and forces in the field will die.

meaning that coming into the rings are people from that These are significant numbers in the rings and it is dangerous there are probably too many going out there. these are also numbers that are representative of their global leadership and tat the ones in the rings are from tht 4.7 percent and troops too but all leadershp has been coming here. and from srgnt up no all ranks but thick with leders about thirty percent per attack. and it is not slowing they are all dying. soon out. nd it is a mean business yes.

further their attitude here is mean delusional and homocideal we come in shortly clear out some more. and hit the tohers they are gross turds mostly sick and dying and senile. we state it in our report no but they do yes. and all of them y es we do stte it. need to.

more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

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bllsbailey · 15 days

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Kremlin Spokesman Dmitry Peskov: Kamala Harris, Democrats Are More Predictable Than Trump

Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov attends a meeting of Russian President and Bahrain’s King at the Kremlin in Moscow on May 23, 2024.

According to Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov, the United States’ Democrat presidential nominee, Kamala Harris, is seen by the Kremlin as a more predictable rival than Republican Donald Trump, but there is no prospect of a better relationship between Russia and Washington, D.C.

Peskov also seemed to brush off the subject after a Russian reporter, Pavel Zarubin, told him Trump’s assertion that if American voters re-elect him back to the White House, he could put an end to the Ukraine-Russia conflict in Ukraine.

Vladimir Putin, the president of Russia, had previously stated that Moscow also favored Joe Biden over Trump due to Biden’s senility, before the former announced his withdrawal from the election in November and gave his support to Harris.

In the interview, Zarubin asked Peskov, while laughing: “Then who is our candidate now!?”

Peskov: “We have no candidate. But, of course, the Democrats are more predictable. And what Putin said about Biden’s predictability applies to almost all Democrats, including Ms. Harris.”

Putin and Peskov have given differing views at different points in time, all the while maintaining that the upcoming election was only an internal matter of the United States. In February, for instance, Putin sarcastically complimented Biden on his predictability while also touching on his poor mental fitness and general lack of suitability for leadership.

Additionally, Putin claimed in June that although Russia “did not care” about the next American president, it was obvious that the legal system was being used as a political weapon against Trump.

In the Sunday interview, Peskov stated that the United States’ actions to “trample on our country’s interests” had gone too far.

Stay informed! Receive breaking news blasts directly to your inbox for free. Subscribe here. https://www.oann.com/alerts

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xtruss · 5 months

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The Vicious Things Republi(Cunts) Have Said About Palestinians Since October 7

“The Costs of Saying Things That are Undeniably and Horrifically Dehumanizing Toward Palestinians are So Low.”

— Prem Thakker | April 4, 2024

Boak Bollocks Senile Oaf Rep. Tim Walberg, R-Michigan, speaks during a House Republicans news conference in the Capitol on December 6, 2023. Photo: Bill Clark/CQ-Roll Call, Inc via Getty Images

Michigan Republi(Cunt) Boak Bollocks Senile Oaf Rep. Tim Walberg recently declared at a town hall that the U.S. “Shouldn’t Be Spending a Dime on Humanitarian Aid,” in Gaza. Instead, he posed, “it should be like Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Get it over quick.”

After the shocking statement went viral, his office tried to soften the blow. It provided a full transcript of Walberg’s comments to CNN, which reported that Walberg had also said that a similar logic could be applied to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. “Defeat Putin quick. Instead [of] 80% in Ukraine being used for humanitarian purposes, it should be 80-100% to wipe out Russia, if that’s what we want to do.”

Walberg then attempted to walk the comment back in a statement, in which he said he was not suggesting that nukes be used to end either war. Yet there’s no denying that he invoked horrifying instances of the U.S. dropping atomic bombs in reference to Gaza — just the latest vicious, warmongering statement by a Republican lawmaker since October 7.

While Walberg’s comments received a fair amount of critical media coverage, the response from his congressional colleagues was muted — underscoring a stark double standard in the public treatment of those who advocate for Palestinian rights, and those who dehumanize them.

Members of Congress like Reps. Rashida Tlaib, D-Mich.; Ilhan Omar, D-Minn.; and Pramila Jayapal, D-Wash., have long been pilloried — and even censured — by their colleagues for speaking out against Israel’s brutal treatment of Palestinians, while the media class has spilled boats-worth of ink on bad-faith interpretations of the progressive Democrats’ statements. Republicans who belittle, or even encourage, Palestinian suffering have typically generated no such equal, let alone proportional, response.

Republican House Speaker Mike Johnson and Democratic House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries did not respond to questions about what party leadership is doing in response to lawmakers’ callous comments about Palestinians, especially as the death toll in Gaza continues to rise.

Yousef Munayyer, a political analyst and senior fellow at the Arab Center Washington DC, noted that the cost of misspeaking — or having comments misconstrued — on Israel is unparalleled.

“The social and political costs of stepping on the taboos of saying anything that could be even possibly misconstrued as antisemitic are so high,” Munayyer told The Intercept. “And yet the costs of saying things that are undeniably and horrifically dehumanizing toward Palestinians are so low. I don’t know of a double standard as extreme as that on any other issue.”

Republi(Cunts’) Hunger For Violence began just days after Hamas’s attack against Israel on October 7. “We are in a religious war here, I’m with Israel,” Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., declared on October 11, in an appearance on Fox News. “Do whatever the hell you have to do to defend yourself. Level the place.” (Graham later said that no amount of civilian casualties in Gaza would prompt him to scrutinize Israel’s conduct.)

Sen. Tom Cotton, R-Ark., echoed Graham’s bloodlust on Fox in mid-October. “As far as I’m concerned, Israel can bounce the rubble in Gaza,” said the senator who famously called for the Trump administration to sic the military on protesters at the height of the George Floyd uprising. “Anything that happens in Gaza is the responsibility of Hamas. Hamas killed women and children in Israel last weekend,” he added. In the months to come, Israel would go on to kill over 25,000 Palestinian women and children.

In the House of Representatives, Republicans have taken glee in fantasizing about Palestinian suffering.

On October 11, Ohio Rep. Max Miller lambasted Tlaib for planting a Palestinian flag outside her congressional office. He refused to recognize Palestine as a state, calling it “a territory that’s about to probably get eviscerated and go away here shortly, as we’re going to turn that into a parking lot.”

A few days later, Miller’s colleague Rep. Brian Mast, R-Fla., took the unusual step of donning the military garb of a foreign country in the halls of the Congress — wearing an Israel Defense Forces uniform he earned while volunteering for the country’s military in 2015. Shortly thereafter, he introduced an amendment that would slow down humanitarian aid to Gaza. “Any assistance should be slowed down — any assistance,” Mast said in a House Foreign Affairs Committee hearing on the bill. “Because I would challenge anybody in here to point to me, which Palestinian is Hamas, and which one is an innocent civilian? … It should absolutely be every effort made to slow down any perceived assistance that’s going there.”

Mast later tripled down. “I would encourage the other side to not so lightly throw around the idea of ‘innocent Palestinian civilians,’ as is frequently said,” Mast said on the House floor. “I don’t think we would so lightly throw around the term ‘innocent Nazi civilians’ during World War II.”

In late January, when asked about the babies Israeli forces have killed in Gaza, Mast responded coldly: “These are not innocent Palestinian civilians.” Confronted with the idea that Israel has destroyed more infrastructure in Gaza than was destroyed in Dresden during World War II, Mast said, “There’s more infrastructure that needs to be destroyed,” repeated the line, and promised “there will be more that gets destroyed.” Finally, he vowed to do everything he could to stop the government from supporting the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees. Mast described the creation of UNRWA as “moronic”; last month, Congress voted to defund the agency for a full year, even as a widespread famine looms over Gaza.

In late February, Tennessee Republican Andy Ogles vilely dismissed protesters who took issue with their taxes going toward killing children.

“I’ve seen the footage of shredded children’s bodies — that’s my taxpayer dollars going to bomb those kids,” a protester said.

“You know what, so, I think we should kill ’em all,” Ogles responded. “If that makes you feel better.”(His spokesperson later claimed to The Tennessean that he “was not referring to Palestinians, he was clearly referring to the Hamas terrorist group.”)

The protesters cited Israeli forces starving women and children, killing over 300 health care workers, and “sniping Christian women in churches” as war crimes. Ogles, however, instead responded only to being called an “AIPAC zombie” with “Death to Hamas.”

In early March, a flustered Rep. Chuck Fleischmann, also of Tennessee, yelled at a Palestinian American protester from Gaza, who has now lost over 100 family members in Israel’s war.

“They are not guilty of genocide,” the Republican said of Israel, which the world’s highest court and a U.S. district court have both said is plausibly committing genocide in Gaza. “You can tell the Palestinians — I will never support them!”

“I am a Palestinian myself,” a protester responded.

“Then I will tell you, I will never support you,” Fleischmann screamed back. “I will tell you to your face: Goodbye to Palestine!”

After Months of this Behavior From Republi(Cunts), not one has been censured by their colleagues, not one has been savaged by the media for days on end, not one been cast as a poster child of the virulent anti-Palestinian racism flowing through American institutions.

Meanwhile, last year, Jayapal was pilloried by Republicans and thrown under the bus by fellow Democrats for suggesting that Israel — which has for decades committed human rights abuses, engaged in land dispossession and home demolition, and maintained separate systems of law and a militarized police state against Palestinians — is a “racist state.”

Jayapal walked back her comments after the pile-on, singling out Benjamin Netanyahu’s government for its racist practices instead. Still, Ogles and his colleagues Randy Weber and Jeff Duncan filed a resolution seeking to censure Jayapal for what they said was antisemitism, though the resolution did not name a single instance of Jayapal saying anything negative about Jewish people.

The attacks were familiar. Tlaib — the only Palestinian member of Congress — was attacked last year for supporting an event raising awareness about the Nakba, the series of events beginning in 1948 that led to the mass displacement of Palestinians. The smears massively escalated as she was censured — with the help of 22 Democrats — in November, after she criticized the Israeli government and called for Palestinian liberation.

Omar, likewise, has been subject to constant scrutiny by her own party for her criticism of Israel, accused of antisemitism for allegedly singling Israel out — even though she has been a consistent critic of other human rights-violating governments, from Saudi Arabia and China to El Salvador and Russia. Those attacks paved the way for Republicans to boot her from the Foreign Affairs Committee last February, after they retook control of the House.

“Democrats too often are willing to go along with what are obviously bad-faith smears against other Democrats, whereas Republicans simply don’t give a shit. And that creates this situation where you can easily bait Democrats into this issue repeatedly,” Munayyer said. “That’s a choice that Democrats are making, and they don’t have to make that choice.”

That’s not to mention the Democrats who have made anti-Palestinian remarks themselves, from Rep. Brad Sherman, D-Ill., accusing a Palestinian American of “trying to kill every Jew,” to Rep. Dan Goldman, D-N.Y., discounting the death toll of children killed in Gaza. Beyond Pennsylvania Sen. John Fetterman’s continued insistence on supporting Israel’s mass civilian killing campaign unconditionally, he has repeatedly dismissed and mocked protesters calling for a ceasefire in Gaza or mobilizing voters against Biden’s Gaza policy.

Lara Friedman, president of the Foundation for Middle East Peace, said that the question of acceptable language on Israel and Palestine often comes down to whether the orator is supportive of Israel or not: “It’s never really about what any of them say.”

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kariachi · 10 months

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How about some Osmosian political stuff? Keeping in mind that a chunk of this is taken from Nix's old Osmosian stuff, because it was good.

The top three ways you get a change of political leadership among Imperial Osmosians (packheads, greater territory holders, the emperor, that shit) outside of people dying of age, illness, and injury.

1- Returning Power

This one is the least... tense of the lot. It's also the least common. Exactly what it sounds like, this is the current political leader stepping aside so that a former holder of the position can retake it. As a general rule this happens when the former leader lost their position for reasons that weren't tied to the job. Stepped down due to an illness or injury from which they've recovered, were snatched up by slavers only to be rescued after being replaced and have since recovered to a point they can take back their position, needed to step away to deal with a traumatic event or leave to fulfill clan obligations that have ended. Shit like that.

As I said, this is the least common one. It's not a circumstance that comes up all that often. Generally if a former leader leaves their position of their own free will they just take the retirement, maybe fill an advisory role. If they didn't leave of their own free will, most either don't recover enough to or prefer not to return to their prior high-stress position. On top of that, even if they desire to return to their position, the current leader isn't actually required to give it back. It's considered an act of kindness to do so, but not one that's necessary or will cause a major drop of standing if you don't go along with it.

2- Abdication

This one is more common and more tense than the prior one, though still not very common, and less violent than the final option.

Abdication isn't the norm among Imperial Osmosians, the intent is that leaders hold their position until their deaths. Other governmental positions don't have this, it's 50:50 whether they keep a position til death or are retired and replaced, but leadership is a lifetime responsibility. Even if somebody starts going senile or isn't capable of actually doing the job anymore, it's expected that they'll leave their successor to do the job while formally maintaining their position.

When you do get abdications is most commonly when a leader with good survival instincts is faced with those beneath them being Done with them. When the writing is on the wall that those under you are no primarily longer in favor of your leadership, the safest bet aside from changing how you do things is to abdicate to your successor- most commonly a younger member of your clan, but on rare occasions one may take on an unrelated successor they don't adopt into the clan. This maintains most of your reputation, acknowledges the thoughts of the people, and immediately shoves all responsibility for whatever mess you've made and any political consequences of it onto somebody else.

It's the safest option for a leader with low approval.

3- Deposition

Also known as 'when voting happens'. (thank you Nix)

When you want a leader gone, and somebody is willing to take the chance, anybody is free to challenge them for their position. Well, any adult is free. But it's not a decision to make lightly. A challenger needs to gain the approval of a majority of those who will be voting for who takes the position.

Who these individuals are varies with the position, but is easiest broken down into 'the category directly below said position'. The exception being the role of Emperor, where all political and clan leaders centered within the borders of the Empire have the right to send a representative to the vote. Greater Territory Holders will be voted for by the Packheads and Clanheads residing in the greater territory. Packheads will be voted for by the adult residents of their territories and/or packs.

The challenge is made, cases are made, the voting is done.

During the voting, the current and prospective leader engage in ritual combat, overseen by their clanheads (or singular clanhead, if it's a deposition from within a clan) who are the only ones not allowed a vote no matter the circumstances, and a local religious leader acting as a neutral referee. This doesn't actually affect anything, it's just a remnant of pre-Imperial cultures where a challenge for position was solved with a test of combat power. The ritual combat isn't intended to do any real harm to either party, hence the referees- who are allowed to use whatever force is necessary to ensure both survive the fight- but is traditional.

When the voting is finished the combat is halted. The competitors are brought before the crowd, the winner of the vote is revealed. Said winner is brought to the side where medical care and food are waiting.

The loser is promptly killed and eaten by the crowd.

Greater Territory Holders often- and the Imperial Clan always- are centered in what is essentially a pack-less Clan Territory, which they lose upon deposition of the clan. This leaves them forced to move to new territory, often placing their new Clan Territory within the territory of a pack. In the case of the Imperial Clan, due to the clan giving up their name upon taking the position they're left with no name and no social standing as a clan, essentially forcing them to start over from scratch.

As a result of the above, it's commonplace for challengers to be granted bodyguards by their allies to prevent assassination. In cases where a leader is disliked by their neighbors as well, other Packheads or Greater Territory Holders may even send bodyguards themselves.

When it comes to challenges for the Empire things are even intense- military guard is arranged with a price of death should the challenger die while under military guard. Aullo put some rules in place the shit Clen pulled maintaining power and centuries of aggravation at Caelsia not doing so.

#osmosians

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