#Frump Leader

[isawthismeme]

[lolotheparagon]

What Each G3 Pony Thinks of Scarecrow

Scootaloo: HES THE BEST!! He’s super scary, super smart, super cool and just SUPER EVERYTHING! I was the only pony out of my friends who liked scary stuff so I’m so psyched to have a friend I have something in common with! And to think this all started from me making a wish for a live scarecrow. We both try to scare people on the street which is really easy for me cos for some reason, I scare everyone in Gotham. Mr Crane says it’s because they can’t comprehend talking ponies. Weird. Anyway, Mr Crane may be a grump, but I bet having seven ponies to look after must be pretty hard. He always makes time for me though! He says I’m his no 1 henchpony and calls me Ragnarök! Which means natural disasters or something. Either way it’s cool! He’s the best boss ever and I hope he likes this new butterfly bomb I came up with!

Cheerilee: I thought he was a stinky old man at first, but we’ve got a lot more in common than I thought! For a scarecrow, he’s actually very smart! Which is strange, cos I thought scarecrows have no brains. Well, that shows what I know! Mr Crane has taught me loads of subjects like psychology, complex math and biology. Ponyville’s library doesn’t have any knowledge like this. It is a little hard to wrap my head around at times but it is worth it to rub it in Scoot’s face hehe. Mr Crane would make a very good teacher, if he didn’t look like a stitched up skeleton

Rainbow Dash: I know he doesn’t get my love of fashion and that’s totes understandable. He’s old. I mean have you SEEN that cloak?! Major frump alert! And pee-uw! does his breath stink! But he’s cool, as long as you don’t put him in a bad mood. But that won’t stop me from putting him in a dress! He is long overdue for a makeover!

Pinkie Pie: I don’t know if he’s our boss or our dad but either way, it’s nice to have someone to look up to. I may be the leader of my friends, but Im still a pony. So I can always rely on Mr Crane for advice. But he has a very weird sense of what’s right and wrong and I’m gonna criticise the heck out of that! I’ve never seen Mr Crane laugh, but when he does, it’s nice to see! But he’s never happy regularly when he’s around us. Sometimes I don’t know if he likes us very much… I try to cheer him up with a surprise party, but Mr Crane doesn’t like parties. Says they’re too loud. Doesn’t like the colour pink either. He does save us from Riddler’s bullying and protects us from people in Gotham throwing stuff at us, he’s very polite and says he “likes” us. So thats good!

Sweetie Belle: He can be a bit mean and grumpy but I think he’s very nice deep down. After all, he gives us toys, trips to the funfair and ice cream if we’re good! He also gave us such funny nicknames! I’m Pesticide! It’s also funny how he struggles to say our normal names without making a grumpy face! Haha Mr Crane is the funniest boss ever! Although I don’t get his whole scaring people thing with fear. I’m pretty sure he can scare people with how he looks already

Toola Roola: Its amazing how a scarecrow can be both magic and be really smart! He looks very scary but I guess that’s his job, isn’t it? And it kinda makes sense where he comes from. Gotham is a very gloomy place. Aw, I bet he misses it a little after being in Ponyville for so long. Maybe I’ll paint him a nice graveyard with lots of crows on it. That’ll cheer him up!

Starsong: You can tell he’s an old man cos he doesn’t know what TikTok is. Although it is so worth it cos his dancing is so silly, heehee! Good thing our babysitter whenever we visit Gotham, Barbara Gordon, knows all about TikTok and loves our dances! She has a beautiful singing voice! Oh yeah, we were talking about Mr Crane. Well, the only dancing he likes is the St Vitus’ dance. Why would a dance be named after a saint? That doesn’t sound very groovy…Mr Crane’s really weird.

Here is part 1.

[witchofthesouls]

This was a weird crossover thought, but hey, it’s a rare pair:

Grandmama Frump has no idea how, what, when, and where the ancient grimoire had dumped her, nor the spellwork that pushed her into a metal body, but the entrails did say she will be on quite a transformative journey. Meets up with the DJD by intercepting on their List. Not her fault if the mechs were stupid enough to bother her and joins them after admiring their skills. Grandmama Frump and Vos would get along like fire on a gasoline-soaked body.

She can fully appreciate a being that can fully transform into a sniper rifle. Granny Frump prefers to go down and bloody close to the target, so she tries to convince him to get a bayonet attachment.

Nothing says romance than a personal stab, together.

Just as nothing says “I love you” so much to an Addams than causing chaos, mayhem, and murder with a partner, especially if they could literally use their partner. How intimate…

Vos and Grandmama would croon sweet nothings full of murderous intentions to each other. Unfortunately, they do all the time, especially during meals.

No one understands what the hell they’re saying since they’re speaking in the respective dead language of Primal Vernacular and Ancient French. Except for Tarn… and he’s dying from the horniness.

The leader of the DJD feels beyond uncomfortable, but Tarn can’t turn away when Granny climbs into Vos’ lap, face to face as she steadies herself with his shoulders. The romantic locked deep in his untouched spark practically swoons as Granny tenderly cradles Vos’ mask and simultaneously recoils from what Vos purrs back.

There are some things a mech is not meant to know. Please stop playing with the ruffles and seams of her armor.

Actually, everyone is dying from the horniness. They may not understand, but even the blind mech could feel that raw tension.

There’s many strange sounds in Vos' habsuite. It’s screaming. A lot of screaming. Not of terror. Sometimes agony, but it’s mixed with pleasure. With laughter. High and demented that leaves scratches over a brain module, like rusted nails shoved deep into a helm.

Once it stops, the door opens to dreamy Frump swaying to invisible music as she heads to the shower rack.

The way she moves is reminiscent to the artistic bodily freedom of the Golden Age music underground and the famed courtesans of the High Towers and Primal Palace: strangely sensual and oddly provocative in its fluid grace of free-form steps and twirls. The armor she uses doesn’t help, it sways to her movement.

Vos, in berth and completely enraptured, watches on, smoking a cygar.

Tarn and Kaon gives him hell for it since the ship has designated smoking areas and the communication officer hates the smell leaking to his hab.

Grandmama had commandeered the kitchen and refuses to let anyone else into it. Not even if it causes the fire alarms and toxicity sensors to blare. She has it well in hand, sonny! There are at least three cauldrons always on the flames from a sweet simmer to furiously frothing to the point the lid will become a deadly projectile. The smell can be absolutely delightful or completely atrocious -far, far worse than Tesarus not properly deep-cleaning his most inward blades.

Tarn has no idea if Granny Frump is trying to kill them by an obvious poisoning attempt since whatever she heaved over to the shared table is... ghastly vibrant with a sludge-like consistency. And possibly in its dying throes as she smacks the cauldron insides with a spiked ladle. And he’s absolutely not imagining that muted shriek-

Between Nickel’s medical programs, Tesarus’ ununtrium-coated tank, and Helex’s ability to heat his own internals to a deadly scorch to kill everything, they can take on whatever malice she wields.

Luckily, there’s the usual Energon dispenser in the mess hall, but Tarn can only watch in mute horror as everyone else eats it, even the Pet enjoys it.

Helex and Tesarus wolf down over half the cauldron with large doses of aluminum flakes and cobalt swirls. Kaon eventually switches to the dispenser, but only because the smell overrides the lovely taste. Vos eats his extra blended portion with a straw. Even Nickel is in on it: sipping on her bowl with a side of boron biscuits.

He is not the weird one. He is not-

[thecrispykoala]

The Addams Family as PowerRangers.

Gomez is the BlackRanger.

Morticia is the BlackRanger cause Obvy.

Pugzly can be the BlackRanger.

Wednesday should be the BlackRanger but I think she’d be best as the BlackRanger.

UncleFester is 100% the BlackRanger.

Thing is the WhiteRanger.

Lurch will be the teams Mascot or what ever it’s called.

Granny Frump will be the at base TeamLeader till she gets kidnapped or whatever and Gomez becomes the official leader as the new BlackRanger.

in their snoods

[peonycats]

Oooh how abt miss kenya?

I couldn’t find a meme for her so have this old drawing of miss kenya shdfjkjskfjsdjkb

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life

alighnment: goth | prep | nerd | jock

best quality: She’s very confident and self-assured! She’s quick to seize the opportunity and take a leadership role, and does make for a good leader! For the most part, she plays the role of a responsible and beneficent leader well, taking no nonsense and striving for efficiency (even if her neighbors may chafe at her always acting like she speaks for all East Africans)

worst quality: MMMMMM prbly her pragmatic nature clashing with the ideals she espouses. She is a smart player, and can make almost any situation benefit her in the end. However, not necessarily for other people... For that reason, many complain that she’s quite the hypocrite. Her tendency to be patronizing towards the rest of east africa is also... questionable

ship them with: Uganda (mmmm kinda? On one hand I love the dynamic of the more outgoing chick with the more reserved man but on the other hand he’s also very very wary of the power imbalance between them)

brotp them with: Uganda, Tanzania (she’s a big sis figure to tanzania but the two clash a lot, not only in disposition, but Tanzania is much more idealistic), Rwanda, Ghana (both see themselves at the leader/representatives of their respective corners of africa so they get along well!), South Sudan, India, Pakistan

(disclaimer, just because i put a ship here doesn’t mean i dislike it or don’t like seeing the charas together!!) needs to stay away from: Somalia (👁👄👁), Ethiopia (he’s too much of an old frump for her liking), england tbh

misc. thoughts: She buys a bunch of jewelry for her friends, especially south sudan. Will never be caught dead in an ugly outfit. Very athletic, and exercises frequently; you’ll prbly see her running almost every morning! Loves loves eating meat!! England once tried to marry her to Uganda when decolonization was underway and both of them were very much against it. Knows almost all the tea going around in East Africa.

[cribb4eva]

Trump ft. Beauty and the Beast au

A Retelling of

The Beauty and the Beast

AND THE WALL THAT BROUGHT THEM TOGETHER

featuring

·         Donald Frump as the majority stakeholder of BeautyTM

·         J Jenkins, better known as the Beast, a professional competitive eater

(HENCEFORTH REFERRED TO AS B&B)

[A/n - as I write this I hear the two loudly arguing about the moniker.

Beast: “I like it. It goes a long way to show how we truly united.”

Beauty: “Covfefe”]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time there lived an immensely wealthy merchant in a lavish home the likes of which the world had never seen (and god willing would never see again). As the rich are prone to do when bored, he bred in his spare time. As the result, the monstrosity he called his home witnessed a flowering of horses, ducks and wailing human children, and Monsieur (because Frump was a fan of the French) Frump had to overcome the first hurdle of parenthood – the naming ceremony. We can safely assume he did not do very well, as one of his (many, many) children and (equally numerous) ducks ended up with the same name – a lovely, well rounded ‘Donald’. Pause now, and witness this wonder of the world, both Donalds have illustrious careers ahead of them- one immortalized on the silver screen along with his various animal friends, who he loved to take the mickey out of, and the other, human version immortalized thanks to the work of your very own writer of this tale.

We move now to the future, an older Donald the Human greets us, spewing pearls of wisdom ( à la the classic fairy-tale Toads and Diamonds, pardon my old fangled references) while Donald the Duck, sailor’s cap et all is sadly, dust in the wind. To make my point, let me grace you, dear reader, with some of his (earth shattering, epoch defining) words - "I will build a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will have Mexico pay for that wall. Mark my words." One could say he had delusions of grandiloquence.

Ah, but this Wall is to play a role in the tale, as all great dreams begin with a dreamer, to borrow from Madam Tubman, who will no doubt be distinctly displeased at my using said quote for said human. What one needs to remember then, is that the human Donald had grown up into his name, and now (very un-ironically) owned Beauty Corp.TM, the premier destination for exploiting societal expectations of beauty for women and turning a profit, and its subsidiary, Miss Whole-Goddamn-Universe, where Donald the human, whom we shall now refer to as Mr. Frump, would fulfil his yearly quota of ogling at women and generally making everyone uncomfortable. In a sentence, Mr. Frump owned BeautyTM, and if that bit of irony doesn’t make your day better, I’m afraid the dark side has won you over.

The wheel of time turns, kicks up the gravel on the road, and leaves dust in its wake. Circumstances change. For it just so happened that Frump the senior had to leave his monstrous home to bring down the economy of a small third world country, and this parting from his brood brought much sorrow. “What shall I bring for you” he cried, tears flowing down his cheeks thanks to dust allergies caused by the afore mentioned wheel of time. In a chorus of “drones!” “A small spaceship!” and “the Kohinoor!” young Donald’s “a wall” claimed the heart of his sire.

Thus Frump senior began his long and arduous journey to the third world country, his pain exacerbated by the fact that the airline did not offer first class passage. His return found his joy dulled, for while he had successfully managed to oust the leader, and scam them , the country still retained the rights over its own resources, and in his fatigue, he forget about the promises he had made to his children. Presently he remembered those promises and went about fulfilling them; a quick text to his friend Geoff Pesos of Amazing Inc. would take care of the easier demands. A wall would prove to be more daunting, and in his desperation he directed his goons to the first wall he saw and told them to take it apart and bring it to Donald.

Alas for Mr. Frump that the wall belonged to one J. JENKINS, COMPETITIVE EATER EXTRAORDINAIRE, with a social media presence to rival even that of the most venerated reality television stars. Now Jenkins was a simple bloke. He lived to eat and not the other way around. His online persona The Beast would have gotten along excellently with Monsieur Frump on any other day, given that both were paragons of Western gluttony.

However, as one might assume, Jenkins did not take kindly to thugs tearing down a wall of his house (who would have thought?). And as is the norm, Jenkins threatened an expose, which as we know, is universally accepted as the Truth, which Mr. Frump, slayer of third world countries could not risk at present. As diamond cuts diamond, so does social media prove to be a wonderful defence against Mr. Frump’s team of lawyers( who took great pride in being called sharks and endeavoured to live up to the name by looking more and more like the watery predators). I have said before, and I will say again, nothing beats the threat of public embarrassment, as Frump Senior would find out unless he agreed to bring Donald the human to the abode of one J. Jenkins and apologise. Jenkins was a traditionalist and believed in punishing the son for the sins of the father.

For the purpose of this tale, let us assume that both Frumps, junior and senior are unable to pay off the wily Jenkins and scowling, go out to meet him- “But daddy, it's really cold outside, they are calling it a major freeze, weeks ahead of normal. Man, we could use a big fat dose of global warming!”

The Beast, as Jenkins was known, had grand plans for Mr. Frump junior, who was well known around the globe for his previously mentioned making-women-uncomfortable activities. The Beast also had a secret. His WeTube sponsors had threatened to withdraw, following his ‘I ate a bat for breakfast’ video which they believed would not be taken well since it had been a mere ten months after the outbreak of the MorBid 19 pandemic. He needed to pull something so amazingly outrageous, so steadfastly loony, and so horrifically absurd so as to make the ramifications of his previous video null and void. And along came Frump junior, funny how fate functions. Rarely had the world witnessed such serendipity; the solution dropped into the lap of a mortal with such ease.

Thus was born the idea of a video titled- ‘The Famous Mr. Frump Eats Healthy For A Week, Shocker I Know’. Cue the gasps of amazement, the astonishment of the netizens; for if there was a thing Mr. Frump was even better known for, it was his absolute detestation for anything green and fibrous. God forbid you utter the word healthy around him, while the N word (nutri****) had to be censored to avoid the inevitable hissy fits.

And so Jenkins convinced Frump junior to pay off his father’s debt by living with him for a week, to record the challenge (which would go on to be featured in WeTube’s yearly Rewind, and thus achieve digital stardom). Needless to say, Donald’s siblings were decidedly not pleased, for there are those in this world who envy a fellow human even a chance of dodgy WeTube fame.

Donald dithered, and as per usual, couldn’t make up his mind. In the end, he had to return to the Beast, for the Frump Empire was still very much open to the criticism of said WeTube star and animosity due to his demolished wall. Thus the Wall brought the owner of BeautyTM to the Beast, who had been languishing at the thought of having to make a living once his sponsors cut him off.

Cue dramatic reunion, a week of healthy eating that changed their lives, for the Beast repented his ways and decided that perhaps wasting food in a hungry world was in bad taste (pun intended), and the owner of BeautyTM realised that perhaps there was something to be said for actually focusing on what goes in the body rather than what is slapped on outside.

When you thing of their future, think of a viral WeTube video. Think of a new WeTube channel called B&B. Here we end our tale, and they lived (how long I cannot say, for I am no seer).

[unrighteousbooks]

Groundwork

The front door of the shop has been locked for weeks now. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that I was not alone.

I've known for years that there was a peculiar metal hatch in the basement floor. I had tried to open it once, but it seemed to have been locked from the other side, and I gave it no more thought. I assumed that it was some sort of access opening for one of the many old utility tunnels beneath the city.

This morning, I heard a loud banging from the basement, followed by a long, metallic screech: The sound of rusty hinges opening after decades of neglect.

With some hesitation, I made my way down the stairs. Sure enough, in the far corner of the basement, a man in a miner's helmet was sitting on the floor, with his legs dangling down into the open hatch. A red bandana was wrapped around his face, covering his mouth and nose, as if he were some sort of underground desperado.

He looked up and saw me, the light atop the helmet shining into my eyes. The first thing he said was: "Not Tibet, right?"

"No," I replied.

"Tadfield?"

I shook my head.

"Atlantis?"

"You're being quite foolish. This is Chicago."

"Really?" he said. He switched off the light. "Well, that's not what I expected. Hard to keep track down there. And the distances! They never make sense. Did you know that Nepal is only a five-minute walk from Piccadilly Circus?"

"I am quite certain that is not correct."

He shrugged. "If you take the right tunnel, it's true." He took the helmet off and set it down on the floor beside him. "Mind if I sit and rest for a few minutes? Lots of walking in this job. Hang on." He dropped down into the opening and emerged a moment later, holding a shovel which he laid across his lap. "Never want to be too far from my shovel," he added. "Anyway... tough job. Very tiring."

"And what exactly is your job?" I asked.

"Officially, I'm a digger. You can call me Digger Dave. Truthfully, I don't do much actual digging these days, but that's still what they call me. It's my job to follow the tunnels and map them. See what we can learn from the Tibetans."

"The Tibetans?"

He nodded. "They're the ones who built the tunnel system. Well, at least, that's what we think. Some people say they were made by the Atlanteans. People from Atlantis, that is. Seems ridiculous to me."

Yes, I thought, much more ridiculous than the idea that it was the Tibetans who made the tunnel which goes from my bookstore to Piccadilly Circus and then to Nepal.

When I said nothing, he continued. "It's a lot of work, but it beats the hell out of my last job."

"And what was your last job?" I asked.

He looked from side to side, as if he were suddenly worried that we might not be alone. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Definitely."

His voice became a whisper. "I worked for the National Security Agency. I came up with code names."

"Code names?"

"Yeah," he said. "For government operations. Like 'Desert Storm,' or 'Rolling Thunder,' or 'Operation Urgent Fury.' I wasn't the one who came up with those, but you get the idea. My job was to name secret projects. It was so frustrating. I came up with some great names, but someone higher up -- I'm not going to say who -- someone higher wanted to use his own names for everything. Completely ignored the names we came up with, and used his own." He shook his head in irritation. "The real problem, in the grand scheme of things, was that he never took any advice from the intelligence services. He ignored all kinds of critical problems, and had his own bizarre ideas for operations he wanted us to work on. And the names he insisted on using added insult to injury. There was Operation Greatest Leader Ever. There was Operation Stable Genius. And Project Miracle-a-Lago, and Operation Believe Me Mine Is Huge, and Operation No One Has Ever Been Richer Than Me. And you know what else? What he really wanted to do was to use his own name. He wanted to slap his own name on absolutely everything. Obviously, for national security reasons, I can't tell you what his name was, but let's pretend it was Arnold Frump. It took weeks for his aides to get him to understand that if he used his own name, it really wasn't a code. Otherwise we would have had Operation Frump Hero, Operation Frump Goes Bigly, Operation High Stakes Frump..."

Digger Dave lifted the shovel and held it in front of him, staring at it in silence. When he spoke again, there was gratitude in his voice. "Thank heaven for this. This was always what got me through the tough times back at Third Street School, and it's what saves my sanity now. When the tunnel tracing job opened up, I put in for a transfer. Everybody knew I was well-qualified."

With that, he put his helmet back on. "I should probably get back to work. These tunnels aren't going to map themselves." As he descended into the opening, he looked at me one last time. "You know what's nice? Now I can make up code names for my own work. You can't predict where these tunnels lead, so at first I thought I'd call it Convoluted Matrix. Then I realized that what I'm doing isn't just about the tunnels. It's part of something larger. So I came up with a perfect name."

"And what is that?" I asked.

The wrinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes told me that he was grinning behind the red bandana. "Operation Groundwork," he said. He disappeared into the tunnel and pulled the hatch closed behind him.

[theliberaltony]

via FiveThirtyEight

Bernie Sanders is a famous, successful loser.

When he announced his run for the Democratic nomination in April 2015, Sanders trailed Hillary Clinton in the polls by nearly 57 percentage points. By spring of 2016, some polls showed him within single digits. Sanders was no longer an obscure senatorial frump from Vermont — he was a bona fide political phenomenon whose primary success embodied the Democratic Party’s leftward drift.

But 2020 is not 2016. Sanders kicked-off his 2020 run early on Tuesday, and as he navigates his second presidential primary, he’ll need to prove he can build on his past success, not coast on his 2016 coalition.

Sanders enters the 2020 race not as an underdog but as a Democratic Socialist leader of the pack; an early Iowa poll showed him commanding 19 percent of the vote of likely caucusgoers, second only to former Vice President Joe Biden. Sanders comes to the race with the high name recognition that many candidates in the crowded field lack, and with a glossy pelt hanging off his political belt: the grassroots movement that propelled him to unexpected heights in 2016.

While many 2020 contenders will spend the early days of their campaigns conveying just what sort of candidate they would be and delicately trying to signal what kinds of voters they think they appeal to, Sanders is already a known quantity. In a recent YouGov poll, only 16 percent of respondents said they didn’t know what they thought of him, compared with 38 percent who said the same of Kamala Harris and 29 percent who didn’t know what to think of Elizabeth Warren. Engaged Democratic voters will know that Sanders’s brand is populist — free college, $15 minimum wage, “Medicare for all” — and polemical. The senator’s early charm in 2016 seemed to lie in his harangues against an unmitigated free-market system and the need for political revolution. In the age of President Trump, many Democrats might be looking for a pure-of-heart angry warrior figure in their candidate — someone with a distinct brand of politics that hasn’t been formed solely in reaction to the president. Sanders certainly is that.

We know who was attracted to that kind of candidate in the last Democratic primary. In 2016, Sanders outperformed Clinton with young voters and voters who live in more rural places. He won primaries in states with sizable white populations like Michigan and Wisconsin — states that Clinton went on to lose in the general election to Trump. In the months and years following Clinton’s loss to Trump, Democrats have debated ways to win back this disillusioned group. Sanders could hold some appeal to those Obama-Trump voters given his primary performance in upper Midwest states and the fact that he did well with independents.

While Clinton won the 2016 primary by a substantial number of votes — more than 3 million — it’s safe to say the Democratic Party has gone through a bout of soul searching over the past couple of years. Voters who might have dismissed Sanders during the 2016 primary could well have come around to him in the interim. A Gallup survey found that 2016 was the first year in which Democrats felt more positively about socialism than they did about capitalism — Sanders’s message might well have seeped in. Another potential strength is his proven track record of attracting small-dollar donations. Sanders raised more than $100 million from donors giving less than $200 during the 2016 run, and in the 2020 campaign era, in which candidates are eschewing PAC money, that donor base is powerful.

Small donors gave big to Sanders

The five 2018 U.S. Senate candidates who raised the largest share of their donations from small donors as of Nov. 1, 2018

Candidate Party State Share of Contributions From Small Donors Bernie Sanders I Vermont 77%

–

Elizabeth Warren D Massachusetts 56

–

Corey Stewart R Virginia 50

–

Beto O’Rourke D Texas 46

–

Geoff Diehl R Massachusetts 45

–

Source: Federal Election Commission via Center for Responsive Politics

Sanders also may have a leg up in early primary states like Iowa and New Hampshire, where all-important local activists play an outsized role in building candidate momentum. Sanders knows them, and he won’t have to do as much as others to build up grassroots support.

But Sanders’s 2016 success could also be the makings of his greatest 2020 challenge. When he entered the race in 2015, it was in large part to push his progressive left ideas. Other politicians picked up on the fact that Democratic voters liked the big ideas that Sanders was selling, and now the 2020 field is packed with contenders who are campaigning on platforms similar to his 2016 campaign. Sanders’s 2017 “Medicare for all” bill became something of a litmus test for those senators considering a 2020 run — Kamala Harris, Cory Booker, Kirsten Gillibrand and Elizabeth Warren all signed on as co-sponsors. Even Clinton acknowledged the appeal in her campaign memoir, “What Happened”: “I have a new appreciation for the galvanizing power of big, simple ideas. I still think my health care and college plans were more achievable than Bernie’s and that his were fraught with problems, but they were easier to explain and understand, and that counts for a lot.”

This means the progressive-left lane in 2020 is quite a bit more crowded than it was in 2016, which is a problem for Sanders, albeit a problem that stems from his own success. Warren is perhaps his most direct ideological competition — she’s been a critic of American capitalism for decades, though unlike Sanders, she still calls herself a capitalist and a Democrat. She also hired his 2016 Iowa caucus director — inside baseball to be sure, but it’s worth paying attention to the campaigns Democratic operatives choose to work for this early on.

Another potential complexifier for Sanders is that many Democrats appear to be prioritizing “electability” over ideology in 2020. A Monmouth University poll found that 56 percent of Democrats or Democratic-leaning independents wanted a candidate who will perform well against Trump, even if they disagree with that person on most issues. What electability actually means in this context is quite vague, but if it becomes a proxy for a centrist candidate palatable to swing voters, Sanders might be out of luck. Or, even if voters decide that “electable” means more left, Sanders could lose out to new faces trying to sell their pragmatic progressivism — Harris, Warren or potential candidate Beto O’Rourke. We might be wise not to discount voters’ affinity for these new, shiny candidates: 59 percent of respondents in a recent USA Today/Suffolk University poll said they would be interested in “someone entirely new” as their nominee. Forty-one percent of those polled said Sanders shouldn’t even run again.

Sanders also would need to work to improve his performance with black voters, a crucial demographic in the Democratic primary.

In 2016, Clinton and Sanders split the white vote, but she did better among black voters overall, though young black voters trended toward Sanders. 2020 will likely be a whole different ballgame when it comes to courting the black vote. The field has two top-tier contenders who are black — Harris and Booker — and Joe Biden could hold some appeal given that he served as vice president under Barack Obama.

And then there is the matter of allegations of sexual harassment and gendered pay inequity that have been leveled against the Sanders campaign itself. Women who worked for the candidate in 2016 said there was a lack of accountability on the campaign when it came to the harassment, and Sanders’s initial response to the reporting was that he had been unaware of the allegations. “I was little bit busy running around the country trying to make the case,” he said. “If I run, we will do better next time.” Sanders issued a more full-throated apology via Twitter days later, but the allegations have served to compound the impression that there were whiffs of sexism swirling around the Sanders campaign and its supporters. “Bernie bros,” as some male supporters of Sanders came to be called, were sometimes blamed for sexist online attacks on Clinton.

[arandomcoyote]

I remember Heartstone streamers and how there was a streamer named Trump (unrelated to the racist cheeto) and the "meme" circa 2014~2015 was chats spamming "tuck frump" and it lasted until 2016 because gamers decided they rather be white nationalists instead and saying that would attack and offend their supreme leader

[ivyglow]

The tweet isn’t pro trump to me. That’s pro we have to hope whoever our president is can not fuck up. I didn’t and would never vote or support frump especially as a human. But I still hoped he would come to his senses and be a good leader until we could get his fucking ass out of there. He never was but to me you still have to hope.

I’m not answering these anymore

and btw as I answered in the end of the other ask (there’s tons of things of him supporting tr*mp, if you’re not convinced go search by yourself and you’ll see, if you don’t want to search and live in dream land where ppl support tr*mp just bc he was elected than good luck and goodbye)

[isawthismeme]

[imagexshirtsblog]

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Thank you for explaining yourself. Living in us I confess I’m not real familiar with Canadian politics. The problem is most people who praise a career politician for being PC, handsome, etc are usually less interested and less informed about politics. Is Humanity Dead in India? When Sushant Singh Rajput will get justice? How could you ignore this? You do realize he would be actually impeached if he was President Of USA but in Canada, it’s only a “mistake” 3rd time. actually, I'm fairly certain you were describing frump right there. As an American and not someone hailing from "'Merikka," I would HAPPILY trade you, leaders. As you might have heard, impeachment does not mean removal from office in the US. Give it up. He's not perfect. But he is SO MUCH BETTER than our orange buffoon! Yes, really. We in the U.S. are praying for the day that his jumpsuit matches his face.

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[curvedroygbiv]

as much as i want to see someone like warren as president, I also want to have a conversation about what it is going to to take to lay a ground work that a woman president isn’t immediately glass-cliffed. Obama wasn’t perfect, but OMG the whining and complaining and finger pointing. I can’t help but feel that some of this resentment that’s simmering under the surface at the moment was fueled by the fact that a black man had the gall to sit in the sacred seat of power. If we’re already facing this kind of anti-feminist backlash, what foundation must we lay beforehand to not only get a woman president in the first place, but also to ensure that the majority of lawmakers who are men don’t immidiately dig their heels and blame her for everything that goes wrong during their tantrum? how do we balance holding a very human and flawed leader accountable while also giving her the support she needs to not be come a poster child for “women don’t belong in politics?”. I saw so many people trying to make the argument that “racism is over” the moment obama took office; people are already trying to pretend like no one ever oppressed women, how to we keep this from being another step back. 

Somewhere out there is the first woman president of the US, but for average frumps like me, what kind of grassroots can we plant to clear her path?

Warren would have done 300% more for working class women and children in the US with the same approximate amount of posturing bullshit as Biden

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[kmp78]

Still tweeting from Concerts.  In Paris it was to the French President. JTC, like any of these leaders are going to pay attention to a C-list clown.  Even Frump would eye roll… *** 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 Wtf is he even "asking" here?! "Save us, Emmanuel!" Yeah just tweet out pathetic and random wishes... Peace in the Middle East might be a good follow-up! God what an idiot... (http://kmp78.tumblr.com/post/147887250529/disclaimer-and-rules)

[rainbowunicornpoppies]

A New Chapter of All the Way is here!

Chapter Three

As Cassian and Jyn recover in this strange new world, the captain grapples both the worry of where they might be alongside the amazing possibilities of a new life, one that just might have Jyn in it...

Read it on AO3 here or after the cut!

Perhaps it was the fact that he was being fed consistently for the first time in god knows how long, and they every face that came into see him only ever wanted to help him, but Cassian Andor was actually starting to like his time in this hospital. He wasn't ever going to admit it of course, least of all to himself, but every day that he woke up, opened his eyes and realised that he was still in the hospital he allowed himself just a few moments of relaxation knowing that it was incredibly unlikely that anyone here was out to kill him.

Then he saw the tubes in his arms and the loose hospital gown that hung around him and he remembered that he wasn't a guest in a plush hotel but a stranger in a world that Jyn had yet to place.

She would come to see him at least twice a day, three times sometimes, and she'd always sneak over some items in her pockets. Chocolate shells coated in sugar, gummed sweets that got stuck in his teeth and drinks tasting so sweet that they conjured up memories he thought he had forgotten from back in the days when he had living relatives. Perhaps it was the candy, perhaps it was the joy of Jyn's company, but Cassian had never laughed more than when he sat up in his awkward hospital bed opposite Jyn, her legs crossed underneath her as she sucked orange juice from a carton.

That was another thing too, Cassian realised. There were different Basic words here for things that were otherwise familiar. Oranges, sweets, chocolate...

He snapped back into the present as he remembered Jyn was talking to him. She often talked just about the hospital: the nurses, doctors, the layout of the building, but today -

"The doctors," he heard her say. "They were asking me all sorts of questions today, where I grew up, if I had any difficult experiences, that kind of thing. They seemed... they seemed concerned."

He frowned, popping a candy into his mouth.

"Concerned?" he said. "Concerned how?"

"They said -" Jyn lowered her voice. "They said they couldn't find me on any kind of register."

"Well of course," said Cassian, lowering his tone to match hers. "Only makes sense."

"And those they have screens telling the news," Jyn continued. Cassian had heard her mention those before. Televisions.

"They were talking about some famous singer in hospital yesterday. It's all they were talking about," she said between sips. "But today they were talking about some summit, Gee-8 or something, said it was to do with to do with their world leaders. We're in a country called the United Kingdom."

Cassian raised his eyebrows.

"That's an optimistic country name," he said. "Are they as United as they say?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "But I think this United Kingdom is in Europe and they call this planet Earth. They were mentioned something called global warming..."

The words baffled Cassian. Again with the Basic that seemed so alien and yet so familiar!

"But is there the Empire?" he said. "Any Rebellion?"

The look on Jyn's face - both distressed and angry for being so - made Cassian's heart ache for reasons he could not quite understand.

"I don't know," she said, her voice slipping from informative to exhasperated. "I keep hearing references to this man called - oh, what was it, Clump, Frump - well, this man that people keep calling awful but as far as I know there's no Darth anything in sight."

This news, while it should have assured Cassian, instead unsettled him for the lack of knowledge they still had about this new world. The enemy he knew about he could deal with, the enemy he didn't even know existed... that was another matter.

There was a rap on the door and a nurse poked his head in.

"Miss Erso?" he said. "Shall we head back now?"

Jyn squeezed Cassian's hand quickly and gave him a look which he had recently been able to read easily: I'll find out more. We'll be safe, don't worry.

Cassian worried anyway.

When she was gone he leant back in his bed and allowed his mind to wander. The ultimate fantasy, the ultimate possibility was that they had woken up somewhere new: a new world - no, universe - where nothing either of them had ever known existed. No Empire, no Rebellion, no pain, no loss, just a clean slate to move forward. But this possibility was so beautiful, so improbable that Cassian had thus far pushed it out of his mind.

Yet as he lay back on his pillow at present Cassian began to entertain ideas of what he might do if this new world really was just as he dreamed. Perhaps he would find a way to get a small house, him and Jyn. Did this world have money? Oh yes, she had mentioned there was. Pounds, she had called them. And perhaps they would start a farm or something, she mentioned her parents had done that. But what would he do? He didn't know. A spy spent so much time dreaming up different identities and motivations and yet when it came to himself... no, perhaps he'd do something where he'd get to work with children. He hadn't had a childhood. If he could give a childhood to other kids... yes. Yes, he'd like that.

He wasn't sure if Jyn would want to start up a farm though. The more he thought about it the more he realised that she surely wouldn't want to live a life so quiet when she had this whole new world at her feet. A new world where she could be anything... and then a thought struck him. She could be anything, do anything. Who's to say she'd want to do that with him around? If there was no Empire, no Rebellion, she didn't have to have him around any more...

For some reason the thought made him squirm in the pit of his stomach, in such a manner that made him feel sick. But in a moment of saving grace there was another knock on his door.

A woman in a black uniform, all suited up with a fixed smile on her face, looked through the gap in the door behind the nurse that had knocked.

"I have someone that would like to speak with you, if you're feeling quite well?" the nurse said. "This is Detective Lang."

"Detective Lang?" he repeated, confused.

The suited woman took a step forward so that she was clearly in the room, all a sharply cut blonde bob and glossy shoes.

She flicked open a pass holder that showed an official license Cassian didn't recognise or see clearly.

"Detective Lang," the woman said. "Guildshire Police Department."