#Hat party for the troglodytes

[zeroroze159]

Someone stop Nico before he floods the camp with Frogs.

Will:"DI ANGELO WAS THIS WAS YOUR DOING!?" Nico: "And what if it was? I see nothing wrong with it." Percy:"Nico they are literally violent creatures, what if they harm a camper. It would be your fault." Nico:"Key word "If" that's IF they hurt anyone,besides would you rather me fill the camp with frogs or troglodytes? Take your pick solace." Percy:... Will:"Nico-"

[anthonybialy]

RFK? LOL OK

The one pretending to no longer be a Democrat endorsed the other.  Robert Kennedy Junior and Donald Trump are both ostensibly party-hoppers.  But you can feel assured that the new partners will continue to tell you how to live while indulging in the wrong kind of paranoia.  The perfect matches can forward emails featuring supposed election thieves and rotten trope-based slurs to each other.

The ultimate self-made man is so dedicated to being his own person that he uses his initials.  That includes the middle one, which coincidentally was the same letter used by some other political figure.  Why should it be Junior’s fault that styling his name in that random manner brings to mind whoever his father was?

Noting who the family is is the family business.  A bootlegger spawned a series of increasingly undeserving generations.  I’d trust Uncle Ted as a driving instructor before anything his shrillest nephew claims about the environment melting.

Do as you’re told to establish independence.  Sophisticated modern Republicans are not going to adhere to preposterous concepts based in sensible ideas.  There’s no need for constitutional fidelity and the same tax rate for all when you can dominate anyone who won’t submit.

You’re obeying the will of which people?  Populism is another term for what a lot of dolts believe.  The most awful conspiracy dreck paired with innate negativity have replaced hopes of ever getting government out of insurance.  The potential new HHS secretary will see to that.

RFK Junior pairing with Trump is like chocolate with peanut butter for the tasteless.  There’s no need to shepherd the easily guided with anything inspirational or helpful or true.  Just claim the whole system is crooked to produce a gritty Network reboot.

Thorough corruption must be the reason why the fearless outsider and biggest winner couldn’t drain the swamp or beat Joe Biden.  Everyone’s out to get you except for the person who told you that, of course.  He’s the only honest man, and it’s a blessing that you’re able to discern such.

You want an old hand at lunacy by your side.  J.D. Vance is only the pretend underling now.  The amateur can’t keep up with the new trendy hire.

Professional plotter Kennedy has been at the forefront of every major bit of nonsensical blather of his adult lifetime.  What’s the craziest of the insanity?  There’s nobody who hates needles more than the premier enemy of vaccines, and not just the slapdash glorified flu shot that got hastily churned out by contemporary troglodytes who purport to believe in science.  Harming children by encouraging their parents to not protect them from disease is his gift to the next generation.

Kennedy’s demented haranguing about what’s good for kids is particularly rich for someone claiming what’s on cafeteria trays is poisoned, as of course Trump does now.  Processing food makes it deadly, according to advocates of consuming dirt.  There’s nothing new about his presumption that the baseless is accurate.  Claiming the CIA murdered his relatives is one way to respect them and reality.

The saboteur is the loudest one on stage.  The real intrigue centers around why Republicans are pretending their party hasn’t been commandeered by someone who’s only principle is collecting genuflecting.  Whatever those he deems to be worthwhile claim is treated as absolute truth.  The new alleged pal could claim jet fuel can’t melt steel and get thunderous applause from the red hat brigade.  I hope he doesn’t try it to see.

A person who’s never had to carry cash established what his soul is worth.  Those who aren’t for sale are left out.  The alliance of one angry ranter who’s prominent despite sense and decency with the other makes sick sense.  People who just want fewer federal agencies have nowhere to hang out.  Now, there’s an establishment to battle.

A Kennedy sucking up to a Trump should irk fans of both.  The prototypical sellout must be running out of money his ancestors pilfered.  That’d be quite a legacy.  Everyone else is a RINO, claims the person who’s now BFF with the embodiment of Democrats.  And Trump will be way softer on Cuba and taxes than his buddy’s presidential uncle.

It’s easy to guess which side has shifted leftward when both do so.  The one in question used to at least pretend to favor a smaller government.  Thinking an alliance with the nasal scold reflects poorly on the Democratic Party is surely not a sign of getting the deal’s raw end, so block that idea out of mind.  Trump is the best businessman ever, remember? Nobody’s had a good steak since he stopped peddling them on QVC.

Pretending the debt accumulator who runs away from conflict is a fearless conservative is fitting for dupes who think believing the most outlandish claims keeps them from being gullible.  The ostentatiously suspicious think their prophet outfoxed foes by getting a presidential dropout on his side when it really means Republicans nominated an unhinged liberal.  The useless parasitic progeny aligned with the son of shady real estate tyrant in the name of common values.

Liberal schemes are now part of the Republican enterprise.  Teaming up with someone who’s tiresome even for a Kennedy is actually perfect for Trump.  The loyalty baron didn’t just happen to go with the guy set up by his rich father: the tag team is on a quest to claim they’re outsiders while uniting with the worst of the insiders.  Doing so at the same time embodies efficiency.  That’s the closest the new Kennedy faction gets to free markets.

[ilovedainironfoot]

this internship is the best !

The costume designer is a little granny. She rents and creates costumes. She has ten thousand of them. Four thousand of them are suspended in the form of a spiral on rails and the rest are everywhere. There are mannequins to take pictures of the costumes. She made a Dwarf King costume based on Thorin, an Elf King costume based on Thranduil, she has whole bins of ribbons, rubber bands, beads, wigs, hats and accessories of all kinds (even real swords). Her sewing machines date back to the 50's.

Her husband looks like Santa Claus (white big curly beard, small round glasses, big belly and big smile. Their village is very small, everyone knows each other here. The costume designer has geese, a turtle, cats, a dog and donkeys.  She recycles everything, she has a huge garden with lots of vegetables. She makes her own laundry with ashes. She dries the costumes in the sun (every morning we put about thirty of them to dry). They have an old pigeon house that they are rebuilding using the old methods. She has hundreds of books on period costumes. She has a doctorate in art history and gives lectures and demonstrations on medieval dance.

For fabrics she hates the synthetic ones in the big stores, so she buys her own in second-hand stores, she uses old curtains, tablecloths, everything. She even barter with other costume designers.

We have 300 costumes to prepare (sorting, ironing, repairing if necessary, labeling) for a medieval festival and since two days we finish super late to finish in time. We also have 150 costumes for an 18th century party in two weeks. 

There are full of castles to visit around the village, full of troglodyte cities, full of museums and full of caves everywhere ! I visited an abyss with a lake and corridors of stalagmites and stalactites last week.

[patriotsnet]

Did Democrats Or Republicans Founded The Kkk

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/did-democrats-or-republicans-founded-the-kkk/

Did Democrats Or Republicans Founded The Kkk

The Kkk Was Founded By Democrats But Not The Party

Democrats Founded the KKK.mp4

The Ku Klux Klan was founded in 1866 by ex-Confederate soldiers Frank McCord, Richard Reed, John Lester, John Kennedy, J. Calvin Jones and James Crowe in Pulaski, Tennessee. The group was originally a social club but quickly became a violent white supremacist group.

Its first grand wizard was Nathan Bedford Forrest, an ex-Confederate general and prominent slave trader.

Fact check:

Experts agree the KKK attracted many ex-Confederate soldiers and Southerners who opposed Reconstruction, most of whom were Democrats. Forrest even spoke at the 1868 Democratic National Convention.

The KKK is almost a paramilitary organization thats trying to benefit one party. It syncs up with the Democratic Party, which really was a;racist party openly at the time, Grinspan said. But the KKK isnt the Democratic Party, and the Democratic Party isnt the KKK.

Although the KKK did serve the Democratic Partys interests, Grinspan stressed that not all Democrats supported the KKK.

The Anti-Defamation Leagues Center on Extremism senior fellow Mark Pitcavage told the Associated Press that many KKK members were Democrats because the Whig Party had died off and Southerners disliked Republicans after the Civil War. Despite KKK members’ primary political affiliation, Pitcavage said it is wrong to say the Democratic Party started the KKK.

Fact check:Yes, historians do teach that first Black members of Congress were Republicans

The Conservative Coalition Vs The New Deal Coalition

Now that we know the basics, the changes in both parties in the 1900s are perhaps best understood by examining;the Conservative Coalition;and the New Deal Coalition.

The Conservative Coalition was a coalition between the anti-Communist Republicans like Nixon and Reagan and conservative Southern Democrats. It arose to oppose FDRs New Deal progressivism, and it blocked a lot of the progressive legislation the New Deal Coalition tried to pass from the 1930s to the 1960s. The socially conservative solid south;was still its own entity. It sometimes voted;with other Democrats, and sometimes broke off into its own factions. See the 1960 election Kennedy v. Nixon v. Harry F. Byrd. The Coalition tellingly dwindled post 64 Civil Rights and ended in the Clinton era as conservative southerners became Republicans and formed;the modern construct of the Red States and the Blue States.

Meanwhile,;the New Deal coalition explains the progressive coalition of Democrats and Republicans the Conservative coalition opposed. Today the two parties largely resemble these coalitions.

A Summary Of The Solid South Switch

To summarize the above claims before we get to the details:

In 1860 the Democratic Party Platforms were about Small Government and States Rights, and the more aristocratic Republican Platform about Federal Power and Collective;Rights, but by;2016, the opposite is;true .

This is because the conservative south and old Republican Progressives can be said to have switched parties in reaction;to events that occurred from the Gilded Age to the Bush and Clinton years. These changes that are well symbolized by the 1968 election, but not explained by that alone.

To understand what changed, we must become familiar with;people like W. J. Bryan, Teddy, Harding, Coolidge, and Hoover, Henry A. Wallace, Strom Thurmond, FDR, MLK, and Hoover. We must look at the Red Scare, the Dixiecrat States Rights Parties, Civil Rights, Voting Rights, Nixons Southern Strategies, the New Deal Coalition and Conservative Coalition, etc. See;Democrats and Republicans Switched Platforms.

The full story aside, in the early days:

Populist social liberals used to ally with the populist socially conservative solid south .

The social liberal elite like Gouverneur Morris and Alexander Hamilton were in the Federalist party with classical conservative Tory-like figures and factions.

That pairing;of factions is either hopeful or a blight on history, depending on your perspective.

How the South Went Republican: Can Democrats Ever Win There Again? .

Also Check: Is Red The Color Of Republicans

In The Wake Of Trump’s David Duke Controversy Many Republicans Have Tried To Tie The Kkk To Progressivism

Its not news that Donald Trump appeals to white supremacists and his slowness in rebuking former Ku Klux Klan grand wizard David Dukes support hardly qualifies as surprising at this point. Whats instructive is how right-wing figures react. Earlier this week, political troglodyte Jeffrey Lord attempted to deflect criticism by calling the Klan a leftist terrorist organization perpetuating violence to further the progressive agenda.

That, of course, is entirely wrong. A short lesson in the basics of 20th;century American political history explains why.

White supremacist Southern Democrats were a key part of President Franklin D. Roosevelts New Deal Coalition. They used their large numbers, unity and seniority to exclude as many black people from as much of the New Deal benefits and protections as possible and to stop the federal government from doing anything about lynching. Then the black freedom movement and white allies insisted on civil rights. In reactionary response, those white southern Democrats left the Democratic Party en masse, as evidenced by Strom Thurmonds Dixiecrat presidential campaign in 1948 and Richard Nixons opposition to school busing and play for segregationist Alabama Gov. George Wallaces constituency.

White southern Democrats were explicit about their racism, and its no mystery that they left the party when it yielded to civil rights movement pressure, and as blacks began to make up a larger part of its constituency.

Did The American Political Parties Switch Clarifying The Semantics

People often ask,;did the American political parties switch?, but this question is semantically wrong, and thus we should address it before moving on.

Parties can switch general platforms and ideologies .

Voters can switch parties .

However,;the parties themselves only switch when they hang-up their hat to become a new party;.

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Southernization Urbanization And Big Government Vs Small Government

Today the Republican party doesnt have a notable progressive left-wing and the Democratic Party doesnt have a notable socially conservative right-wing.

Instead both parties have establishment and populist wings and the parties are divided by stances on social issues.

In other words, regional interests and the basic political identities of liberal and conservative didnt change as much as factions changed parties as party platforms changed along with America.

The modern split is expressed well by;the left-right paradigm Big Government Progressivism vs. Small Government Social Conservatism, where;socially conservative and pro-business conservative factions banded together against socially liberal and pro business liberal factions, to push back against an increasingly progressive Democratic Party and America .

This tension largely created the modern parties of our two-party system, resulting in two Big Tents;who disagree on the purposes of government;and social issues. This tension is then magnified by the;current influence of media and lobbyists, and can be understood by examining;what I call;the Sixth Party Strategy and by a tactic called Dog Whistle Politics).

The result is that today the Democratic Party is dominated by liberal Democrats and Progressives.

Meanwhile, most of those who would have been the old;socially conservative Democrats now have a R next to their name.

Read Also: Is The Media Biased Against Republicans

Great Depression Shrinks Klan

The Great Depression in the 1930s depleted the Klans membership ranks, and the organization temporarily disbanded in 1944. The civil rights movement of the 1960s saw a surge of local Klan activity across the South, including the bombings, beatings and shootings of Black and white activists. These actions, carried out in secret but apparently the work of local Klansmen, outraged the nation and helped win support for the civil rights cause.;

READ MORE: How Billie Holiday’s ‘Strange Fruit’ Confronted an Ugly Era of Lynchings

In 1965, President Lyndon Johnson delivered a speech publicly condemning the Klan and announcing the arrest of four Klansmen in connection with the murder of a white female civil rights worker in Alabama. The cases of Klan-related violence became more isolated in the decades to come, though fragmented groups became aligned with neo-Nazi or other right-wing extremist organizations from the 1970s onward.;

As of 2016, the Anti-Defamation League estimated Klan membership to be around 3,000, while the Southern Poverty Law Center said there were 6,000 members total.

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Limited Government States Rights And Anti

Had the populist liberals, who agreed with;limited government but did not agree fully on social issues, not aligned, there would have been a Federalist dominance in early America. The;dominant factions would have been northern know-nothing-like nativists, social progressive Roosevelt-like or Hamilton-like elites, and quasi-loyalist Aristocrats like Adams.

The founders were not pro-slavery. However, slavery;was part of the culture and economy of many nations; the South was one such region.

Abolishing slavery meant crippling the Souths votes and industry. This was the;main argument for slavery by the Solid South historically. It;didnt stop the abolitionists like Hamilton from pushing for the abolition of slavery;as;he pushed for a central bank or federal control . However, it did result in many key compromises from the 1770s to mid-1800s.

A Reconstituted Early 20th Century Kkk Attracts Members From Both Sides

The Inconvenient Truth About the Democratic Party

After Reconstruction, and as the Jim Crow period set in during the 1870s, the Klan became obsolete.;Through violence, intimidation and systematic oppression, the KKK had served its purpose to help whites retake Southern governments.

In 1915, Cornell William J. Simmons restarted the KKK. This second KKK was made up of Republicans and Democrats, although Democrats were more widely involved.

The idea that these things overlap in a Venn diagram, the way they did with the first Klan, just isnt as tight with the second Klan, Grinspan said.

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Why It Doesnt Make Sense To Equate Modern Democrats With The Old Southern Democrats

The Democrats, formally the;anti-Federalists,;had an;aversion to aristocracy from the late 1700s to the progressive era.

That truism;led to the southern conservatives of the solid south like;John C. Calhoun and small government liberals like Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, and Martin Van Buren allying;in the same party;for most of U.S. history.

However,;that changed;after Civil Rights under LBJ and the rise of Goldwater States Rights Republicans .

Today the solid south, and figures like Jeff Sessions, are in an alliance in the big tent of the Republican Party . This was as much a response to the growing progressiveness of the Democratic Party as anything.

One simple way to confirm this is to look at the factions of;Lincolns time. There were four. They;were:

The Northern liberal Whig/Republicans,

The;Nativist Know-Nothing; allies of the Whig/Republicans,

The Southern Democrats and their Northern allies , and

The;Free Soil;;allies of the Democrats who;took a libertarian like position.

Todays Democrats are more like socially liberal Whig/Republicans , libertarians are like Free Soilers , Trumpians are like Nativist Know-Nothings , and Southern Democrats are like the modern Southern conservative Republicans.

The current parties are thus:

Social Liberals and Neoliberals vs. Social Conservatives and Neoliberal Conservatives AKA Neocons .

Clearly, the country has never been fully polarized, even at its most polarized.

Military Reconstruction And The Birth Of The Kkk

After the Civil War, during Reconstruction, the northern elite Radical Republican Progressives used the military to force the south to reform. At the time the Deep South used things like apprenticeship laws to extend slavery past the end of the War. The KKK took a;stand in defense of the old Southern way of life in a society divided by murder, military occupation, and;mayhem.

To be clear, Military Reconstruction is a term that;describes;the occupation of the South, and the KKK;formed as a response to it.

From that point on the South becomes Redeemed by Southern BourbonsAKA Northern Oligarchs who help the South;replace slave labor with wage labor.

The above might;be viewed less critically;if it wasnt for a notable speed bump:

Before Reconstruction could end naturally, in 1877, the Republican establishment traded the reformation of a few southern states for the Presidency when Tilden beat the Republican Hayes.

At that point, the Gilded Age began.;Gilded Age Republicans Redeemed the South and liked to be seen as putting aside the issue of race to focus on modernization and becoming a superpower.

The Gilded age gave way to the Progressive era. And in those eras, most of the country again minimized;issues of;race to focus on;other minority rights such as womens rights. Then, after that came the World Wars.

Radical Republicans From PBSs Reconstruction: The 2nd Civil War.

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The Rise Of Modern Social Liberalism And Social Conservatism

Later we get a third way with Bill Clintons New Democrats. This third way is an extension;of the;progressive bourbon liberal wing, but mashed-up with the progressive social liberal wing, and Reagan-era;conservatism. These three social liberal ideologies which Clinton embodied can collectively be referred to as an;American liberalism. These factions, which we can today denote as;progressive, neoliberal, and social liberal, can be used to differentiate types of liberals on the political left from the New Deal Coalition and the modern Democratic party of today.

TIP: As noted above in the introduction, there is no one way to understand Americas political ideologies, but each angle we look at things from helps us to better understand;bits of the historic puzzle.

Outside The United States

Aside from the Ku Klux Klan in Canada, there have been various attempts to organize KKK chapters outside the United States.

In Australia in the late 1990s, former One Nation member Peter Coleman established branches throughout the country, and circa 2012 the KKK has attempted to infiltrate other political parties such as Australia First.

Recruitment activity has also been reported in the United Kingdom.

In Germany, a KKK-related group, Ritter des Feurigen Kreuzes , was established in the 1920s. After the Nazis took over Germany, the group disbanded and its members joined the Nazis. Another German KKK-related group, the European White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, has organized and it gained notoriety in 2012 when the German media reported that two police officers who held membership in the organization would be allowed to keep their jobs.

A Ku Klux Klan group was established in Fiji in the early 1870s by white American settlers, although its operations were quickly put to an end by the British who, although not officially yet established as the major authority of Fiji, had played a leading role in establishing a new constitutional monarchy that was being threatened by the activities of the Fijian Klan.

In São Paulo, Brazil, the website of a group called Imperial Klans of Brazil was shut down in 2003, and the group’s leader was arrested.

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The Rise Of America First Nativism: Anti

During the 1830s to 1850s, as tension builds, third parties spring up like the northern nativist Know-Nothings;. This faction;pushed back against immigration in places like NYC and was more likely to be allied with the Whigs than the Democrats.

The conflict between Catholic immigrants and Know-Nothings is;the subject of the movie Gangs of New York.

These Know-Nothings were like a Northern version of the KKK but were notably;more concerned with immigration than slavery.;The soon-to-be KKK and the earlier;Know-Nothings shared an aversion to Catholics, Jews, non-whites, and non-Protestants in general, but much else was different.

The Know-Nothings were accused of being in bed with;Northern abolitionists,;and;their American party really never;caught on in the south due to them being perceived as more elitist and northern.

Thus, although each region breaks into;different groups, one should note that the slavery south is not;the only faction with socially conservative position, and certainly, they arent the only authoritative group. Remember, they are opposing northern elitists who are perpetuating their brand;of economic and political inequality.

Looking To The Classics And Factions For Proof

One good and not-so-divisive way to explain history is to look at the classics, especially those who focus on state-based political factions over political parties.

Classic works of this sort of political history, like V.O. Keys Southern Politics in State and Nation , make it very clear that the Solid South had historically always voted lock-step for the Democratic Party . Of course, the voting map over time, actual recorded history, and so much else tell this story too, but a well respected book like this is a great secondary source!

Today the Solid South is with the Republican Party and today old Socially Progressive Republicans like Teddy arent in the party .

This isnt to say that some of the more progressive Dixies, Bryan followers, and even economically minded Southern;Bourbons arent in the Democratic Party, they obviously are, just look at Carter, Clinton, Gore, and Bernie .

Likewise, the GOP have their constants. The;conservative Federalist pro-business faction, the neocons be they switched Bourbons, Gilded Age post-Reconstruction Republicans, or traditional Federalists, and the Federalist War Hawks are still in the Republican Party, as are the nativists;of the north Know-Nothings.

However, despite what didnt change, a ton did, including the party platforms, key factions, and a large swath of the voter base.

Modern Democrats know this well, they lost the 2016;election and didnt get one state in the Southern Bloc for Hillary .

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A Century Of Jim Crow But Otherwise Lots Of Progress

From 1877 to at least the 1960s, the Solid South KKK-like;Progressively Socially Conservative Democrats remained a formidable faction of the Democratic Party.

This is true even though the party was increasingly dominated by Progressives like William Jennings Bryan. We can see in Wilson that both factions held sway in the party, Wilson was both a progressive liberal and a son of the Confederates.

The Rise and Fall of Jim Crow | PBS | ep 1 of 4 Promises Betrayed.

TIP: During the late 1800s and early 1900s Eugenics was a popular theory. In this era, we might find;Margaret Sanger, liberal economists and social scientists, Teddy Roosevelt, Henry Ford, a young Hitler, and the KKK all agreeing on aspects of eugenics. There are many sides;of the eugenics argument, and one must study its history in earnest before making a judgment call. Very;radical right-wing propaganda equated birth control with;genocide, but there was a wide range of beliefs. An espousal of;negative eugenics is part of the dark history of the Democratic party.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Of Two Brothers

A/N: So, I hate all of you who fed the plot bunny because this happened. Now, this is just a little sneaky peek for those still screaming��“WRITE THE THING!” 

As you can see, I’m writing the thing. 

Had he ever been so bored?

The low murmur of voices, people laughing and celebrating, did nothing to alleviate the ennui. They were all so transparent in their fluff and their finery, smiling their plastic smiles and waving around their champagne flutes. At three hundred quid a bottle, one would think they would be more careful than to slop it haphazardly over his marble floors. Still, these troglodytes and clingers-on had little respect for him or his possessions. 

They were lured here by the bright lights of his stardom, desperate to be close, cling to his coattails, and ride their way to the top. Or, in the case of some, climb over his cooling corpse to achieve his level of fame.

Such was the nature of the bottle blonde currently clinging to his Armani. The woman was too thin for his tastes usually, but her beauty looked good on his arm. She dazzled and shone in his spotlight, taking the attention onto herself when he desired a moment to breathe air that was not laced with the tones of everyone's arse kissing.

And she was an excellent blow when he wanted his cock sucked; eager and experienced. That she was twenty-four and relatively brainless didn't hurt either. More than once, he'd caught her talking to producers and directors about how she was just using him to meet the right people and that she'd do anything for a chance at whatever role she was after. 

He didn't care. They weren't in a relationship, she was just a convenient place to warm his cock when he felt the need. Like at the end of the night when this party finished and everyone and their agent left. He would pin this bimbo Barbie against the wall and fuck her till she couldn't walk, then send her on her merry way. 

He was done playing her games. 

He was tired of playing all these games.

Then, the elevator to his flat dinged and drew his attention. A late arrival? Perhaps someone with some semblance of wit he could hold an actual conversation with. 

But, when the brass panelled doors opened to reveal a tall man in a Stetson, Thomas sneered and extradited himself from the woman on his arm. 

Down the stairs and threw the crowd, he wound his way, watching as the people parted for the out of place cowboy, striding through them in boots and wranglers with that ridiculously out of place hat. When, finally, he caught the man's eye, Thomas growled, "What are you doing here, William?"

The cowboy hooked his thumb in his pockets, eyes as cold and hard as Thomas'. "I've got news."

"And you also have a telephone."

"This isn't telephone kind of news."

Already drawing stares and whispers, Thomas jerked his head. "Come along, William. You're enough of a spectacle already."

They carved an imposing path through the people, Thomas leading the way to his office where he shut out the curious faces. "Drink?"

"You know I don't." The hat came off, revealing waves of ginger locks he thrust a hand through. 

Thomas shrugged and poured three fingers of scotch. "Well?"

"Dad's dead."

His hand froze for a moment before he added another finger of scotch. "Is that so? I'm sorry for your loss."

"Our. Our loss, Tommy."

He turned and lifted the glass in salute before tossing back half the drink. "Sodding right. Not that he gave two shits about me after I left to live with Mum."

"He was still our dad, Tommy."

"Don't call me that! It's Thomas. Not Tommy. Not Tom. Thomas!" he hissed and tossed back the rest of the liquor before slamming the glass down. "You could have called me about him. You know it means nothing to me!"

"You fucking shit! He was your dad too! You've gotta have some Goddamn feelings over this, Tommy!" The Stetson landed on a chair before William wrenched the zipper down on his jacket, revealing the same ugly plaid, snap-front shirt he'd been wearing all his life. 

"He hasn't been my dad since I was seventeen and moved to London to be with mum! And you're a Goddamn git for showing up tonight of all nights to tell me the old bastard's dead!"

"Don't you talk about him that way!" William bellowed. 

"My house! I'll bloody well say what I want to!" 

"Goddamn, you're as mean as a snake now! I can see Mom in you."

Thomas sneered but didn't dispute it. "This can't be the only reason you're here. What else? You wouldn't have flown all the way to New York just to tell me Dad's dead. That never would have drawn you off your precious ranch. What else is going on?"

William thrust his hand through his mess of hair, inches longer than Thomas's own. "SueAnn Clement, you remember her?"

"Fondly," Thomas muttered, lacing his voice with sarcasm.

"She's dead too."

"So?" What did that have to do with them?

"You remember what happened the night of our seventeenth birthday?"

Thomas smirked. "Oh, yes, brother. I remember that."

William paced across the room to stare out the window of his downtown apartment. "Her cousin contacted me. I guess SueAnn left a note behind when she died. Laid a few things out for this cousin. SueAnn moved not long after that night. Guess she had a kid."

He stiffened. "No."

William glanced at him. "Yeah. She's fifteen now."

"Fuck!" Thomas snapped. 

"Was my sentiments too."

"She's not mine. I want nothing to do with it," he denied vehemently. 

"You motherfucking dumbass," William sighed. "We're identical fucking twins! There's no way to know who she belongs to! She could be either one of ours, and we'll never know whose 'cause we've got the same damn DNA!"

"So? She's yours then." He waved a dismissive hand.

"No." William pointed his finger at him. "I'm tired of takin' on all the responsibilities here. She's our damn daughter! Yours and mine, and after readin' Dad's will, I come to find out he left the ranch to both of us, equal shares, so now I've got to run everything through my partner to make any decisions! So you, Tommy, are gonna come home and help out and meet your damn daughter. The cousin's arriving in a week."

"Kiss my dick, Will! Like hell, I will! This is my life," he snapped, waving at the apartment. "I'll just sell you my half, and we can be done with it!"

William sighed and went for his hat. "I can't buy your half right now, even if I wanted to."

"If it's the money, I'll sell you the entire thing for a dollar. What do I need your money for when I have more than enough of my own."

"It's not the fucking money! Dad left contingencies! He wanted you home. Made it clear if you don't come back, give it three months, I lose everything. The ranch goes up for sale, and we get nothing." He slammed the hat down on his head and looked at Thomas from the shadows beneath the brim. "I haven't asked you for anything our whole lives, Thomas. Not a damn thing. I'm asking for this. Three months. You come home. You meet our kid. You help me save our inheritance. Then, if you want out, you can have out, and we can be done with each other for good." He looked disdainfully around the room. "Cause that's clearly what you want."

William turned on his heels and made for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "Happy thirty-third birthday, brother." 

The door shut deceptively quietly behind him.

Thomas sank into a chair and lowered his head to his hands. "And you, brother," he whispered, a single tear dripping to the tile between his feet.  

[marmolady]

Broken Chains: Epilogue

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f),

Summary: Part 8: Post-ending (Endless ending). Epilogue... June 2023

Word Count: 2194

Previous chapter

It’s finally finished.

June 2023

 Taylor blinked awake, her face against Estela’s chest, which rose and fell to the sound of soft, contented snores. After all this time, she could not get over the utter blessing it was to be there with her. She ran her hand over her wife’s tight and rounded belly, feeling for movement within. A fluttering bump against her palm made her heart soar. This was it… paradise.

“Good morning, baby…” she whispered, then looked up as she felt Estela stirring. “And good morning, mama.”

Without opening her eyes, Estela leaned down and kissed the top of Taylor’s head. “Morning…”

It was six years to the day since they first set foot on La Huerta, and as per tradition, the anniversary marked the first day of the annual reunion. Everyone had remained close, even having finished college and gone in different directions, but the yearly gathering on the island was always a great event. It was the third such reunion, and even in that short time, much had changed. Grace and Aleister, now with their infant son Reginald in tow, had taken over responsibility for The Celestial, and had seen to it that the resort was taken down. In its place, an impressive Vaanti-built structure now stood-- after the still-standing Elysian, the largest building on the island. Affectionately known as ‘The New Celestial’, it housed private offices for both Aleister and Estela, an art studio for Grace, a sprawling laboratory, and cosy accommodations and facilities specifically for times like these when the Catalysts were in residence.  The contents of Rourke’s jaw-dropping library had been saved, along with countless items that had taken significance to many of those residing on La Huerta. Oftentimes, The New Celestial hosted Vaanti visitors from all corners of the island, but when the reunion came along, space was happily and respectfully given. With most of the gang flying in imminently, Aleister and Grace been busy with preparations, assisted by Taylor, Estela and Diego, who were semi-permanent La Huerta residents themselves.

In their triple-storey shack in the old Catalyst village, a little house that was now truly a home, with photographs of loved ones and treasured memories looking down from the walls, Taylor and Estela got ready side by side. Packing a bag for the reunion was par for the course, but this time there were a few extra items put away in anticipation of the birth that could happen at any time. They wouldn’t be going far but… just in case.

Briefly rummaging through a drawer, Estela pulled out an envelope. “Taylor… happy birthday, mi alma!”

Taylor laughed and took it from her. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! Especially because it’s not actually my birthday.” She opened the envelope and pulled out a colourful greeting card. “And I am not turning six.”

Giggling, Estela put her arms around her and kissed her temple. “Look, it’s even got a badge for you to wear.”

“I am six,” Taylor read. “Great. I wonder how many of these I’ll get this year.” She opened the card. “At least you didn’t write a message wildly inappropriate for the card’s clearly intended audience. Like last year.” With a snigger, she hugged Estela back. Those six years had been a ride, and she was eternally grateful for every one. Joking aside, it was always a special occasion to reflect; six years since she’d come to being, six years since she met the eleven most wonderful people she’d ever know. Six years since she first met the gaze of the woman who would forever own her heart. “I love you, Estela.”

“I love you too. Always, always.”

While Taylor rushed around, gathering all the home-grown fruits she’d promised to bring for Raj, Estela found herself left behind, slowed down by the extra weight and a painful back. She couldn’t wait to hold her baby… and neither could she wait to have her body back to normal.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked, a little frustrated.

A little smile came to Taylor’s face as she took Estela’s hand and pulled her into her waiting arms. “Maybe, just one thing…” She wove a hand up to Estela’s chin and gently drew her in for a warm and tender kiss.

“That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”

 __________________________

The New Celestial’s pool seemed to shimmer in the midday sun, the cerulean waters disturbed by the frolics of friends reunited once more. A big lunch cook-up and a lazy afternoon was tradition by this point, and the air was already filled with the most delicious scents as Raj got down to business. Naturally, Quinn had brought along a great selection of cupcakes for dessert, and already three or four had been snaffled by those who simply couldn’t wait.

At the shallow end of the pool, Aleister sat with little Reggie on his knee, kicking his tiny legs merrily as he babbled to himself.

Pulling faces, Quinn reached over to tickle the baby’s tummy, and beamed as Reggie gave a delighted squeal. “Oh Al, he’s gotten so big! Haven’t you Mister Reginald?”

Pride was clear on the father’s face as he held out his boy to splash around on his belly. “He’s so like Grace; bright… inquisitive…”

“Food’s out, doodlebugs!” came a holler from the central table.

Grace crouched beside the pool and took Reggie in her arms. “Come on, little man; let’s get you dried up and ready for some yummy lunch!” She leant to give Aleister a kiss. “Isn’t he doing so well? I thought he’d be shy with so many people.”

“I don’t think he’s quite sure of Craig still, but to be quite frank, that troglodyte scares us all.”

“Oh, you! We’ll save you a seat.”

Amid the chattering and scraping of chairs, Sean rose to his feet to begin the celebration.

“Well,” he said, “we’re all here, despite the ongoing concerns for the competency of our beloved pilot.”

His feet up on the table, Jake just shrugged it off. “Laugh it up, assholes. Without me, you’ll be walkin’ home.”

“So,” Sean continued, “I think it’s time for the birthday girl’s traditional speech to get us started.”

A party hat lopsided on her head, Taylor gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “It’s not my birthday, peeps.”

“Didn’t stop ya from accepting that three-tier cake last year, Princess…”

“Speech! Speech!”

Resigned to her fate, Taylor stood up. “All right, here goes.”  For her show of resistance, she actually loved this… it was almost like old times, and she lived for it. “So, uh, this has been a big one. In so many, so many ways. You think that you survive the end of the world, everything after that’s gotta be a cakewalk. But life is hard. Some days you wake up, and it feels like everything you ever dreamed of will always be just out of reach.” Her voice trembled, but she recovered herself. “There’s not one of you who didn’t have to put up with a blubbering phone call from me this past year; you comforted us when we lost hope, and celebrated right along with us when hoping and trying finally paid off.” Automatically, she looked over to Estela who glanced up from stroking her bump to meet Taylor’s eyes with a gaze overflowing with affection. She had to take a moment before continuing, wiping her eyes. “Michelle… truly a queen. I honestly don’t know how you do it--“

“Coffee. So much coffee.”

“--but you managed to kick the third year of med school in its ass, all the while being willing to drop everything in a heartbeat if one of us needed to talk. And that you’re here to help us out with the baby… there’s just… there’s no words for what it means. I am so over the moon for you both about your engagement; you are two of the strongest, kindest souls I’ll ever know, and you truly deserve each other.”

“Quinn just wants an excuse to make a ridiculously extravagant cake.” Michelle gave her a wink.

“Hey!” Quinn laughed, wrinkling up her nose in feigned offense. “Well, between your last year of school, my first public speaking engagements, and a wedding to plan, I think we’ll have earned a good cake.” She leaned into her fiancée for a kiss, and there might as well have been no one alive but the two of them.

“One of the greatest blessings in my life has been to watch Grace and Aleister become the most amazing parents to their sweet little man, Reggie. Who, I might add, said his first word yesterday…”

Beaming, Grace tickled under her son’s chin. “What can you say, sweetie?” She wiggled a finger in Aleister’s direction. “Who’s that?”

“Dada!”

Another big cheer. The infant looked slightly perturbed by the outburst, and snuggled closer to his mother.

And so they reflected on another year; their trials, heartaches and triumphs. Quinn’s cupcake business had truly taken flight, and she’d begun her first forays into non-profit work. What Zahra did on her computer all day, no one was quite sure, and most were too afraid to ask, but she was happy, opening herself up to new avenues, and always heading up an unstoppable dynamic duo, supporting Craig as he found the confidence to make his way in the world and embrace his own successes. Sean was looking forward to his first season as a pro on the Condors, Raj’s runaway success with his cooking vlog had landed him talks about the television show of his dreams, and Taylor herself was taking a break from fulfilling youth work in San Trobida after having fast-tracked her degree and graduated after three years. Diego was contentedly living back in Elyys’tel, preparing to  knuckle down and make some progress on his book --as well as continue his role as the most sought-after story-teller on the island, and bond with the baby he’d helped bring into existence. Jake had returned home a free man several years prior, but now spent far more time piloting tourists around the Greater Antilles, with home bases on both La Huerta and San Trobida. Rourke International was now a distant memory, the company having been re-branded under Aleister’s direction as Catalyst International. It was only then, with Rourke’s influence scorched from everything he’d once touched, that Estela’s resistance to Aleister’s attempts to gift her a fair share of inheritance waned. Her objective was simple; to use the wealth she’d inherited to rebuild her war-ravaged home, and to offer its young people the opportunities her own mother had sacrificed herself to give Estela. With a family of Tio Nicolas in San Trobida; Grace, Aleister, Diego and Varyyn on La Huerta; and Taylor, right at her side wherever she might be, she was finally contented and at peace.

With tears in her eyes, Taylor wrapped up her ‘birthday’ speech, toasting to another year with a glass of fruit punch held high. Then, to do the rounds… picking up, as anticipated, a great stash of birthday cards, while cramming in as much catching-up as she could manage before the inevitable drunken shenanigans took over.

Taylor picked up a second glass with her refill and wandered back to the poolside hammock where Estela awaited her.

“You look comfy,” she said with a loving wink.

“Should hope so… I’m fairly sure I’m stuck here.”

Taylor giggled. “Thankfully, we’ve got a whole team of pregnant-lady-extractors on hand, so you can just take it easy.” Handing over the fruit drink, she rested on the edge of the hammock and kissed her wife’s forehead.

Closer now, Taylor sensed something… different… new. There was something in Estela’s expression, a look of holding onto a secret, some wonderful knowledge that was all hers. Her heart skipped a beat. Was she…?

An almost imperceptible nod confirmed her suspicions, and she had to hold back a gasp.

“So, uh… how long do you want to give it before I break up the party… and Raj’s heart?”

Estela leaned in close, sharing a clandestine smile and whispering so only Taylor could hear. “The contractions aren’t even a half hour apart yet; we’ve got time. Let poor Michelle relax for a little while longer.”

Gently wriggling up against her beloved, Taylor pressed a sweet kiss to her lips and cradled her rounded belly. As her heart pounded with elation, she looked over the gathering; her family. Raj and Jake were engaged in their annual drinks-mix-off. Jake, as always, was the obvious underdog, but keeping pace and already impressing the eager judges. Cocktail in each hand, Quinn reclined in a floating pool ring, taking her time in making her pick of the winner, while avoiding the wild splashing from the direction of Craig, Sean, Diego and Varyyn, who’d taken a break from drinks tasting for a two-on-two ball game.  Michelle and Grace were taking well-earned respite by the pool, watching the goings-on with their feet up in the most comfortable deck chairs. Clearly under the impression that no one bar the protective father was watching, Zahra was quietly singing for an entranced baby Reggie. Tucked up with the woman she loved and on the very brink of becoming a mother, Taylor smiled helplessly; completely, palpably content. So much had changed, and yet… so little had changed at all.

It was as though Taylor was looking at everything she could have wished for. They’d made it through… together, joined by bonds forged in fire and tempered in grief and hope. They’d survived, just as they’d survive the challenges along each of their paths, for the journey would never be walked alone.

We’re finally on our way…

[hubievonvestra-blog]

‘ it’s summer i got my hat on backwards and it’s time to fucking party ’

“Turn that cap back the way it’s supposed to and complete your allotted assignment before you mess about, you troglodyte.”

[sublime-sharpshccter]

impatient-enforcer replied to your post “"Hey top hat." Ekko smiled as he pointed to a sprig of mistletoe above...”

Cait why do you slober on people when you kiss them wtf

Is everyone at this party a bunch of troglodytes ?

[soggymilkchronicles]

Lockdown protests are shameless astroturfing, and the establishment makes #FloridaMorons of us all

           Stuck at home with your HBO account and food delivery apps? Looking for something to be pissed off about? Wonderful! The mainstream media would like to direct your attention to a coordinated string of right-wing protests for an end to the lockdown, and away from— well, whatever it is the people who cut their checks are up to. Conservatives in power, like Betsy Devos, whose family funded the protest against Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer’s Stay at Home order, and Trump, who’s brazenly encouraged the demonstrations, are attempting to shift our baleful gaze to local government, the Democrats, and the Chinese. Authoritarians, they cry! Communists! Elitists! The Democratic elite, through the megaphone of mainstream media outlets they keep in their pocket, would like to convince you it’s the Conservatives’ fault. Racists! Philistines! “Why is it the right-wingers always seem to need their screws tightened?” one man wrote in a tweet about the Michigan protests. And so it goes. As long as you remain in the stands, watching the Reds and Blues bat blame back and forth like a tired tennis ball and cheering for your favorite team, you’re right where they want you. 

          Both parties would like you to believe they’re ardent champions of the working man, their efforts hampered only by the self-serving interference of the opposite side— and, crucially, the ordinary people who elected them. Who they really want us to blame is ourselves. Didn’t vote Clinton in 2016? Might wanna wash the blood off your hands. Not social distancing? Don’t have a mask? This is your fault, and you must be punished (for the safety of the American people, of course). In Philadelphia, a man was physically pulled off a bus by several police officers for not wearing a mask. A New York woman was arrested for not social distancing and thrown in a cell with two dozen others for 36 hours. These are far from isolated incidents. The government primes us to accept them by painting our fellow working people (and the migrants, the Chinese, the Russians, et al., depending on your political leanings) as the enemy they’re protecting us from. If we stay divided, frightened, and vengeful, we remain prey to the real enemy— our American aristocracy. Distracting us with political white noise ensures that the current system won’t be held responsible for the violence it caused. 

         The re-opening protests being pushed in our face are a perfect example of this. The protests are a sloppy spectacle of astroturfing— the practice of concealing the sponsors of a movement so it appears to have grassroots origin and mass support. In other words, something that seems like a spontaneous expression of the zeitgeist but is actually a few rich pricks using their immense wealth to change our perception of the political landscape. Americans on both sides of the party line are falling for it. 

          If it seems like this movement popped up overnight, it’s because it did: tech-savvy Redditor sleuths discovered that the protest websites (reopen[state abbreviation].com, although in some cases this re-directs to a page on a different website, like minnesotagunrights.org, the domain always registered to the same LLC) can be traced to at least two professional astroturfing firms (or, as they call themselves, “digital advocacy solutions”). The sites for PA, MN, IA, VA, WI, and OH— all presidential election swing states— were made by OneClickPolitics, and the sites for MD, MJ, and NJ were made by UJoin. Strategies like this can be incredibly impactful; digital astroturfing was employed by AggregateIQ/Cambridge Analytica in the Brexit campaign, for instance. If you’re confused about what exactly these companies do, that makes two of us— but you can get an idea from OCP’s website: 

“Are you launching a new coalition or association and need more members now? Want 10,000 signatures for your petition from residents of a certain state? Are you battling a legislative issue in a location where you don't have enough advocates, who are constituents of the legislators you are attempting to influence? Or would you like to impress your boss by reporting a 15% growth in membership in less than 90 days? If your answer is yes, keep reading!

OneClick Acquisition is your solution for generating immediate legislative actions from new supporters within mere days. We deliver “on demand, organic supporters” through our proprietary digital ad placement technology.”

          It’s unknown who’s paying for these campaigns, but I could hazard some guesses. After all, Republican puppetmasters are making less effort to hide than ever before— FreedomWorks, the thinktank behind the Tea Party movement, is “holding weekly virtual town halls with members of Congress, igniting an activist base of thousands of supporters across the nation to back up the effort,” according to an Associated Press article titled “Powerful GOP allies propel Trump effort to reopen economy”: history repeating itself as farce. Besides DeVos, these “powerful allies” include The Heritage Foundation and Koch-funded Americans for Prosperity. 

          Americans have become so reverent of wealth and power, so blind to class distinctions, that they see billionaire chessmasters as their “allies” protecting their inalienable “right to work”: the right to sacrifice themselves at the altar of capital so their families get some Eucharistic breadcrumbs. It’s incredible that elites funding supposedly populist political maneuvers can be construed as a good thing— a philanthropic thing, even. In case it isn’t obvious, not only is the ruling class not acting in our best interest, or trying to keep us healthy, or preserve our freedom, they are acting in their best interest, which is to limit our freedom and maximize our productivity as much as possible. And before you go and tweet about those MAGA hat-clad #FloridaMorons, you should consider the elites you’re prepared to trust— like, I don’t know, richest man in the world Bill Gates, or certified worst person in the world Nancy Pelosi and the “experts” bearing her seal of approval. 

         Whether you’re out protesting in your truck with an American flag or at home with your gourmet ice cream tweeting angrily about it, the establishment is laughing all the way to the bank (they just auctioned your liberty and privacy off to the highest bidder!). Wake up, sheeple. It’s 2020. The two party system is a joke. It doesn’t really matter who’s behind the astroturfing, because the only lines that matter right now are class lines: it’s not Enlightened Democrats vs. The Trumpian Troglodytes, it’s Normal People vs. the rapidly dystopic Big-Data-Big-Pharma-Privatized-Government Orwellian Technocracy of the new world order. Uniting under our shared interests is our only hope. Well, that and Bill Gates, of course.

[theghostlymuse]

Skeletons in the Closet

A summary of my bone boy’s shenanigans over the past two sessions of D&D, so it’s a long one! More below the cut!

So after our last misadventures in The Cultist Cave in which the party (minus Bagga) went on a murder spree and killed a bunch of Troglodytes for their trash pile, the party is ready to ask Bagga what is UP with you. Bagga is, of course, incredibly averse to revealing his secret and manages to stall for time, telling them that he’ll reveal everything when they get back to the base because he needs some time to figure out HOW he’s going to explain this. They get to the entrance of the cave where they had the Asshole Brother Cultist ™ tied up the night before. However he is unresponsive and the party realizes ‘oh shit, he’s dead’. They have no idea what happened to him, because surely a single afternoon without dinner while sheltered inside their cave shouldn’t have been enough to kill a guy. But Bagga feels responsible for this and decides to bring the body back to their base so they can at least let Lurtfen know what happened. 

As they make their way to the mouth of the cave, however, a mass of roiling shadows rose up from the ground and formed into a massive armored figure with only a single glowing red light in it’s visor. This figure, The Pursuer raised his hand and pointed at Bagga.

 “ATWELL...”

And Bagga has some pretty strong feelings about people knowing who he is and what his real name is and this sets him on edge because this scary big shadow guy just rose up from the dirt and whatever circle of hell to call him the fuck out. He is put even more on edge when The Pursuer then immediately focuses on him and attacks him with his bigass greatsword. He continues to just focus every single attack on Bagga until he’s brought down and as he dissolves back into shadow a flask falls to the ground and The Pursuer is gone. 

They mess around with the flask a bit but can’t figure out what it does. Two members drink the contents but it tastes like something close to gasoline. However, the bottle is faintly glowing/shimmering on one side and they can’t seem to figure out why. Alabaster Shale, Legendary Bard Extraordinaire decides to Identify it and pockets it for later. 

Eventually, the party returns to the base and Bagga just really awkwardly speedwalks his way to his friend Ember, a dwarf lady who is a Homebrew class called a Weaver with spider-based abilities and spells played by @shwiffy. She’s the closest thing that Bagga has to a best friend and arguably knows the most about Bagga’s past and who he is as a person. She noticed his hat of disguise pretty early on in their friendship and had asked why he uses it all the time. Bagga told her a half truth and let her know that he preferred to keep certain details to himself. He told her that he’d been horribly disfigured by a fire and didn’t want to attract any attention based on how he looked. 

But now dwarf lady can’t ignore her very tall friend speedwalking his way over who is VERY BAD at trying to hide how concerned he is. He asks her if he could speak to her privately and she follows him to his room which he IMMEDIATELY SECURES before sitting down on his bed in defeat. He begins to tell her how the team now knows that he’s disguised and that it’s a problem. She obviously realizes that she’s missing something here because figuring out he’s a burn victim shouldn’t be this big of a deal. Bagga starts stumbling over his words, trying to explain but finding it difficult to admit it outright. But Ember is actually pretty keen. She looks young, but as a dwarf she’s at least 60 and she’s been around the block a few times and at this point really starts piecing together the puzzle, all of Bagga’s strange habits and mannerisms, his past that she only has a few major details of, him being estranged from his family, not to mention that one time when he healed her and she realized his hands were a lot... thinner than she’d expected. 

“That fire... you didn’t survive, did you?”

Bagga lost his words and couldn’t meet her eyes. So he simply took off his gloves and rested his hand in hers which was answer enough. But Ember is a good friend and she’s less frightened and more astonished. She asks him if he’ll take off his disguise so she can actually see him, but he doesn’t want to frighten her. 

“Frighten me? Hah, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine, I’m ready.”

And so, Ember accompanies him as he dons his disguise again and they go out to meet with the rest of the team. On their way, Alabaster runs up to them and stage whispers to Bagga that “I know your secret! Here, drink this!” and shows him the flask from before. 

Bagga is obviously taken aback because whAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNOW MY SECRET WHAT IS THIS NO I’M NOT DRINKING THAT! And it devolves into an argument of ‘No seriously! Look it only glows in YOUR direction!’ and sure enough, whatever side Bagga is on near the bottle glows and when he shoves it into his hands it glows a brilliant sparkly white/gold. Bagga is like ‘what does it do????’ ‘No, it’s fine just drink it!’ ‘I’M NOT DRINKING IT UNTIL I KNOW WHAT IT IS.’ ‘TRUST ME JUST DRINK IT’ 

At that moment, the Team’s leader, Jeff, a silver dragonborn paladin, gets bored and takes a BEEN out of his bag and starts to plant it. Bagga looks over, as does Ember and Alabaster and that’s when everyone goes AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The BEENZ are rather infamous now. Picked up on Bagga’s first session with this team, they’re Magic Beans that when planted and watered, sprout into anything from tiny purple mushrooms that SHRIEK in daylight to AN ENTIRE FUCKING PYRAMID WITH AN EVIL MUMMY LORD INSIDE. The most notable thing to sprout from it being the Frog Incident ™ in which eleven tiny hot pink frogs sprouted from the ground and, when touched, appear to turn into anything from a Hunter Shark that can only flop around uselessly on the ground to AN EFREETI. 

And sure enough, enter THE FROG INCIDENT 2: RETURN OF THE FROGS ™

And while they are dealing with ALL OF THESE FROGS/MONSTERS  a set of FIVE HILL GIANTS emerges from the treeline and begins to attack. Bagga gets helped by a unicorn that spawned from one of the frogs, they have a gold dragon wyrmling now because she also came from a frog, the silver Dragonborn Monk, Steve, is punching a doppleganger in the face because it turned into him and we don’t know which one is the real Steve so we leave him to his suplexing, and Bagga is PERSONALLY OFFENDED by the Flameskull that spawned alongside some other creatures. 

EVENTUALLY the creatures are dealt with and we manage to rest a little while. Before Bagga is able to continue to try to come clean with the group though, a patron of our Inn/Base asks us to accompany him to The Forge- an area where you can toss a shit ton of gems into a fire along with an item and it’ll enchant the item with random abilities/curses. Bagga hasn’t seen The Forge yet, so he accompanies the team there but this guy is super weird. He has a TON of money but wears these flowing and extravagant robes. When he gets to the forge, he tosses in more money than most have ever seen and his circlet and gets a REALLY FUCKING GOOD ITEM. (It basically lets you make an attack an automatic crit, gives you an extra turn when you crit, and if you kill anything with a 19 or 20 roll, the body of your victim EXPLODES). He allows them to identify it and check it out, while chatting with them, but is acting really suspicious. When he introduces himself Bagga and Ember IMMEDIATELY recognize his name associated with a group of Necromancers and Bagga is NOT HAPPY. He subtly casts Detect Thoughts while they chat this guy up and figure out that he’s in league with the Cultists and Dragons and he plans to HAND THE BODY EXPLODING CIRCLET OVER TO THEM.

Bagga tells the team this privately and they start trying to figure out how to get this thing away from this guy but they’re already pretty weak from the Frog Incident 2 ™ and are wary of rushing into combat again. But they get into combat anyway and manage to drive him off and they take the circlet. 

As they go to leave the Forge and in the wake of their victory, Ember gives Bagga a bit of a nudge and prompts him to tell the rest of the group his secret. He talks to Alabaster alone first because WHAT DID YOU MEAN EARLIER BY YOU KNOW MY SECRET???? And Alabaster is right on the money but he’s cool with Bagga so now Bagga is feeling a little more confident about telling the rest of the party and he gets them all to wait a moment while he tries to explain himself. The Paladin, Jeff, approaches him after all is said and done and places his hand on Bagga’s chest and IS REALLY DOING THE SKELLY MAN A FRIGHTEN because this guy is made for destroying undead. But he casts Heart Sight and determines that Bagga’s alignment is Chaotic Good and approves of his place in the party. 

Bagga is beyond relieved that for the first time since his brother and best friend died, he has people that he can trust with knowing what he is. But other problems are brewing on the horizon. One of the team’s friends, after being grievously injured was being cared for at the base, left without a word after their recovery to hunt down those that had nearly felled them. Not to mention that, after the Dragon/Cultist attack on the town of Phandalin that our team calls home, the townspeople have grown suspicious of us. Despite our efforts driving back the attacking forces (who included dragonborn among their ranks), we left immediately afterwards (in wake of the destruction) to track the cultists down and rescue a friend from them (See ‘In Which Bagga Accidentally Ruined a Man’s Life), but returned with none of the money or belongings they’d stolen from the town. With our lack of help in restoring the town and disappearing along with the Cultists, and two Dragonborn on the team, they seem to think that we’re secretly aligned with them. 

Bagga suggests that, in order to improve morale, our team should organize a Festival for the town of Phandalin. After all, despite the destruction, this was a victory on the part of the town to survive this attack and they need to be reminded of the strength and determination of their community that is now pulling itself together from the wreckage. And if there’s one thing that Bagga knows from being raised as a noble, managing your Public Relations through Events and Parties are always something that tends to make the townspeople love you. Not only this, they brought back two Black Dragon eggs from the Cultist Caves that they plan to smash as part of the opening ceremonies. Nothing like smashing some evil babies to convince people you’re on their side. 

And so, Party Planner Bagga is getting ready to throw a fucking rager for a destroyed town. Let’s do this. 

[anthonybialy]

Left the Right

Watching two unpleasant sides slap fight should be entertaining. We want to root for handprints. But the best sorts of rumbles feature a clear virtuous gang. Observers would ideally want to join in to help force out hoodlums. Both wannabe toughs harass local merchants.

These particularly joyous political times feature two cabals of conservatives arguing about who’s obeying Reagan's ghost. The answer is neither, which should provide them relief. But each seems to take comfort in bickering about how they're wrong. Both may as well claim to have been the subject of an Adele song.

Neither band cares about punching government down to its proper size, which means we're only one short. Don't bother telling participants, as they won't be able to hear you over the taunting. Their lame shots should be way more entertaining: you'd think people who aspire to nothing more than hating the other cave's residents could come up with better taunts.

The warring gangs disagree about everything but what actually matters in these delightful times of anger over nothing. The Seinfeld of political disputes features all of the opposition to learning with none of George's madcap schemes to avoid work.

Voters enjoy two fantastic distinct choices. Those who know we have a Constitution and support adhering to it enjoy a wide range of both parties trying to destroy their beliefs. There's refreshing news for anyone noticing the fake boasting tough guy who's commandeered the side once sort-of known for pretending to care about limiting government has dispensed entirely with that pretense.

You may either align with Democrats or with a longtime Democrat who's worked hard to prove he's still loyal to something. I wish it could be something other than keeping mandates in place.

Professional quasi-Republican critics of this obnoxious boor of a president are the only people more unpleasant than him. Did they mean to establish a scale?

The least elite elites somehow taint the phrase Never Trump, which should be tougher than cutting government. But the most unpleasant snobs neglected to realize arrogance is no better if in the form of sucking up to Democratic candidates instead of slapping your name in gold on every surface. Oh, and someone in the quasi-Republican resistance should've remembered they were supposed to offer a conservative alternative.

Instead, many alleged conservatives indignant about the incumbent's deviations not only vow to support whichever dull Democratic fool who hasn't learned by 2020 that socialism kills economies and humans but seem enthusiastic about vowing to take over the economy and your life. That's not what we meant by being principled.

Government expands like Trump's professional bankruptcies. You can spot those who totally aren't just partisan hacks by how they cheer for China's potential tariff reductions that bring us closer to the trade we had before all the unnecessary pain of a macho trade war led by a general who thinks humiliating foes is commerce's goal. It's certainly not to create useful products.

We must establish just how we're going to let the state choose for us. Being divided over personality shows just how unserious politics has become in case you thought it couldn't get more so. There couldn't have been a worse alternative to challenge orthodoxy, unless you feel boasting about toughness means not having to do anything tough. Bullies are always compensating for cowardice.

It's totally in the spirit of limited Washington to trust power as long as it's held by the preferred handsome strongman. This benevolent strongman will treat you differently from all the others. Why wouldn't you trust someone who's not a politician except for how he's president?

The only thing missing from the debate over who’s really conservative is conservatism. The Bulwark clique is a bit too eager to vote for whoever the nominee is. Guess which party.

Meanwhile, the president's liberal-bashing militia shrieks at those wearing different logos to distract from how often they agree with their mortal enemy. Guys, you all want to grow government at a rate faster than the Millennium Falcon. Are style points really worth such division?

Both combative preservers of the American experiment are cool with expanding our appalling administrative state. In fact, you'd think purported Ayn Rand devotees were fighting to show they're better at wasting your money. Those wearing red hats without irony taunt about the alternative, as voting for the closest thing to socialism is how the Democratic tribe thinks they'll beat their top villain. Massive debt is cool as long as it’s spurred into existence under a Republican.

It's not like these troglodytic sides each believe in nothing. Of course, the only principle is hating the other side. At least pure enmity is in tune with the state of everything. The black hole of nastiness means the Trump-adulating side prevailed, as both factions preen about principle while actually adhering to none of what they claim.

Politics have never been more usual. That outsider sure loves signing anything that increases wasting your money by law on your behalf. There's a notable lack of resistance on policy when personality is at the forefront. Oh, right: the government sucks at things.

[ecotone99]

[MF] Round Trip

I knew I'd taken something. Or had I? Maybe I hadn't taken anything...maybe I could convince myself it was this putrid coffee causing my tilted delusions and not the blotter strip that was now chewed into a spit ball. I needed to do this...or something...or nothing, and pretend it was something. I needed to get out of the tube, I'd been cooped up in it all week avoiding the sun. I had my portable tube to avoid the rain and my reliable, old, carpeted and air conditioned tube would be waiting when I was done. Now my journey, through time, linear and back again, sideways and off at an angle. It's came like a bolt of lightning. A friend of a friend asked if I wanted some weed. "No" I said, "But I'd love one last trip, nobody has LSD anymore, man." Do dealers even say 'Man' in this day and age? They probably say strange alien things like 'Blasto' or 'Goose'. Dealer: "You want acid, brah?" Brah! I knew it'd be cool...not mainland like man or dude. Dealer: "Look, brah, I can get you acid". I knew in that moment it had to happen, I knew I'd chew it up, hop in the Prius and crash straight through the sunset to my destiny, which hopefully wasn't prison or a cave. We like to think the states is all but mapped, but maybe it's not. Maybe I'll get jumped and raped by Native American troglodytes, my pathetic drugged up cries for help braided with the breeze. No...that sounded terrifying, instead I was living the dream, it wasn't my dream but I'd be living it anyway. Finally it was my turn to let loose and do something crazy, like buy a multi coloured hat or not pay my bill at a restaurant or stab a penguin to impress a sexy Satanist. But do what specifically? What was the day going to bring? Hopefully I could squeeze the dregs of an experience out of the empty toothpaste tube of life.

I was 42, balding and a functioning alcoholic. I hadn't taken acid since I was 23, and to be honest I'd loved every trip I went on. Except for that one time, but we've not thought about that one time for a long time, there was a penis involved and we buried it in the ancient trunk...not a euphemism. But still, this was a change for me, and a sheet of 10 was too much, way too much, but it was done now. I'd just have to wait it out like shit pains. In the words of the late, great Alan Watts "Go through the middle". Normally I drank. Mainly I'd drink to get happy, I'd drink to avoid sadness and I worked to pay for drink. It never really negativity affected my life, I just glided by, like dandelion spores on a cow fart.

My life? Life? My life so far is sketchy. Like a pencil, except with less lead for the bullet. A mixture of times gone by, intense present anxiety all washed down with a whisky sour that tasted like an ash tray. I could pull at those life weeds that seemed to grow from my soul, but they'd always snap off just before they were uprooted, and two days later a clone would appear with friends. I'd just realised I was sat in my sitting room watching the TV. When did I get here? Something was buzzing, loud, loud...It was touching me!

"Honey, are you ok?" My girlfriend looked confused and frightened. "Yeh, I'm good, I just ate some bad sausage and now I feel guilty". She looked at me...she squinted...her eyes swelled like balloons. "You're drunk". "Yes" I said. "Dave gave me cannabis whiskey, but I didn't realise until it was too late, now I'm high, Hiiiiii!". She didn't look impressed and laughing in her face wasn't helping things. "Jesus, Frank, grow up." She sat down and I stopped and watched her watching TV. The show was about bees...she must like bees or something, why else would she be watching it? I stared at my partner of 20 years and reminisced about all the Polaroid moments we'd shared. Happy, smiling, the great love I felt for this delicate flower. Although right now her face looked like a Picasso that'd been in a fire. She couldn't know of this adventure, the coffee adventure, it was just Dave's whiskey. Who the hell was Dave? You could blame anything in life on someone you don't know, just make up a name 'Larry' and say "Larry made me do it! He forced me!" Yeh, sorted, he'll get the blame now. "Forced you to do what, honey?"....Shit, did I say that out loud? "Nothing, just talking to myself." My girlfriend walked in the room. "Did you say something?" How did she do that? I could have swore she was on the sofa. Did she just teleport or did I lose track of time? Did she even speak? "The thing...about Larry". She looked more confused than ever "Who the hell is Larry, and speaking of people I've never heard of, who's Dave?" She started at me for a second...or maybe a minute...maybe a year, I couldn't tell. She grabbed her purse from the counter top "I'm going to my mother's, I'll be back at 10pm, do the dishes, don't drive if you're high and stop drinking with Dave, whoever the fuck he is...love you." The kiss loomed at me like a wardrobe falling on a toddler, but the kiss itself was gentle and comforting. She slammed the door and I screamed out "No guns". Last week she'd given me a look I'd only ever seen out of the tube, for a moment I suspected she was one of them. I mean, she was always talking to them, she drank coffee with them, she'd even dated a few of them before we met. Could it be, that they, the insufferable 'they' had snatched her unsuspecting body from under my nose, recruited her for their evil purposes? No, she was clean. She was cleaner than a hookers kid, a filthy hooker who felt so unconsciously dirty that she'd scrub that child like the tires to an old Jeep.

I'd keep my eye on her though, just incase she slipped up and told me to "Have a nice day, now". I'd always recoiled at the very presence of plastic pleasantries. Here I am having a perfectly horrible day, with shit under my nose and piss on tap, when all of a sudden, out the dank cloud covered sky, a spotty necked teen with more shassy than teeth tells me to "Have a nice day". Now I feel obliged to at least try. Ok, you pimple faced throw back, I'll smile at the next person I see. Yes, that'll show the little fuck. I'll smile, and the victim of said smile, this stranger, this urchin, their heart will swell to bursting with gratitude and Buddha himself will congratulate me for filling my karma bar to capacity. There'll be cake, and I'll give a speech, I'll thank everyone but my mother, and she'll look at my auntie Barbara with that 'What an ungrateful little prick' look in her eyes and I'll grin smugly...lock me in a cupboard now you wilting old sow.

Then out of the heat and sweat I saw the woman I was going to smile at. A bag lady with no hair, at least not on her bald head. She'd be the one I'd punch to the moon with cheer. She got closer to her fate, and then... we made eye contact. At the last second I looked at my coffee. She wasn't worth it I figured, she'd only have told me to go fuck myself, spittle covering my once dry and sterile face just as she hits the 'Fffff". Now look what that snot nosed teen had done, he's ruined an old bald lady's life. What was in this coffee? It tasted like coffee but it brought on waves fear and heavy anxiety. I'd only ever felt fear similar on rollercoasters or strangely enough when taking to attractive nuns. I hated the fun fair, it didn't make sense to me to call something fun when not everyone would find it fun. Some people find torture fun but they don't call it the fun rack. Or maybe they do in this degenerates house. Maybe everything to do with torture has a double entendre stapled to its forehead. The skull crusher was now called the party hat, and the fingernail bamboo were now happy sticks. Who knows what depraved things go on behind hypothetical closed doors.

I decided to sleep on the hood of my car, driving wasn't an option, the coffee had hit me like a ton of bricks. I toyed with the idea of chewing through the windscreen, that way I couldn't be arrested for being behind the wheel. No judge in the world would buy that story. "So officer, you found the suspect behind the wheel?" "Yes your honour". "Did you witness him enter the vehicle?" "Yes your honour, he chewed through the windscreen". "Bailiff, have this officer put to death immediately for lying in a court of law". I was hungry now and breakfast seemed like last year. I rolled my head around to the left and caught sight of Everest's peak in the form of a Wendy's. That's where I would find the holy grail, all wrapped up like a breakfast burger, fully edible with inner peace located just under a pickle. I flopped off the hood and hit the floor like an old roll of carpet, with blood in my mouth I stood up, licked my teeth and spat a crimson mist into the air. I aimed my bone sack towards the light. One tactical forward lean and I was careering towards my destination with gusto, too much gusto, I flipped over a fence and landed sitting up looking at the burger joint, which now looked kind of dirty, just like a good slut should. Just what I needed, a filth grilled lardwich to snap me out of my coffee funk. What was in that coffee? I was sat slumped on a step just to the left of the entrance to Wendy's, when one of 'them' asked me if I was ok, "Yes" I said. "It's just my heart, the valves are wonky and they pump blood directly to my nose, the can't cure it, it's like cancer of the hair, you can shave it off, but it'll just grow back". I had a feeling her demeanour had shifted from concern to fear. "Just kidding" I said. "I'm having a stroke, now leave me alone, I'm tired." It worked, she disappeared back into the store looking confused.

I looked to my right, there was a dog tied to a post. He was a slave alright, a slave to the good life. He wasn't allowed in the store, but there were treats coming, I could tell. "You from round here?" I asked it. "Yeh, not far, you?" Oh my Christ, I thought. A talking dog. To be fair I had asked it a question, if I didn't want an answer, why did I ask? "Hey, buddy. I asked you a question, you live far?" He was getting demanding, he was acting aggressively and I was in for it if I delayed any longer. I mustered enough courage to say "I don't like dogs anyway, don't trust em, as far as I could throw em". A face appeared from behind a wall. "Take a hike then, buddy, you started taking to me". It was a man, not a dog, the dog hadn't said a word. Unless it was a ventriloquist, a very talented...no probably not, probably just the owner. I shouted "I'm having a stroke!!" I think I said it to the face, but I might have said it to the dog.

It was time to leave, the confused waitress was probably finished amassing her army of staff to forcibly removed me from the premises. I was supposed to eat here, but that was over now, I was pretty sure McDonalds was next. I might end up killing someone over there, better get it over with sooner rather than later. I stood up and stepped on the dogs paw, it yelped and scuttled back to its master. The master shot me a look of hate and disbelief "You drunken idiot, you nearly broke my dogs foot". "Dogs don't have feet, they have paws, and that dogs due a death. If it wasn't me It'd be Venezuelan hitmen". The master stood up and dragged his flea ridden ventriloquist dog away from my space. He mumbled something about 'drunken' something about 'cunt' and something about 'terrorism'. The last comment didn't make sense but I just figured he was a right wing nut with a racist dog and spiders behind his eyes. No wonder he was upset, poor bastard. I walked towards the McDonalds and tried to comprehend the dangers I could potentially face on the road. There was a set of traffic lights, but I didn't want to cross there like one of 'them'. I'd run straight across the freeway like Frogger and hope for no traffic, if I was unlucky enough to run into a semi, I'd look it in the eye and be the bug all over its front face thing. I'd scar the driver with my blood and guts in his grill, even if his last 10 murder rapes had been like water of a greasy bastards back.

I walked past a bench with a bald man sitting on it. I shouted "FROGGER!" He looked at me like I just yelled "RAPE!" His strange bald face started to speak "Who's raping you?" Oh my Christ, I'm thinking one thing and saying another. I loudly whispered "Frogger, but that was the 80's, I'm having a stroke". That stroke line was working a treat. I ran across the road avoiding all traffic and landed on some grass. I could lay here awhile, get my bearings.

submitted by /u/LookBackInAnger1982 [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2Z3hS00

[itsworn]

75-Photo Gallery: Hot Rods Tear Up the Beach at the 2017 Race of Gentlemen in New Jersey

After an incredible weekend of racing on the beautiful beaches of Wildwood, New Jersey, The Race of Gentlemen 2017 will go down as one of the event’s best efforts to date.

The stage was set, the sand berms packed with spectators, and this time around Mother Nature didn’t let us down, offering up some of the finest weather the Garden State has seen this year. The conditions were perfect for racing, and the TROG participants took every advantage of the gorgeous weekend.

The action actually started mid-week, as racers and fans converged on the bustling shore town. The ’50s-styled beach town is the perfect backdrop for an event like TROG, with its mid-century architecture and old-school vibe. The town has been home to TROG since 2013, and Meldon Stultz and his Oiler crew plan to keep it that way for good.

Thursday night the petrol-powered party kicked into gear, with a good smattering of vintage rods and bikes making it into town. By Friday morning, the town was alive with jalopies on the streets and bikes running the town grid. TROG set up shop in and around the Star Lux hotel, the official home base, and started registration and inspections. Each participant must pass a safety inspection in order to race.

TROG, in its sixth year here at the Jersey Shore, has become a well-oiled machine. Things ran smoothly through Friday, getting the participants ready for the racing days ahead. There was still more pre-race fun to be had, as The Night of the Troglodytes party was about to kick off. The bike-themed fiesta is one of the mainstays of the race weekend.

As Saturday a.m. rolled around, the sound of hopped-up rods and bikes could be heard on the streets of town. A police escort brought many of the drivers to the meet-up point at Ocean Avenue for the driver’s ceremonial entrance at the boardwalk. Once through the tunnel, the participants take the long trek down the sand path to the pit area.

One interesting addition this year to TROG is the “rail” class. These Spartan rides are built as they would have been in the 1940s, basically a Model T or A frame, with just the necessities: motor, seat, wheels, and driver. Mel was smart to add this class, as it brought a new twist to the roadsters, coupes, and speedsters typical at TROG.

Saturday is usually the “test-and-tune” day, as participants get a feel for driving on sand, figuring out a good launch strategy and recovery down the track. It’s a slippery surface, and one has to get used to it. After a run or two, usually the driver gets it figured out—as long as conditions prevail. Luckily this year, the weather was consistent. Instead of worrying about rain and fog like in the past, the drivers only had to worry about sunburn!

Sunday was the day for heads-up racing. After an early-morning warm-up, brackets were drawn up, with each car falling in by engine size. There is a banger class and a V8 class on the hot rod side of things, to keep cars as evenly matched as possible. Even though there is an emphasis on “fun,” the matches are fiercely competitive. It made for good viewing, and the spectators showed their approval.

When it was all said and done, TROG 2017 will go down as the race’s finest hours to date. With the race machine running at full tilt, hats off to Mel and his Oiler CC/MC, as the show went on without a misstep. Also, let’s give a shout-out to Mother Nature herself, for giving TROG one hell of a beautiful weekend to race!

Packed: The beach was packed with spectators waiting for the “Greatest Show on the Sand.” They weren’t disappointed!

Street Rods: Hot rods lined up on the street outside of the Star Lux Hotel in Wildwood. This is a typical sight on almost any street in central Wildwood during race week.

Speaking English: Two of the more well-known rods at the race belong to the husband-and-wife team of Eli and Lisa English. Eli is owner of Traditional Speed and Custom in Pittsfield, New Hampshire, and builds killer rods like these at his extensive shop. Eli’s ’32 coupe runs a flatty and has a narrowed truck grille up front. Behind that is Lisa’s ’29 roadster, also boasting a flathead, a narrowed ’35 truck grille, and Mother Nature’s own homemade patina.

Bad Bones: Wearing No. 591 is Ken Schmidt’s “bad to the bones” ’34 Ford. The Rolling Bones–built ride is a staple at TROG and performs with the best of them out on the sand

Stud Studie: One of the more interesting rides out on the sand was Jean-Marc Lazzari’s ’31 Studebaker speedster. He came all the way from Scottsdale, Arizona, boasting straight-eight power!

Hardie Hot Rod: Entering the field of play is Hardie Boy Racing’s beautiful ’23 Ford T track roadster. Back in the day, it was a HOT ROD feature car and moves down the beach with 286ci flathead power.

MC Joe: Master of Ceremonies and staging boss Joe Oz has been a staple at TROG since day one. He leads the contingent out onto the course on his steel steed: a ’45 Indian Chief NYPD bike.

Roadster City: Lined up and ready to race, a series of TROG roadsters get last-minute check-ups before they hit the eighth-mile.

Jammin’ Jerry: Jerry Laboranti and his decked-out ’31 roadster scream down the sands. The Cyclone-powered flathead ride has both the looks that kill and plenty of power up front between the rails.

Out on Rails: For the first time, rails were viable entrants in a TROG event. Ted Haarke built a pretty fast ride. It starts with a ’21 T frame and was built with a Model A rear and front end. A ’47 G-series 226ci flathead and original transmission give it motivation. A wheelbarrow was used as the cockpit! Here he zooms past flag girl Kailey Hankins.

Start Me Up: In days past, starting line traffic at TROG could be a long wait. But with the new bulk return system in place, waiting times were cut down and drivers made more runs than ever before. It also was a lot safer out on the sand; a win/win situation for sure.

A Hot Heat: “Mercury” Pete Haurd in his ’34 255ci Mercury-flathead-powered Ford Cabriolet takes on Tom Freund in his ’31 roadster, which runs a ’46 flathead with Fenton heads and an Offy dual intake. Tom’s ride is known as the “Basement Roadster,” as it was found after years of storage downstairs in a house.

Beach Blast: In another tightly contested battle, Thomas Berry from Orlando, Florida, in his banger-powered ’31 roadster takes on Jersey Shore local Shawn Mazor and his ’27 roadster. Shawn’s ride was built on A rails and motivated by an A/B banger motor.

In Memorium: Richard Winson drives this beautiful post-war-style sprint car in memory of his good friend Paul Monds. Paul passed away before The Race of Gentlemen and never got a chance to live out his dream of racing at TROG. The “Trackmondster” comes out of Brazil, Indiana, and features a Model T chassis, ’39 trans, handbuilt body, and ’49 flathead built with Offy heads, Isky cam, and a trio of 94s up top.

Battlin’ ’29s: Matt Lanigan of Olney, Maryland, does his best to catch Mark Wellnitz of Westfield, New Jersey. Both drivers are running banger-powered ’29 roadsters. Matt runs a high-compression Thomas head, while Mark favors an aluminum Lion speed head.

T-Rail: Evan “Cuz” McDermott was fast out on the sand. His bare-bones T-chassis rail was a cool contender, racking up wins with its Rajo overhead banger motor.

Double G-Man: George Gudat out of Toms River, New Jersey, runs his ’28 roadster full tilt out on the eighth-mile. A 286ci flathead gives this ride the push it needs. It sports Offy heads, Hexagon tool intake, and a pair of 94 carbs.

Class Act: Jonathan Ruvio pilots his banger-powered ’31 coupe on the Wildwood sands. He teaches automotive tech in Great Neck, New York. This hot rod is a product of his class’ effort; the students worked on the car to get it ready for TROG.

Oiler Brother: With the roller coaster as a backdrop, two hot rods fight it out on the sand. H&H Flatheads’ Max Herman and his banger-powered Model T roadster take on the “?” car of fellow Oiler CC member Jason “Elrod” Ellis.

Tower of Power: Cruising past the Oiler tower is Mike McLaughlin, all the way from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. His ’27 T roadster is powered by a potent flathead.

Our Throttle Jockey: Yes, our Racing Roadster project car did make the scene at TROG, with much success. We’re saving Scotty’s first-person report on his exciting weekend for the final chapter in the roadster’s build. Stay tuned.

Mel: The Race of Gentlemen creator Meldon Van Riper Stultz III.

The post 75-Photo Gallery: Hot Rods Tear Up the Beach at the 2017 Race of Gentlemen in New Jersey appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[anthonybialy]

Enemy of Dumb People

Everyone is now defined by who hates them. Do you feel inspired?  There's no reason to propose initiatives that would improve our species.  Those involve hard work on account of all the thinking followed by implementing.  It's far easier to gesture toward whoever loathes your guts with the implication that your style differs.  Don't thank them.

But what if the person who put your face on a dartboard is a moron?  You should believe that by definition.  Dumb people hating a product offer a marginal endorsement.  It's an advertisement to functional humans if their doltish counterparts smash it on a table because the buttons are perplexing. Still, the right sort of folks should enjoy using it.  A tablet should be easy to navigate even if semi-upright apes are flummoxed.

Your opponents might have bad taste.  But their appalling fondness for Vanilla Ice doesn't make your New Kids on the Block fanny pack any cooler.

At a tranquil time when everyone hates everyone else, it's easy to let animosity set boundaries. Unsophisticated Cro-Magnons in the Before-Time used to discuss their differences.  They should've thrown rocks at each other like us evolved primates.

All we know is that we've been out for blood for as long as history's been documented.  The ancient texts stretch as far back as tweets at the page's bottom. Nobody’s quite sure why we pray for the deaths of those with different candidates' lawn signs, as contemplation distracts from rage.

Both parties preserve our stupid government's atrocious overreaches in their own ways.  Personal style is the only distinguishing characteristic.  It's hard to sort the rumblers when each participant wears Hypercolor shirts with Skidz pants.  Spot your side by their different Starter hats.  Are we the Raiders or the Sharks? The hideous throwbacks will be embarrassing in five minutes.  But nobody looks for past examples anymore, so we'll forget today to focus on mocking each other tomorrow.

Policies are irrelevant.  I mean, they're not.  But any particular stances are ignored in favor of emphasizing caricatures.  Premises are only distinguished by degree.  The disgust is so severe because the stakes are so small. The other side is on the other side, and that's all animosity takes.  American politics now resemble a summer camp color war.  Anyone wearing blue is the enemy, so dump flour on them.

Trump's oft-liberal caricature of conservatism is all the most zealous disciples and apostates need to create their personalities.  I'd feel sorry for those who still think he’s a definitive businessman if the association didn't taint human commerce. Anyone paying attention knows a favor-buying brute who writes his name in gold to distract from his insecurity loathes open commerce.  On the other hand, Democrats do detest him more than Kim Jong-un.

Those who insist life is full of complexities too nuanced for conservatives also proclaim there's only one side.  To be fair, there are even fewer.  Like troglodytic neo-Nazis fighting contemptible modern commies in the worst World War II reenactment ever, it's fine to loathe both.  If the relatively milder choice is between two parties who want to control us with slightly different terminology, I'm drinking RC Cola.  

Trump tries to sell you on how he's for selling.  The diagram would confuse M.C. Escher.  But all he's ever wanted is to corner business with charm and threats.  It's not my fault others bought it.  The inability to recognize that government favoring particular enterprises is the precise opposite of free markets is why we don’t let the left define terms.  We also roll our eyes when they proclaim there'd be peace if only we weren't mean to friends we've turned into warmongers.

Democrats hate a president who basically agrees with them because he pretended to be a right-winger.  At least we have another example of what happens differing from what should.  It's the longest-loading Wikipedia.

The animosity is understandable: I wouldn't want him representing my side, either.  But nobody can distinguish between party and ideology in these sophisticated times.  His penchant for solving everything with a deal is only made worse by what he considers deals.  Democrats fume because their chief designated enemy proposes federal fixes that aren't slick enough.  I know there’s value in ticking them off.  But it should be for better reasons than electing someone unpleasant.

There has to be more.  There's not and won't be.  A candidate could offer something positive, maybe.  It doesn't seem possible at present.  But a deep dive into information available through our futuristic fluorescent tablets indicates humans were once capable of providing legitimate reasons to be despised. Now, flipping off rivals is considered sufficient.  Stir in lame insults to keep it real.

The chasm between what's accepted and where standards should be is the difference between Appetite for Destruction and thinking the present Guns N' Roses tour will match it.  Remember how nostalgia's in? Nobody wants to think about the present.  We let those who find us hideous do that on our behalf.