#His surrogate son happened to be called Russell as well

[blooddrinkingbartender]

Narrative: Old Bill’s Endeavour

Summary: Back in 1918, when Bill suspected foul play in his surrogate son’s death while he was returning home from the Western Front, he set forth on a roaring rampage of revenge, regaining his youth in the process. 

Warning: I would definitely say this a mature fic not suitable for younger audiences. There are copious amounts of violence, bloodshed (and blood drinking), gore, and death. There is also homophobia (a man is murdered for kissing another man) which would have been considered typical for its time (not that that makes it right obviously) and  word ‘queer’ is also used as a slur. It’s also very long, over 10,000 words long.

He had been waiting for the ship to make its return. He could only be glad it was during the night time. Most people knew him to be nocturnal, often blaming his old age for his messed up sleep cycle. If only they knew the truth.

Russell had sent him a letter, the last of the many he had sent while on the front, saying that he would be on his way home. He had been surprised but delighted to know that Russell had managed to prove his original prediction wrong. He had been debating to himself whether to share the news about his mother just yet. Of course, he knew what had really happened; he had decided her life was forfeit and drained her off her blood soon after Russell left, but he had figured out the cover story. He briefly wondered if Russell would end up noticing the years that were shaved off his appearance since then.

He had ultimately decided not to tell him. He would most likely want to take some time to relax after all the travelling and not be thinking about it if he had told him in a letter.

Bill’s heart sank as he watched everyone leave the ship and saw no sign of Russell anywhere on it. His eyes met with one particular individual. He was a man in his late twenties. His brown hair was closely shaved and his blue eyes were filled with anxiety as he approached. Another man was behind him. His own black hair was a little bit longer, his face was riddled with sorrow, and he kept his brown gaze over Bill’s shoulder.

“You must be Bill,” the first said, “Russell’s told us a lot about you, Sir. Me and Walter here. My name’s Elmer.”

He gestured to the younger man behind him before offering his hand to shake.

“Ah, nice to meet you both,” Bill replied. He accepted the gesture, “He’s told me a lot you both as well in his letters, along with everyone else in your little group, Lord rest their souls and Lord give Earnest a safe rest of his journey. I hate to sound rude to you nice young men, but where is Russell? He said he was coming back.”

He could smell the lie as soon as it came out. It was like concentrated ammonia.

“He fell off the ship, I’m afraid,” Elmer said, “And we couldn’t find him when he landed in the water. I can only assume that he just sank like a stone. The weather had been really bad that night, an awful storm.”

Bill couldn’t help but notice that Walter was constantly looking back over his shoulder to four particular men. He could smell a familiar scent in their blood; very similar to decay despite them being alive. A lot of humans he had met in his time carried that smell.

Did they have something to do with Russell’s disappearance?

“You don’t want to bother yourself with those guys any,” Elmer said, noticing that he was looking at them, “They’re not very nice people. I call them the Horsemen. Russell probably told you. We’re really sorry that we had to give you this news, Sir. I can only assume that God’s given him a warm welcome now.”

Russell had indeed told him about the Horsemen in some of his letters. One of them had tried to cut out of his tongue. Earnest had stopped that from happening though. He had to give the big man some credit for that.

“Perhaps,” Old Bill replied. He did his best to show a calm demeanour, despite the rage that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, “Don’t be sorry, my friend. The cosmos have a funny old way of seeing things through.”

As it went later into night-time, he told Freyde and Robert that he had a pilgrimage to go on.

“I probably won’t be coming back,” he had said, “I’ve got places to go, and things to do. You both have been absolutely wonderful neighbours to me, and stand-in parents to Russell when I couldn’t be, and I felt I owed it to you to say goodbye. Please tell anyone who comes around that my house is free to anyone who just needs it.”

“What will we tell them about you, Bill?” Freyde asked. Her cheeks were still running with tears from the news of Russell's death.

“Just tell them I died suddenly in my sleep, like Cassandra did, and you buried me. I even wrote a will to use. You’ll find it under my bed,” Bill said, “They’ll believe that. I’m old.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Robert said, “Can you at least tell us why?”

“As I said, I got some things I need to do,” Bill said, “And I know for a fact I won’t be able to come back once I’ve done them.”

“Bill Goodwin. Always the secret-keeper,” Robert said, “Aren’t you, Vampire?”

“That I am,” Bill replied, “Hunter.”

Elmer was staying in a tavern for the rest of the night. He wanted to get some rest before he started making his way back to Texas. All he could think about was seeing Dorothy and Rose again. He could already picture Dorothy running into his arms with a happy cry. He pictured Rose’s smile and his arms wrapped around her.

He then briefly thought to Russell. If he hadn’t told him to stand down against the Horsemen, he might not have lived to be able to see them again. His heart sank. He knew what Russell and Walter had been doing was a crime, and a sin against God, but they were still his friends, and that didn’t make what the Horsemen did right.

He pressed his hands together in a prayer.

“Dear Lord, please forgive Russell for his mistake. He’s only human. And humans make mistakes, don’t they? Even if he and Walter shouldn’t have been doing that, they’ve done a lot of good, and Russell doesn’t deserve damnation for it, or at least what the Horsemen did…”

He paused when there was a knock on the door. He was certain he hadn’t locked it. He shrugged. Maybe it was someone who had been on the ship with them and they wanted to talk.

“Come in,” he casually called out, as he moved to sit. His eyes widened when Old Bill opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him.

“Good evening, Elmer,” Old Bill only said. In what seemed like an instant, he was suddenly standing next to the bed. Elmer almost jumped onto his feet but Bill placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down, “I think you and I need to have a little chat, if we may. What really happened to Russell? And don’t lie. I can smell lies, like when someone rips ass in a train carriage.”

“I told you, Sir...” Elmer said, swallowing. How did Bill get here? “He fell off the ship.”

“Wrong!” Bill snapped. Both his hands were suddenly placed on either side of Elmer’s head. He drummed his fingers along Elmer’s scalp, as though to emphasise his point, “You will tell me the truth, my friend. You will tell me the truth, or I will reach into your head and claw it out myself. You’ll return to Texas as nothing more than a mindless husk, and then what will become of your wife and daughter?”

Elmer was paralysed with fear. Bill’s eyes had changed from that warm grey to a bright yellow and had sunken into their socket. The sclerae were bloodshot, and the pupils had become slit, like that of a cat’s. His veiny skin had taken on a deathly blueish tone. His canine teeth had grown significantly sharper and longer.

Elmer couldn’t help but think back to the stories his grandpa had told him in order to scare him into going to bed. He would talk of how corpses would rise from their graves as vampires to steal the blood of the living, especially if they had been bad.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Bill said, smirking, “You can see what I really am. Not just some harmless old man sitting on his stoop anymore, am I? So… are you going to tell me the truth?”

“Yes!” Elmer said, “I will! I’ll tell you the truth! Please, don’t hurt me!”

“I won’t hurt you, unless you give me a reason,” Bill said.

Elmer told him almost everything; like how Russell had become a scapegoat to defend Walter and himself after an accusation of some kind of perceived crime, the torture that had been inflicted on him, and then the murder. He even included the states the Horsemen were planning to go back to; New York, Maine, Delaware, and Ohio after some prompting. There was one detail he refused to divulge; why they had attacked Russell. All he really knew was that it had something to do with Walter. Despite Bill most likely hearing his prayer, they both knew that he didn’t hear what Russell’s ‘mistake’ had been.

“It’s all a mess, ain’t it, Bill? I shouldn’t told you all those details, they’re just terrible,” Elmer said.

“I suppose they are,” Bill replied, “But I’m not too shocked. When you get to live as long as I have, you see many terrible things. Good things too of course, but a lot of terrible things.”

He sighed. His anger practically radiated from every pore in his body, despite his voice sounding calm and his face being like stone

“Typical. He threw himself to the dogs so you and Walter would be safe,” Bill continued, “But why? I know you said they look for an excuse, so what was theirs?”

“I’m sorry,” Elmer’s voice wavered with fear as he spoke, “I can’t tell you, Bill. It would be disrespectful to Russell. He was keeping it a secret himself.”

Bill held onto Elmer’s face for just a little while longer. He then slowly released his grip and brought his hands to his sides.

“All right. I suppose that’s fair...” he only said, “And I must give you some merit. You did try and help his chances of surviving, even if you couldn’t save him directly. Of course he would tell you to think of your wife and daughter first.”

“He was a kind man like that,” Elmer said.

“Yes, yes he was,” Bill agreed, “Well, I think I’ve heard enough. I think I’m going to have a little talk with Walter next.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Elmer said, “He was in a difficult situation as well, they were both really good friends.”

“I’m not going to hurt him. I’m just going to have a talk with him, tell me where he is, or do I need to reduce your brains to cheese?” Bill asked, as he made a motion to grab Elmer’s face again.

“No! No! He’s… he’s staying at a tavern on the other side of Boston, called The Swan,” Elmer yelped.  

“That’s a good man,” Bill said, smiling, “See, isn’t it much better when you’re just honest? I never got that whole ‘say something but mean something else’ you mortals are into.”

Elmer was silent. Bill made a move as though to straighten up. But then he stopped.

“Oh, well. Of course, I can’t have you telling anyone about me...” Bill said. The fear came crawling back onto Elmer’s face. He tried to jump back. But he blinked and in an instant, his head had been taken in Bill’s hands again. Bill could already see his resistance draining as he focussed on forcing the commands to wrap around Elmer’s mind, “You blinked. Now, listen to me very closely. You are going to forget that I was ever here. When I let go of you, you are simply going to fall asleep. As far as you’re concerned, that’s all you did in this room tonight. Now sleep.”

He released his hold. Elmer’s eyes slid shut and his entire body relaxed. Bill chuckled.

“Just like a riding a velocipede, you never forget how to erase a few memories once you learn,” he said. He straightened Elmer so he was laying down and pulled the blanket over him. He then turned the lamp off, “Rest well, Armpit. Enjoy the rest of your life.” 

Walter was sitting on the bed that he had gotten for the night. An empty bottle of scotch rested by it. He held his head in his hands, sobbing quietly.

“I should have just said the truth,” he said to himself, “We could have at least died together. We could have been together, wherever we were going, and I just threw him away. I should have confessed. He shouldn’t have gone through that for my...”

There was a knock on the door.

“Go away!” he called out, “I said no one was to bother me until tomorrow.”

The knock only repeated.

“I said piss off!” he snarled. It continued. He hissed in a breath through his teeth and staggered to the door. He yanked it open and got ready to give this intruder a piece of his mind.

“Walter, I must ask that you let me in,” Old Bill simply said. The instruction was simple and it seemed to wipe away the hostility that had previously been brewing inside of Walter’s head.

“Fine, Bill...” he only said. It seemed like he wasn’t about to question what he was even doing here in the first place, “Just for a short while though. I want to be alone.”

“Of course,” Old Bill replied. He stepped inside of the room. It seemed that Walter had been hit a lot harder by the ordeal on the boat, “I had a feeling you would be like this. Elmer told me everything.”

“Of course he did. Can you honestly blame me in that case?” Walter said, “Those fuckers murdered him and I should have gone with him too! Yet I didn’t. They said I’m going to have to live with that now, and they’re right. I’m just a coward who watched him die. I’m, I’m gonna do it, you know. I’m gonna go and follow him.”

“No you won’t,” Old Bill said, “That’ll just be a kick in the teeth for him, after saving your life, and you have a niece to go home to. Why make his sacrifice meaningless?”

“Life is meaningless without him in it,” Walter replied.

“Then you have to find another meaning to your life,” Old Bill replied.

“You say it like it’s easy,” Walter said.

“It’s not,” Old Bill said, “I’ve lived so long now that I’ve had to constantly find new purposes, new reasons to live. It isn’t easy, but it’s possible.”

He had been planning to find out more details about what had happened and perhaps get some more knowledge about the Horsemen, but he had gotten a clue from this display. He wasn’t going to push the young man any further.

“I would like to be alone now,” Walter said.

“Fair enough,” Bill replied, “Although I want to make the new road a little easier for you to find.”

He didn’t hesitate. He placed his hands on the sides of Walter’s head, like he had done with Elmer. Walter was drunk and that made his mind a little bit less resistant. He didn’t even bother to try and move away from him.

“Walter. You must listen to me closely,” Old Bill said, “Hold onto this for the rest of your life if you have to. You must live. You must move on from this. It’ll always hurt, yes it will. But that pain will lessen over time. If you live though, Russell will get to live on through you. You understand, my friend?”

Walter only nodded.

“Good. Now, go to your bed, and get some sleep. I was never here,” Old Bill waited until Walter was laying down before he quietly headed out of the door again.

The hunt was on. 

Chester, also known as Famine, was relatively easy to find. He was still in Boston, possibly to enjoy it a little longer before heading back to his home. It seemed that none of the Horsemen had any interest in each other now that they had returned to the states. He would track down the other three later. He was certain he would get an idea of their whereabouts once he had drained the blood of the first.

Bill found Chester drinking in a bar a couple of nights after he left The Swan. He was bragging about how much blood he had shed while on the front. Typical. Despite the bartender politely listening, it was plain to see that he was trying to figure out how to escape the conversation. That was where he could come in.

He took the glass of whiskey he had bought and stood up, approaching them. He pretended to slip and stumble, letting the drink spill over Chester’s back.

Chester immediately spun around and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Please, forgive me,” Bill feigned fear, “It was just an accident, my friend.”

“Yeah, and now, ‘by accident’, I’m gonna fuck you up, who do you think you are, swaggering around like some kind of idiot?” Chester said. The bartender turned and pretended that he had no idea what was going on. It seemed he was afraid of invoking the Horseman’s wrath on himself, “I can just tell them you crept up on me, a war veteran, and I acted accordingly.”

Bill let himself be dragged outside. He put on a show of struggling and begging for mercy, which Chester only seemed to enjoy. No one tried to stop Chester. Bill didn’t actually blame them.

Bill was slammed against a nearby wall once Chester had deemed them both far away from the bar. Chester got a large knife from the inside of his coat. But in an instant, Bill was suddenly gone. Chester’s eyes widened. Wasn’t he just...

A hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and set of sharp teeth sank into his neck.  He dropped the knife as a searing pain shot through the wounds. As much as Bill thought about drawing out Chester’s death or being creative, he knew it wouldn’t be wise in this area. He wasn’t too torn up about that. There were three others he could have a better time with.

Chester uselessly struggled and his screams were muffled as his blood was pulled of him and swallowed down at a rapid pace.

Eventually, his screams were silenced and he grew limp. Bill tore his teeth out and let Chester drop to the ground. His head was flooded with memories that weren’t his own. He gritted his teeth. But then his eyes widened with shock at some of the visions he saw. Chester had hung back with Lawrence and Floyd as Arthur stalked over to Walter and Russell without a sound.

They didn’t notice him; they were too lost in that kiss they were sharing. Bill’s heart sank as he heard the taunts, saying how Old Bill wouldn’t want to know that he had raised Russell ‘into this’, as Floyd described it. He saw Russell scratching out his names while his own gun was pressed to his cheek. He then heard Elmer’s protests. His heart ached as the Horsemen laughed at him and Russell before knocking him into the ocean to drown.

“So… that’s why Elmer didn’t tell me,” he only said, “Oh, Russell… I can’t hate you for something like that.”

He paused when he heard Chester’s final thoughts in his brain.

Well played I suppose. I guess it’s easy to get away with something like that when you look like a harmless old man. Won’t change what I did though, will it?

“No, it won’t, but you won’t hurt anyone else this way,” Bill replied. He ran a hand along one of his cheeks. It felt smoother. He then took Chester’s knife from the ground and shoved it into the Horseman’s neck.

He then hurried off into the night. He could already hear the footsteps of someone who had most likely heard Chester’s screams. 

He found War four days later.

Lawrence was on a train, making the journey back to Ohio. He was just a third of the way through Pennsylvania now. He preferred travelling by night. Less people to deal with; less people to annoy him. Killing people wasn’t considered as ‘acceptable’ in this setting compared to the front. He knew that all too well. He reminded himself to get out at the next stop so he could transfer. That would be an hour yet.

He smirked, chuckling a little bit. It had been almost way too much fun dealing with the Cockroach. He hadn’t had that much of a thrill in ages. It was a shame it had been over so fast. He wished he could have gotten a picture of the heartbreak that flooded his face when that wooden medal was thrown over the edge of the boat. Or the tears in his eyes as he stared down at the ocean. The fear that crept into him as the knowledge of his fate slowly sank in was amazing.

It had been useful to remember that the younger man was afraid of the ocean. He had no idea they had been listening in while he had admitted that to his friends. It was certainly more satisfying than Arthur’s original plan to cut out his tongue. He found himself rather thankful that that big lug of a mute had stopped that from happening.

He let his eyes shut. He could nap for a little bit.

But then they sprung open and he found himself letting out a shocked yell when the violent screeching of metal and metal rang around him. The train came to a juddering stop.

“Oh for shit’s sake, really?” he muttered. Something must have gotten on the tracks. He huffed. Must have been an animal or something. He took his lighter out of his pocket and flipped it on. It was so stupidly dark in here, “Must be in a tunnel.”

“That was my thought as well,” a new voice said. Great. Of course someone took their chance to talk to him. Confusion about a situation did that, “Perhaps someone ought to go and investigate?”

It was too dark to make out any discernible features. He could only tell that a man was talking to him.

“Well, you go do it then,” Lawrence retorted, although an idea had come to mind. He had been restless since had gotten back. And no one was going to miss this old codger, right? Sure, he wouldn’t be as fun as Russell had been, but it was better than nothing.

“Actually, I was thinking…” in a blink, the man was standing in front of him. He rested a hand on top of Lawrence’s head and whispered in his ear. His tone became smooth and echoed inside his suddenly-emptied mind, “You could come with me.”

Lawrence awoke somewhere far away from the tracks. There was nothing but trees and dirt surrounding him. It took him a moment to realise that he was on the ground, and that his own long coat had been removed and used to tie his arms and legs together behind his back.

He had no idea how he got here. One moment, he was talking to that old man, and then…

He heard whistling. He turned his gaze upwards as the said man stepped into view. He was clearer under the light of the moon. His skin was very pale, almost blue, and his red hair was faded in colour, as was his beard. In fact, some of both was starting to go white.

He turned his eyes towards him, and Lawrence felt his breath catch in his throat when they saw that his irises were an unnatural gleaming yellow. The pupils didn’t look right either. They were bloodshot, and animalistic, like a snake or a fox.

“Does that remind you of anything?” Bill only asked, “Being tied up, helpless, and forced to look death in the face?”

“Can’t say it does,” Lawrence replied, shrugging, before he smirked, “Oh… I think I know who you are.”

“Do you?” Bill replied.

“Yeah, you’re Bill! You’re Old Bill! And now you’re mad because the guy you raised as a son is dead. And you know I had something to do with it. So, who squealed? Because I’ll need to go and gut him like a pig once I’m out of here,” Lawrence said, as he started to struggle, “I’ll get out of this and you’ll regret messing with me.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere,” Bill replied, “But I do suggest being careful about struggling there. You could...”

He trailed off and then smirked as Lawrence suddenly yelled in pain.

“Break a bone,” he then continued, “Oh dear, I suppose I should have you that straight away.”

“You absolute fucker. You old piece of shit!” Lawrence cried, “People will come looking for me! They’ll know!”

“I’ll be long gone before they find you, and there’s no one around to hear you for miles, the train left a few hours ago,” Bill replied, as he took a glance at his nails, “Although if you really have to scream more at any point, try not to do it too loudly. I have sensitive hearing.”

“Fine! I promised him I wouldn’t tell you this if he did what we said, but he was a queer! You raised a queer!” Lawrence said.

“Does it look like I care if he was that or not?” Old Bill replied, “Besides, I already knew. I got that out of Famine. He’s dead now. And soon you will be too.”

“You really wanted someone like him running around in this world?” Lawrence asked. Although his voice and face showed defiance, the smell of his fear was thick in the air, “A disgusting pervert like him?”

“Better him than people like you running around in this world, but we’re not here to talk about who deserves to live or who doesn’t,” Old Bill said. He then approached. He grinned, showing the tips of his fangs, “I just want to ask you a little question, my friend. It’s relevant to your situation. In or out?”

“What?” Lawrence asked.

“In or out?” Bill repeated.

“In or out?” Lawrence asked.

“Your bowels,” Bill said again, as the digits of his hands suddenly changed into clawed crimson fingers, “Would you like your bowels in or your bowels out?” 

They came out, even though Lawrence had said he wanted them in. Bill smirked as he tore into Lawrence’s abdomen and ripped out his intestines. Bill took his time in making it as slow and as painful as possible. Lawrence had managed to dislocate his own shoulders when his movements became desperate, leaving him utterly helpless.

Bill looped them around Lawrence’s neck and throttled him with them until his lips turned blue and his struggles weakened. He then stopped when he thought the man was about to pass out and let them hang loosely around his shoulders like a warped shawl.

“Animals and birds will have a nice meal from you,” he said. Lawrence weakly coughed, a dribble of blood escaping from past his lips. He was still alive and conscious, but at this point, he was going to welcome death, “Oh dear. Does it hurt? Are you afraid now? Imagine how my boy felt when you killed him!”

“Just, kill me,” Lawrence said, he strained to talk and his voice was quiet, sore and hoarse from all the screaming he had done, “I’m sorry...”

“You’re only sorry because I caught you and made you pay,” Bill said, “But seeing as you’re going to die soon, and I really want some of that blood for myself, my pleasure!”

He clamped his mouth onto Lawrence’s neck and bit into the vein as hard as he could. Lawrence flopped around weakly like a fish that had washed onto shore, but then he went limp as the last of his blood was taken. Bill saw those memories again. He winced. He was going to have to go through them twice more, wasn’t he? He growled.

It hurts. It hurts so much. You’re right though. I’m not sorry about him. Maybe I’ll see him in Hell and we can do it all again.

“I doubt that, I doubt that very much,” Bill replied, before he shook his head, “Huh, that was oddly quick… perhaps I’m getting soft in my old age.”

He decided to use the man’s entrails to hang him from a tree branch by his neck. He eventually found a small stream to wash his hands and his mouth of the blood that coated them. He did so quickly. He then moved on, not bothering to take a proper look at himself. He had to find a place to rest before the sun came up. 

It took another three days before he made it to New York. He could travel on foot for miles on end, but he always had to hide from the sun, and if anyone was watching, then his ability to move quickly was hindered.

That had ended up happening more times than he had cared for. However, he couldn’t deny that the people he met on the way were fairly decent.

He eventually made it though. Better late than never. With any luck, he’d make it to Maine in good time after he found and killed Death here.

When he managed to catch up to him, he could see that Floyd still lived up to the name even now. It had been coming to midnight. He was on high alert and his nose had picked up the trail of fresh blood.

Something had told him to follow it, and so he had.

It was way too late to have saved Floyd’s victim. The poor man’s head was practically nothing more than a red puddle of slush. His heart had stopped beating long ago, hopefully before he ended up in this state. Floyd no longer carried Russell’s rifle in his hands like in those memories, but he was using a heavy piece of pipe to beat the man’s corpse.

Bill moved an empty bottle with his foot. The scraping of glass on tarmac was enough. Floyd suddenly snapped his head up. He realised he was being watched. Their eyes met.

Floyd wasted no time. He rushed at him with the pipe in his hand without a single word. But then Floyd stopped when Bill suddenly seemed to disappear. He gazed around. He started to wonder if that middle-aged man had really been there.

He then felt a rumbling beneath his feet. He gazed down to see what looked like a circle made of pure darkness. Before he could step back, tendrils burst out of it. One set grabbed his upper body, and the other grabbed him by his thighs, lifting him high off the ground. An additional one stuffed itself into his mouth to muffle any screams.

It took about ten seconds of straining. Floyd squealed as the pain seemed to radiate through the rest of him. Bill concentrated, placing all his focus on his new task. He was finally rewarded by a satisfying snap of bone as Floyd’s spine was broken. He was then dropped to the ground in a heap. He couldn’t move his legs. His face had practically turned grey as he looked up at Bill. He felt as though his entire body was made from pure agony.

But then he gritted his teeth and spat on Bill’s shoes as he approached. Bill rolled him over with his foot before placing it onto his chest. He could feel some of his ribs bulging through his skin and threatening to burst through. He pressed down, causing Floyd to scream again.

“A pity. I was saving that one for Conquest, and I am trying to mix things up for all of you,” Bill said. He glanced around. No one was approaching yet. Good, “But I suppose I need to act quickly for someone as aggressive as Death himself.”

“What?!” Floyd was unable to stop himself from gasping and panting from the pain he was in.

“How does it feel?” Bill added, “To be on the receiving end of the pain you and your fellow riders commonly dealt to others? How does it feel to know that your life is over?”

He didn’t give Floyd a chance to answer. He grabbed him up from the ground and bit into his throat. He let the Horseman scream freely into the night before ripping his fangs out when he felt that he was empty. He endured the flood of memories, both distant and recent. There were those same images of the ship; just from a different point of view. As painful as they were, it was getting easier to go through them. He wiped his mouth with his hand.

It feels so cold. It feels so empty. You just swooped in and stole my life away like it was nothing, and you act like I’m a monster?

He didn’t dignify that with a response. He hurried off. There was going to be uproar when his body was found. 

For the first time in his life, Arthur was afraid. Six days had passed since Floyd had been reported dead. He had seen all the newspapers. First Chester back in Boston, then Lawrence on his way back to Ohio, and then Floyd in New York.

Most people hadn’t made the connection. He was certain that some people knew. But did any of them really have the guts to attack them? He couldn’t put it past them now that they had separated.

What he knew was that whoever this was had specifically targeted the other Horsemen, and they had also drained them of their blood. Chester’s death had been a breeze compared to the other two. It seemed the murderer was getting more creative with each one. What were they going to do to him?

Maybe if he told the killer that he had a mute cousin and a sickly mother to look after, he could avoid such a fate. Sure, his uncle was still around since his father died and she became ill five years ago (how could a sickness last this long?), bringing in the money for them, and Earnest brought in extra with those wood sculptures he was always doing, but his assailant wouldn’t know that, right?

He almost chuckled. Earnest would hate being used as a pawn. They had kept that secret well-hidden. Earnest was ashamed to be related to him, and he didn’t readily tell his little group of friends that he had made on the front about their family connection.

He had done the same with the Horsemen; he didn’t want them thinking different of him. They weren’t close at all, but it was easy to gain sympathy from other people when he told them about his ‘poor handicapped cousin’. He had debated killing Earnest after the big man had broken his jaw in order to stop him cutting out the Cockroach’s tongue. Was it really his fault that that stammer was so damn annoying?

Perhaps he had let him live for this very purpose. That’s what he tried to tell himself. He didn’t want to admit that it was because Earnest would have easily snapped his neck before he even got the chance. Arthur was surprised he didn’t do it when he realised Russell hadn’t come back on the ship with them.

However, he had suspected foul play and hadn’t been afraid to say it. When they had arrived home after a train journey filled with silence, he retrieved the piece of slate he had attached to his clothes, along with a piece of chalk, and simply wrote:

“There are thousands of words in the English language and yet there’s no such way to combine them to describe what an absolute cunt you are. Despite everything else, I never thought you’d actually stoop that low.”

He then walked off, heading to the shed that he always did his whittling in. He had almost thought about taking one of his uncle’s guns and shooting him in the back. Maybe he would have if his mother hadn’t come to greet him.

He remembered that night vividly even now. Arthur wondered if he would tell their family members would have happened, if he hadn’t already. Would they believe him? What would his mother think? What about his uncle? That was what worried him the most.

He shook his head. He had to think about the murderer. He felt anger briefly steam through his nerves when he remembered what Earnest had written down in response to hearing about the other Horsemen:

“In the words of Kin Hubbard, ‘Men are not punished for their sins, but by them’.”

“Do you not care that I could be next?” Arthur had asked. Earnest only shrugged in response, “Do you not care that this killer could be after me? I’m the only one of the Horsemen left, you piece of shit. You’re my family. You should care.”

“I could write something meaningful down, but then I’d just have to explain it to you,” was what Earnest had written next.

Arthur gritted his teeth and rubbed at his temples, as though that would somehow stop the memories from distracting him. Night had fallen over the house and its gardens. He couldn’t relax though. He kept staring out of the window. It was coming to midnight. His mother was asleep. His uncle would be working late into the night with his paperwork, as usual.

Earnest was in his shed, whittling something new. Arthur could see the light of the oil lamp that he used whenever he chose to work late. He briefly pondered going down there and seeing if he could somehow implore Earnest into protecting him.

He shook his head. Earnest was just going to let this happen, if it was going to. Arthur had decided to get prepared. He crept through the halls of the house, arming himself with a carving knife, one of his uncle’s old muskets, a revolver, and a ball-bat that Earnest had made before the war. 

Bill’s face was completely expressionless as he knocked on the door to the large house. He knew better than to press the doorbell. That would attract the attention of everyone. If he knocked, he would only cause Arthur’s uncle to come to the door. Arthur’s room was too far away for him to hear of his arrival.

He briefly wondered if he needed to go and check on whoever was on in the shed. He decided not to. He would handle them if they came in to investigate or try and stop him.

He was more surprised about the lack of security. Arthur’s uncle seemed to be a confident man, especially living in such an isolated area where no one was close enough to give them immediate help. He felt a smirk of his own creep across his lips at that thought.

He then let it fall away as he head the door being unlocked from the inside. He had to seem like he was serious.

Arthur’s Uncle Thomas seemed to be a very formal man. He had a curious frown on his face as he opened the door. He was already looking suspicious to see a stranger at this time of night. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bill got there first.

“I’m afraid you need to let me in, Sir. It’s about Arthur. I believe he’s your nephew,” Bill said. It had the effect he needed.

“Oh no, what has he done now?” Thomas replied. He then gestured with his hand, “I suppose you better come in. Honestly, only been back a couple of weeks and he’s already causing trouble…Alice deserves better than this.”

He shut the door and locked it behind them when Bill entered. He then went to his study without another word, beckoning for Bill to follow.

Once he was in the neat and tidy little room, he sat at his desk, indicating for Bill to do the same with the chair on the other side of it. Once Bill did, he opened his mouth, most likely to ask for details about Arthur’s apparent crime. Bill jumped up and placed his hands of both sides of his head.

“Sleep, Thomas. Sleep, and do not awaken until tomorrow,” Bill said. It was so much easier when they were caught off guard. Thomas slumped back in his chair as the commands wrapped around the inside of his mind, “Good man.”

Alice. Yes. He had smelled a woman who was unwell. Presumably Arthur’s mother. From the memories he had seen, Arthur lived with his uncle, his cousin, and his mother, who was Thomas’s sister by blood. His cousin must be the one in the shed. Their butler didn’t seem to be too near, but he was around. He would most likely run into him at some point.

He thought about paying a visit to Alice’s quarters as well, just to make sure she wouldn’t see or hear anything that he didn’t need her to. 

He quietly stepped out of the study, closing the door behind him. 

He was blessed not to need lights to get around. He was also fortunate that his movements hardly made hardly a sound.

But then his eyes widened when he realised he couldn’t move in his usual flash steps. He glanced back.

A woman had stepped into the corridor. This must have been Alice. She was the same age that he appeared, but she looked frail, like a breeze could blow her off of her feet. Her brown hair was patchy in places. A faint rash that was shaped like a butterfly had spread over her cheeks. She was using a crutch to help herself walk. Her gait was stiff. Sympathy riddled his face. He could already see that she wasn’t even going to make it to fifty.

“Alastair,” she called out softly, “Is that you? Why are you creeping around?”

He could only guess that Alastair was their butler. Now he had a name to use. It would be easier to address him and hopefully sway him if they ran into each other.

“Alastair?” she called out again. There was a hint of fear in her voice.

He could see that she was experiencing a severe headache. That was probably why she wasn’t asleep. He could fix that. It wasn’t the same as the actual treatment she was having to make her illness easier to manage, but it would do for the time being. It was only for one night.

She blinked and he took his chance to approach. Her eyes widened in alarm when he was suddenly right in front of her. She wanted to move back, but she knew she would fall if she did.

“Who are you? Get...”

“Be silent,” his voice was firm but not threatening, as he rested his hands on either side of her head. To his relief, he managed to stop her from revoking the invitation that her brother had given him. She found that she couldn’t speak at all anymore, “I am not going to hurt you. I promise.”

She tried to make her mouth work, but it only opened and closed repeatedly.

“Listen to me, Alice, listen to me carefully,” he said. He could see that her eyes were already growing glassy as she stared into his. Her fatigue made this easier, “You are going to back to your bedroom, and you will sleep. The pain will not plague you tonight. You will slumber peacefully until tomorrow.”

He released his grip and let his hands hang by his side. He watched as she turned and headed away. She then went back into the room she had emerged from.

“Back to work...” he told himself. He then moved on. Arthur’s scent was growing closer. The Horseman was scared. Good.

Arthur was gazing out of the window, as though that would somehow keep him alert. He was so tired. He had been too afraid to sleep properly since hearing about Floyd. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought to arm himself sooner against the coming threat.

“It’s just a man… just a man… there is no man out there that can withstand a bullet,” he said to himself. It did little to make him feel better, “None of the others had a gun on them. I have a musket and a revolver. This fucker is not getting me.”

He swallowed then. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the others he had hurt felt. He then shook his head.

“They were weak. I’m not weak. Not like they were,” he told himself. But then he felt his blood turn to ice as he noticed the knob on his door turning. Why hadn’t Thomas allowed him to put a lock on it?

The door opened and he ran to his assailant with a scream. He raised the ball-bat and brought it down onto his head.

The man crumpled to the ground in a heap. Arthur grinned, but then it fell off his face and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh shit! Alastair! I… I didn’t realise it was you! Come on! Say something!” Arthur said. He knelt down to the butler, shaking his shoulder He showed no sign of waking up. Arthur checked his pulse. Much to his relief, he was still alive, “Alastair! Wake up!”

A low whistle caught his attention. He snapped his head up.

“Impressive. A pretty good smack if I do say so myself,” Bill commented, as he walked down the corridor towards him. He was clapping a little bit, “I suppose it was me you were hoping to catch out with that, so I have to take away points for hitting the wrong target.”

Arthur didn’t waste any time. He dropped the bat and rushed back into his bedroom to grab the musket. He never remembered seeing this man on the front or on the ship. But he knew that he had to come to kill him, just like with the other Horsemen.

As soon as he saw the red-headed stranger come into view again, he pulled the trigger back. The gun went off with a massive bang and he felt himself pushed back by the recoil. The bullet left a hole in the wall behind where Bill had been standing. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the f...” a hand was suddenly clamped around Arthur’s throat. He was pinned to the wall, dropping the musket. He found himself staring into a pair of bloodshot yellow eyes with slit pupils.

“You blinked,” Bill said. Arthur uselessly squirmed.

“Don’t kill me! I have a sick mother,” he started to protest, “And a handicapped cousin. They need me!”

“I believe your uncle Thomas is doing a good job looking after them himself,” Bill replied, “And I’m sure he can keep taking care of them. Your mother isn’t long for this world in any case, sadly.”

“What did you do my mother?!” Arthur felt his voice rise to a shout when he heard that statement.

“Nothing. But that sickness of hers will be her end. It’s a miracle she’s even lived this long. I suppose when she’s had you to deal with...” Bill said. He decided to trail off and let the implication of that statement hang in the air.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Arthur protested. He struggled uselessly against Bill’s hand.

“You killed my boy,” Bill said. His voice was calm, but a rage burned behind his yellow gaze, “You tortured and murdered the boy I helped to raise since he was born. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so upset about a boy who’s not even of my blood, but I am. I really am.”

“Bill?! The Cockroach’s Bill?! I… I...I didn’t do anything!” Arthur said. The stink of the lie made Bill grit his teeth. A mix of disbelief and fear sank into Arthur’s eyes. This man couldn’t be Bill. He only looked the same age as his own mother. “The other Horsemen were all in it. I was just along for the ride.”

“You pulled them apart, you said those things about them, you told everyone to watch as you and the other Horsemen tortured him and called it a lesson. You laughed at his pain and as you tied him up,” Bill said, “You threatened a father with the same fate and then you threw him into the ocean to drown, and then you came up with the idea to make Walter live with the trauma. I saw it all! You were the ringleader!”

Arthur shook his head.

“You got it all...”

“I saw it all when I drained them of their blood, and I’ll have to see it all again when I drain you t...” it was Bill’s turn to stop talking when he felt a sudden pain in his abdomen. Arthur had retrieved the butcher knife from his coat and stabbed Bill in the stomach with it. His hand loosened, and Arthur took his chance to pry it off of him.

He then took off running, leaving the musket behind. He jumped over Alastair’s prone body. The poor butler showed no sign of waking up.

“When will they learn? You have to aim for the heart, or the head...” Bill said. He casually removed the knife from his abdomen. The damage would resolve itself soon enough, “Shame about my shirt though, I liked that one...”

He then followed.

“Thomas! Please! Wake up! Wake up!” Arthur begged as he shook his uncle’s shoulder. Thomas showed no sign of stirring at all, “Thomas! We’ve got a murderer in here! Did you just invite him in or something?! Wake the fuck up!”

“I’m afraid he’s in too deep to be doing any of that. To be honest, it looked like he needed a good night’s sleep for a change,” Bill said, “And he did invite me. I’m quite the charmer, you see. All I had to do was tell him it was about you. Seems you’ve been quite the naughty boy for him to have believed me.”

He darted forward. Arthur had failed to notice himself blinking. He screamed in pain when he felt the knife being stabbed into his shoulder. Bill then twisted it hard. Arthur’s arm hung uselessly by his side. He found that he couldn’t move it even when Bill took his hand away.

“Oh dear, nerve damage,” Bill said, “Well, I suppose that takes care of your weapon arm, doesn’t it?”

He felt something hard pressed against the side of his head.

“I have two arms, you piece of shit!” Arthur barked out at him. He blinked just as he pulled the trigger of the handgun back. Thomas didn’t so much as twitch as the bang erupted through the room. A glass ornament on one of the bookshelves shattered into pieces.

Arthur’s eyes widened when he realised that he had somehow missed, just like with the musket. It was like Bill had vanished again. He fled the room, firing behind him as he did.

Once he was gone, Bill peered out from behind the desk. He shook his head.

“And to think, he was so cocksure when he was being the aggressor,” he said to himself.

Arthur ran through the corridor. He occasionally kept looking back and firing the revolver behind him. He tried to be sparing with them, but he didn’t want to give that man any chance of catching up.

He found himself crashing into Alastair, who had finally seemed to have awoken from the violent attack. The side of his head was bruised and he seemed to have no idea of what had occurred. He let out a yelp of his own when Arthur came running into him in the dark.

“Master Brennan, what are you doing?” Alastair asked, “I wake up after some kind of fall and I hear you running around screaming and shouting.”

Arthur fired the gun behind him again.

“What is the meaning of this? Is that Master Kingston’s revolver?” Alastair’s voice sounded indignant, “Master Brennan, what has gotten into you? What happened to your arm?!”

“Someone’s come to kill me, Alastair,” Arthur’s tone was desperate as he spoke, “Someone’s come to kill me, just like he did with the others.”

“What others?” Alastair asked, although some alarm had crossed onto his face at the idea that someone had to kill one of the family members he served, “We should call for help.”

“You really think help is going to get here in time?” Arthur said, as he then frantically pointed towards his room, “Grab Thomas’s musket from my bedroom and then we can...”

The knife was suddenly yanked out of his arm, slicing through muscle and flesh as it was removed without any finesse. Blood dripped over himself, his clothes, and the floor. The limb was left hanging on by just a few threads of skin. Arthur screamed in pain as Bill casually licked the blood off of the blade.

“And to think, I was planning to keep the mess to a minimum,” he said. Arthur managed to stagger past Alastair, “Just as well you have wood floors. You can cover it up with a good rug.”

“Who are you?!” Alastair’s voice was filled with shock.

“Alastair, don’t let him kill me!” Arthur begged. He came to the awful realisation that he wouldn’t be able to hold the heavier gun. He would have to rely on the revolver, “Grab the musket.”

Alastair turned to follow Arthur. That had been his mistake. He was grabbed before he could do anything. One arm pinned both of his down and his back to the stranger’s chest.

“Arthur!” he called out desperately, struggling against Bill’s grip. The young man raised the revolver, but he found himself hesitating. Bill was using him as a shield. Alastair struggled, but he couldn’t break free. He tried to kick at Bill, but it didn’t seem to have much use.

“Alastair?” Arthur couldn’t hide the fear in his voice, “For fuck’s sake, man!”

“If you want any chance to stop me, you’re going to have to risk shooting him. A man who’s looked after your family. Are you that much of a monster?” Bill said.

Arthur frowned. Alastair hadn’t helped to protect him at all during this entire night. He should have been ready to jump in and guard him with his life.

“He’s useless,” he raised the gun.

“Arthur...” Alastair was unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

Arthur fired the very last bullet. Bill moved before it had any hope of hitting either of them. He heard shattering as it smashed yet another house decoration.

“No! No! How did I miss?!” he screamed.

“You blinked,” Bill said from behind him. Alastair still wore that mix of fear and betrayal on his face. Arthur turned and threw the gun, which he batted away with the knife. It clattered to the ground. He whispered something else into Alastair’s ear as he briefly placed his hand over his forehead. The butler’s eyes drifted shut and his body grew limp. Bill put him down, “There we go. No more witnesses. No one to remember what happened.”

“Alastair?! What did you do to him? My cousin’s a witness. He’ll tell everyone!” Arthur said. He was backing away again. He had no way to fight this man. No, not a man. He was a monster, “He may be handicapped, but he’ll know! He needs me! He’ll be broken if I die!”

“Just a little trick I learned a good several hundred years ago now. Mastered it even. And if that is the case, I’ll just have to make sure he won’t tell, won’t I? Just like with everyone else here,” Bill said. He didn’t sound concerned at all, “And something tells me that he’ll be just fine...”

He seemed to vanish again. Arthur stiffened, gazing around. He then felt an intense pain in the back of his legs. He screamed out loud and he dropped to the ground. He managed to force himself to stand, but he realised he couldn’t move more than a few agonising steps. He staggered and found himself leaning against a nearby wall. Blood soaked into his trousers and ran down his skin.

“You can always rely on a straight cut to the Achilles tendons. As much as I enjoy a good game of cat and mouse, this is starting to go on a little bit long, don’t you think?” Bill asked, “I still need to go and find somewhere to rest before the sun comes up. Honestly, when you’re as old as me, all it takes is one experience in the sunlight to make you never want it again.”

“Please, please don’t kill me,” Arthur said, as Bill walked over to stand in front of him, “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, huh? Can you bring back my boy Russell?” Bill asked. Sorrow crept into his face and his voice when he asked that question, before his tone grew cold again, “Can you take back the things you did and said to him? Can you somehow turn back the clock and change it all? Can you?”

Arthur was silent. He then cried out when he felt the knife being stabbed into his abdomen. It was removed and thrust in again, and then again. Bill then let go and left the blade in his stomach.

“You’re not sorry about what you did to him. You’re just sorry that you got caught, and by the worst person to catch you,” Bill said, “I know doing this won’t bring him back either, but it certainly makes me feel a hell of a lot better.”

He grabbed Arthur and sank his teeth into his neck, pinned his arms to the nearby wall as he did. Arthur squirmed, trying to get out of the vampire’s grip. It was useless. Bill drank every last drop of blood that he could. When he tore his fangs out, Arthur was still and silent. He dropped to the ground, his heart no longer beating.

Perhaps it’s a fair trade, my life for his. I’m still not sorry about him though. I enjoyed it too much. My only true regret is that my mother will have to live with this.

Just like with Death, Bill didn’t give that last thought any response. He instead felt a laugh burst out of his mouth. He threw his head back and let it echo through the corridors. He then stopped as suddenly as he started.

“Hmm, crazed laughter suits me a lot less than I thought it would,” he said to himself, “No matter. It’s time to go.”

He couldn’t help but notice himself in a mirror when he into a nearby bathroom to wash his hands and his mouth, just like he had done in that stream back in Pennsylvania. He let out a low whistle and grinned, running a hand down one of his smooth pale cheeks, through his ginger beard, and combed his fingers in his hair. He gave his reflection a wink.

“Now, what’s a handsome gentleman like you doing a place like this?” he said, as he took a few moments to admire his new look. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties and he found it rather becoming on him, “I’ll have admirers chasing me for miles. I think I’ll keep up appearances this time… at least for a while.”

He opened the door to the whittling shed. Earnest did look at all surprised to see him. He and Bill stared at each other for a few moments. Earnest stood. Russell was right. He was a big man. He was easily a good six feet and a half, and looked like he could punch his way through a brick wall. Bill wondered if he was going to try and to fight him. He got his answer when Earnest got his piece of slate and wrote down:

“Old Bill?”

Bill was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded.

“Yes, that’s me, even if the ‘old’ part doesn’t really fit anymore. You’re definitely smarter than your cousin gives you credit for,” Bill said, “And you’re Earnest. Big Red. I saw it. Russell saved your life, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Earnest wrote. He didn’t even seem shocked to hear that. It was like he expected Bill to have known, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save his.  I’m sure if I was on the ship with them, things could have been different.”

“Yes, I suppose they could have been,” Bill agreed, “But I said this to Elmer, that the cosmos have a funny old way of seeing things through. So you knew this was going to happen?”

Earnest nodded.

“It seemed the most logical outcome, with what happened to the other Horsemen,” he wrote, “He is my family of course, and I feel sad for him, but I think he would have done a lot worse had he lived. Sometimes you have to think of the majority.”

“Heh, despite what he said about you, you’re more than capable of thinking for yourself,” Bill said, smirking, “And you’re not scared despite seeing what I am now and what I’m capable of. Impressive. Maybe I really am getting a bit too soft in my old age.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have already done it. I may be a big man, but that’s all I am, just a man,” Earnest replied. He erased the message he wrote and then added, “Are you going to?”

“No. Only Arthur was my target. His life for my boy’s. Your father, aunt, and butler are all sound asleep, although poor Alastair will have a bit of a headache in the morning,” Bill said, “Arthur thought he was me and hit him with a ball-bat.”

Earnest huffed.

“I was wondering where that had gone,” he wrote, “So what now? You’ve done what you set out to do. You’ve taken care of all the Horsemen.”

“Who can tell?” Bill replied, “I think I’m going to head a different state and think about what I want to do next. Look after your aunt for her last bit of time here, okay? She’s going to need it.”

Earnest nodded.

“To alleviate suspicion, I’ll do to you what I did to the others; make you sleep until tomorrow, just so you can’t be considered a suspect... but I’ll allow you to remember. I think I can trust you not to tell anyone?” Bill said.

“Yes, Sir,” Earnest wrote, “I’ll take this to my grave.”

“I appreciate it,” Bill replied, allowing Earnest to rub away the words first so it didn’t seem like he had been ‘talking’ to anyone, “Now, just allow me...”

Three days later, he decided to stop in Maryland. He had stopped in a small shop to buy a newspaper and a packet of cigarettes. He leant against a wall outside so he could smoke one. He flipped through the articles, letting his eyes run across them. Nothing was really going in.

He then smirked when he saw the article that told its readers of Arthur Brennan’s death. Luckily, none of the other family members came under suspicion. It was concluded that they had simply been drugged by the murderer, so they couldn’t get in his way. He chuckled when those who had gone to investigate the murder said they had no leads.

However, they had come to the other conclusion that the four recent murders were coincidental, and four different people were the perpetrators; they wrote that there was no way one killer could have travelled to each particular area so fast. Bill chuckled.

“I suppose not,” he joked to himself. He then turned a few other pages. He froze. His eyes widened and the cigarette dropped out of his mouth. One particular headline had caught his eye:

“American Soldier Washed Up on London Docks.”

He was still and quiet for the longest time as he read the article over and over. According to it, about three weeks ago, an American soldier had been washed up on London’s docks. There was no name and the circumstances of his arrival seemed to be a mystery even to those who had written it. Not even the soldier had seemed able to confirm.

“No wonder,” Bill said, shaking his head, “With all the times they smacked his head around… if it really is him?”

He pondered. Could it be Russell? Had he somehow survived the assault and managed to make it all the way to London? What were the odds? If it really was him, was he all right? Was he safe? Bill knew he wouldn’t get the answer to those questions just standing here. He looked up at the stars in the night sky.

“Russell. If it really is you, hang in there. I’m coming.”

That's the end of the narrative. Sadly, Bill arrived too late in the end. Russell was indeed the soldier who had washed up on London’s docks, but he had been killed in a fight the day before. Although he took the vampire that killed him down with him as well, which Bill is proud of him for.

[nigelolsson]

As an Intuitive Drummer, Elton John’s Nigel Olsson Can’t Be Beat

https://lasvegassun.com/blogs/kats-report/2012/oct/17/intuitive-drummer-elton-johns-nigel-olsson-cant-be/ 

By John Katsilometes, Wednesday, Oct. 17, 2012 | 6 p.m.

Nigel Olsson has always wanted to be a showman, but onstage he’s not always so showy.

At times, he might even be overlooked.

It’s not easy to lose track of the drummer in a rock band, of course, except when the man at center stage is Elton John, and his instrument -- and show -- is known as “The Million Dollar Piano.”

But Olsson, the self-described quiet one who took up drums early in his career primarily because it was a safe place to hide when fans in English pubs threw bottles at the stage, has a move that’s all his own. He pivots his body from his right to left and crashes the manhole cover-sized cymbal high atop an oversized drum set fashioned after a World War II Royal Air Force Spitfire fighter plane.

Olsson slams that cymbal with a flourish, part orchestra conductor, part lumberjack. It’s a move made by any drummer, but none strike the cymbal with quite the flair of the man who has played drums for Elton John since 1970.

This isn’t to suggest the 63-year-old Olsson has choreographed this act or is one to throw thunderbolts from behind his drum kit.

“You know, I don’t play hard. People think I play hard because of the way my drums are tuned, which is very low,” says Olsson, whose silver suit on this day matches his hair and drum set. “But I’m proud of the emotion I put into the sound. I hardly ever break sticks. They wear out, but they rarely break.

“The way I play, I want to give the emotion that comes from these incredible songs to whoever is listening. Maybe the best way to say it is I am a very descriptive drummer. I play to the piano, and to the lyrics.”

John’s “Million Dollar Piano” is in the midst of its most recent run at the Colosseum in Caesars Palace. The remaining performances in this spree are tonight through Sunday and Oct. 26-28. (In September 2011, John signed a three-year contract to perform a total of 90 shows, but Olsson said he hopes two more years might be added to that agreement; he would buy a condo in Las Vegas if that happens.)

John’s band is mostly comprised of musicians with whom he has performed for decades, but none dates back as far as Olsson.

The two met in 1969, and the first credited performance by Olsson on any John collaboration was the song “Mr. Boyd” by the soon-forgotten band Argosy. The group featured Roger Hodgson (who later founded Supertramp) on vocals and Reginald Dwight -- later to be known as Elton John -- on keyboards.

Asked about that initial project, Olsson laughs and says, “Wow, that sounds right, probably. I’ll have to check my royalty checks.” Olsson also was a member of a short-lived band called Plastic Penny, which was managed by Dick James Music, which also was the publisher of songs written by John and longtime collaborator Bernie Taupin.

“With me being around the office, I got to know all the guys, and Bernie and Elton were there writing songs for other people,” Olsson says. “I got to know them that way.”

In a nomadic path familiar to many rock drummers, Olsson shifted to the better-known Spencer Davis Group. When that band fractured, John recommended Olsson to play with Uriah Heep, a partnership that lasted “nine dates, and, I think, one record,” as Olsson recalls.

But John had more far-reaching plans, as he had just recorded his eponymous first album (using Terry Cox on drums) and was being sent to the United States on a brief but career-changing promotional tour.

John asked Olsson and bassist Dee Murray to join him for a trip to the Troubadour rock clubs in Los Angeles and San Francisco for weeklong engagements in each venue. This was in the summer of 1970, as the trio were to debut in the U.S. in late August.

The three filed into James’ office to rehearse. Among the songs sampled were “Your Song,” “Bad Side of the Moon” and “Take Me to the Pilot.”

“Within the first eight bars, I knew this was the kind of music I wanted to play,” Olsson says. “It took me totally to a different place. It was inspirational, refreshing. I thought, ‘I haven’t heard this type of music since the Beatles broke through.’ ”

Taken as a whole, the club dates were a make-or-break proposition. If they were well-received, Elton and his little band might well be on their way to international success.

If not …

“(James) said he knew a shoe store down the street (from the Troubadour in L.A.), and you can get a job making shoes,” Olsson says, laughing. “True story. So I didn’t get the job at the shoe store.”

Aside from a 10-year hiatus to pursue his chief nonmusical passion, racecars, Olsson has since been John’s primary drummer. He has been at the epicenter of some of the greatest music and performances in the history of rock music, yet is nonchalant about his rise to fame. From that opening night at the Troubadour (which is memorialized in a color-splashed montage during John’s show at the Colosseum), when Neil Diamond, Quincy Jones, Gordon Lightfoot, Leon Russell and Mike Love of the Beach Boys were in the audience, Olsson has remained hard focused on the music.

“We didn’t have time to figure out what was going on. We were working nonstop,” he says. “We’d go in and record an album, then go and tour. We always were touring some songs that were still in the can, basically, and we didn’t have time to sit back and think, ‘Wow! We’re getting big time here!’ ”

When asked of his music inspirations, Olsson first mentions the Beatles. Many of his references to his playing style, or even his personal disposition -- unassuming, like Ringo -- are geared toward the Fab Four.

“I would say that I’m not a technical drummer at all. I can’t read music. The way I love to play is just putting the headphones on and listening to the Beatles,” Olsson says. “I idolized Ringo. I modeled my playing after him. I loved his work on songs like ‘I Am the Walrus,’ and from him I learned that what you leave out makes it work.”

Olsson favors ballads, quickly listing “Someone Saved My Life Tonight,” “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” “Circle of Life” and “Empty Garden,” the tribute to John Lennon just added to the Colosseum set, as his favorites.

“When you play the ballads, you can feel the warmth from the crowd,” he says. “We play the same songs every night, the exact same show, but the feeling from the crowd is always special, you can really feel that each night.”

Asked to name another drummer he counts as an influence, Olsson’s answer raises an eyebrow: Stevie Wonder.

“Believe it or not, yeah, the way he plays drums is amazing,” Olsson says, grinning. “I worked with him on the ‘Songs in the Key of Life’ album because I was doing a solo record in the same studio complex (the Record Plant in Hollywood). He heard my drums that Slingerland (Drum Company) had especially built for me and said, ‘Can I borrow your drums?’ So I called the company and asked if it would be possible to make a drum kit exactly the same as mine for Stevie Wonder. They said, ‘Stevie Wonder? What?’ but stopped the production line and had them sent within a week.”

Olsson stops at that story and says, “Funny, isn’t it? Who you meet?”

But Olsson is not terribly fond of telling Elton stories. Years ago, he grew tired of the questions about the iconic, and occasionally temperamental, superstar. “Everyone wanted to know, ‘How many pairs of glasses does he have?’ Or, ‘How high are his shoes?’ because he used to wear these knee-high boots. It was just so boring.”

But he does speak to John’s brilliance. “There’s no two ways about it. I mean, he’s a genius. He’s so kind to people, even though he’ll throw what we call ‘wobblers’ now and then.”

John threw a "wobbler" during a show at the Colosseum in May, tossing a stool and water bottles across the stage and complaining generally about his management team.

“He’ll get mad if the flowers are dead in the dressing room -- or wilting. There is a certain type of flower he hates, I can’t remember which,” Olsson says. “But he’s such a decent person. Since Zachary came along, the baby, it’s made his life a lot calmer.”

The son of John and his husband, David Furnish, Zachary turns 2 on Christmas. He was born to a surrogate mother and also is remarkable because his godmother is Lady Gaga.

“Elton sent me a video of Zachary in France when they were on holiday, in August,” Olsson says. “He’s eating lunch, and you can hear David in the background, ‘What’s that you’re eating, Zachary?’ And he says, ‘Petit pois! Peas!’ So he’s now bilingual! One of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen.”

Olsson likens John’s band to a family. Longtime members back John onstage at the Colosseum. The graybeards include guitarist Davey Johnston, keyboardist Kim Bullard and percussionist Ray Cooper (whom is a flurry of activity onstage behind Olsson). Percussionist John Mahon and bassist Matt Bissonette fill out the band. Bissonette is stepping in for the late Bob Birch, who died at age 56 of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound in August.

Birch had for years been suffering from pain in his legs and back from being hit by a truck in Montreal in 1995, an accident that nearly killed him. In the shows leading up to his death, Birch was in such pain, he played while seated on a stool.

Olsson says that when it came time to reunite the remaining band members, John pulled the musicians and crew together and said, “We all loved Bob, and we will only think happy, good thoughts about him. There will be no crying, no miserable faces, and we will always have him in our hearts.”

“Of course, by the end of it, everybody was crying,” Olsson says.

He is similarly moved when recalling the “electric” night of Thanksgiving 1974, when Lennon joined Elton and the band for three songs at Madison Square Garden. This was to pay off a bet Lennon had made with John that he would join John for that show if “Whatever Gets You Through the Night” reached No. 1. It did, and Olsson counts the moment as one of the highlights of his career.

“You would not have believed the energy of that night,” he says.

During the show at Caesars, as grainy footage of Lennon charging onstage with John plays on the Colosseum LED screen, Olsson starts the song by stepping into his bass drums with two quick beats.

“Thump-thump” is the sound, and the descriptive drummer is keeping perfect time with every heartbeat in the room.

[ikagrp]

Welcome CC!  You’ve been accepted as your first choice of Phoebe Tonkin as Rosalie Roe.

Please send in your account within the next 24 hours. Also, please follow these tags: ikag starter, Ikag social, ikaghh, ikag important, ikag task, ikagfollow, ikagunfollow and   ikag event

OOC INFORMATION

NAME (AND PRONOUNS) /AGE/TIMEZONE:

CC, she/her, 24, NZDT

ACTIVITY

I work full time and have other responsibilities, but it’s a safe bet that I’ll be on essentially every day

RP EXPERIENCE

About five years on tumblr give or take, when life didn’t get in the way. Other than that probably on and off since I was twelve

IC INFORMATION

FACECLAIM: Phoebe Tonkin 

NAME: Rosalie ‘Rose’ Roe 

AGE: 25 

BIRTHDAY: May 11th, 1993 

OCCUPATION: She was a model but retired from that when she inherited her grandfather’s ranch, so now she’s a ranch owner with a healthy enough bank account to get by 

HOMETOWN: Oak Creek, Colorado 

PETS: Three dogs, a german shepherd (Dahlia), a yorkshire terrier (Buttercup), and a jack russell (Daisy) 

BIOGRAPHY:

(tw for mentions of an eating disorder and self harm) 

Conceived via surrogate mother, Rose is the oldest child born to her two dads. She was followed a few years later by her younger brother, Thornton, though this time through adoption. Growing up on a ranch, it was needless to say that she developed a love for animals and the outdoors at a young age - she was on a horse before she could walk.

While she had (and has) a close relationship with her fathers, brother, and grandfather, that closeness wasn’t always in their family. When her dad, Bo, first brought her other dad, Jackson, home to meet his parents, his mother couldn’t accept his relationship with another man, and his father went along with it, blinded by his wife. They didn’t talk for years, until his parents found out the two of them were expecting a baby; Rose. It was enough of a wake up call for Bo’s father, Corbin, to realise what was really important in life, resulting in him leaving his wife and rekindling his relationship with his son - and son in law. He and Rose always shared a special relationship since it was technically because of her that they were a family again.

In high school, Rose was very much a wallflower, and she liked it that way. That was until she caught a modeling agents eye and was offered a job; small ones at first, then gradually getting bigger. The other kids at school finally noticed her, though for all the wrong reasons. Whether it was just plain jealousy or something else, they started bullying her, saying she wasn’t pretty enough or thin enough for the career she had. After a while of hearing the cruel taunts, it naturally took its toll on her, resulting in her skipping meals or throwing up what little she did eat, and later self-harming. At the start of her last year of high school, her fathers caught on to what was happening, and pulled her out of school to be home schooled for the remainder of her education, and got her into therapy. As time went on and with the help she got, Rose gradually became herself again, if not more confident, and continued modeling if only in the hopes it would help other young girls and women gain confidence, too.

Rose is a very content, easy going and easy to please person. There isn’t a mean bone in her body, though she can be a bit naive at times, always seeing the best in people. She has a love for the simple and little things in life and always does her best to spread a little sunshine to those around her.

RELATIONSHIPS:

N/A I think?

For returning Characters only:

Rose up and left pretty suddenly when she was on the show the first time. Her grandfather’s health had been deteriorating, so she was in and out for a little while before she officially left. When his health really took a turn for the worst is when she went back home, where he died a few weeks later. In his will, he divided his money equally between his two grandchildren, and left Rose his ranch since she was always more into that life out of the two of them. In the last couple of years, that’s what she’s been doing; holding her grandfather close to her while trying to heal from the hole his death left in her life, and running his old home. Now that it’s been enough time and she feels the ranch is set up well enough to strive in her absence, she’s taking the opportunity to return to the show that she loved being part of so much.

ANYTHING ELSE

Um hi yes, it’s been a minute but how was I supposed to resist THIS coming back??

[allofbeercom]

5 Recent Movies (You Never Realized Were Completely Insane)

Nobody expects every movie to be great. For every Steven Spielberg, there’s a Tommy Wiseau. For every Ridley Scott, there’s, uh, well, another Ridley Scott. No self-respecting person has the time or inclination to watch everything Hollywood craps out, so it’s quite possible that you don’t know how bad some recent movies turned out to be. Luckily for you, we have no self-respect, so let us satiate your morbid curiosity by telling you all about this year’s most baffling cinematic turds (so far). SPOILERS AHEAD!

5

Folks, Tom Cruise Was The Real Mummy ALL ALONG

Tom Cruise played Jerry Maguire in Jerry Maguire, Jack Reacher in Jack Reacher, and someone who was born on the 4th of July in Born On The Fourth Of July. Guess who he plays in The Mummy. Go on, guess.

At first, Cruise’s character is your average U.S. Army sergeant in Iraq who seduces archaeologists to steal their maps and search for treasure. Early on, he gets into a fight with some alleged insurgents he happened to run into and orders a goddamn air strike on them — the military equivalent of asking your brother to finish the level for you.

Universal Pictures Instead of bombs, they dropped copies of the script.

Fortunately, we don’t have much time to mull over the ethical implications of all this, because the strike accidentally uncovers an ancient tomb:

Universal Pictures And like all ancient tombs in movies, it’s shaped like Clint Eastwood’s scowling face.

Cruise, the guy from New Girl, and the woman whose map he stole with his penis are sent in to investigate. They discover an ancient mummy, but more importantly, the archaeologist lets us know that Cruise sucks in bed (and not in the good sense). As they’re flying the Mummy back to England, after long stretches of dialogue about sexual inadequacy, the plane crashes and Tom Cruise fucking dies.

Unfortunately, the movie doesn’t end there — Cruise soon wakes up in a body bag, either because of the Mummy’s magic or some kind of weird loophole in Dianetics.

Universal Pictures If you told us Tom Cruise sleeps inside a plastic bag at home every day, we’d fully believe it.

A moment later, Cruise’s friend and two doctors walk in, and everyone’s biggest concern is that they can see the dick of this guy who just cheated death itself. Anyway, the Mummy ends up getting captured midway through the movie, a plot development that probably feels familiar to anyone who wasn’t in a coma between 2008 and now:

At one point we also meet Russell Crowe, who plays Dr. Jekyll. As in the Dr. Jekyll, the one who turns into the villainous Mr. Hyde. Presumably Hyde is the one who smacks hotel clerks with phones and insists on singing in public.

The third act then finds an army of corpses rising and attacking the city — though taking into consideration how Tom Cruise is in his 50s but has jet-black hair, works out like crazy, and spends most of this movie talking about how he boned someone more than 20 years younger than him, the sight of him fleeing a sea of rotting bodies ravaged by time accidentally becomes a powerful metaphor.

Then in the very end, Tom Cruise basically lets the Mummy win and use him as the host body for the god of death — but then he uses his new powers to kill her. So yes, Cruise now has ancient mummy powers, and will possibly develop an affinity for wearing toilet paper all over his body in the next movie he shows up in.

4

Did You Know Harriet Tubman Knew The Transformers?

It’s no secret that the Transformers series is basically the cinematic equivalent of watching a Monster Energy Drink in a paint shaker. Hell, the last movie found Mark Wahlberg guzzling a flaming bottle of Bud Light like that’s a normal thing to do. Even with the bar so low (and presumably on fire), Transformers: The Last Knight is maddeningly awful.

For starters, the story is an obvious attempt to smoosh together a bunch of popular TV shows into a Transformers movie. It opens with a dragon Transformer helping King Arthur, who’s seemingly engaged in some kind of game, for some kind of throne …

After a jarring time jump, we meet a scrappy gang of kids seemingly played by the Stranger Things kids’ stunt doubles:

What was that other big TV show from last year? Oh yeah, Westworld. Cue Anthony Hopkins delivering a bunch of nonsensical exposition about robots, which is apparently his jam now.

Here’s where the wheels really come off before they can retract and turn into a dinosaur. Hopkins explains that he is the only remaining member of a secret society that protects the secret history of the Transformers on Earth. It turns out that these giant-ass talking vehicles were present for many famous historical milestones. We just … forgot about them? Didn’t notice?

Members of the Society of Transformer Pals included Einstein, da Vinci, Shakespeare, and Stephen Hawking (who, by the way, is still alive, movie). Also a member? Harriet Tubman. That’s right, this movie is implying that Transformers helped the Underground Railroad. Which people have pointed out is a) insane, and b) you’d think giant weaponized robots could have done a touch more to help the slaves. At least the movie doesn’t raise the question of why the Transformers didn’t stop the Holocaust or some-

3

There Was A Movie About The Guy From Avatar Hanging Out With God In A Shack

Sam Worthington stars in The Shack, a movie adaptation of the best-selling Christian inspirational novel. The movie starts in the past, where we see our main character, Mack, and his mother being abused by his alcoholic dad. So naturally, Mack pours strychnine in his dad’s booze, probably murdering him, though it’s hard to say because this is never mentioned again.

Flash-forward to Mack all grown up and Sam-Worthington-like. But his life is still beset by tragedy, as his youngest daughter is kidnapped and murdered by a serial killer (!!!) during a camping trip. They never find her body, but Mack is told she was killed in a remote shack (a place the B52s would never in their right minds sing about). That winter, a distraught Mack receives a mysterious note inviting him to the shack, signed “Papa” — which is his wife’s nickname for God, not an implication that Ernest Hemingway is penning creepy notes from beyond the grave.

Thinking this might be his daughter’s killer, a gun-toting Mack accepts the invitation and heads up to the abandoned cabin, which sadly contains no chainsaws or Necronomicons. Instead, it magically (or I guess spiritually, since Christians don’t like magic) transforms into a cozy cottage straight out of a beer commercial. Even weirder, it’s now home to Octavia Spencer, who immediately says that she’s God. Also there are a flannel-clad Jesus and an Asian lady who’s apparently the Holy Spirit. Yeah, it’s the Holy Trinity, chilling out and enjoying their Carlsberg years.

Through a series of painfully long conversations, they convince Mack not to give up on his faith, embrace life, and maybe spruce up his living room with some Crate & Barrel chairs and assorted Martha Stewart bullshit. Jesus casually walks on water:

God listens to an iPod, for some reason:

And they show Mack a whole bunch of psychedelic ghosts out in a pasture, like Field Of Dreams mixed with Tron mixed with MDMA. Even more like Field Of Dreams, one of the ghosts is Mack’s dad. Who, if you’ll remember, was a real piece of shit. Mack hugs him, obviously.

In the end, God shows Mack where his daughter’s body was hidden, and they have a funeral for her. Which is nice and all, but maybe it would have been even nicer if, you know, his wife were there too? Or his kids? Hey, God, why is this one dude the only one who gets some damn closure?

2

iBoy: Netflix’s Weird-Ass Superhero Movie

While it sounds like a movie about Steve Jobs’ prepubescent years, iBoy is actually a Netflix production starring Arya Stark and … umm, some guy who knows Arya Stark. Its story of a teenage boy with an unrequited crush on his neighbor takes a sharp turn when he walks in on a gang of masked thugs sexually assaulting her (bullshit rape storylines seem to follow Game Of Thrones actors around). The kid flees, but as he’s calling the cops, he gets shot in the head.

Instead of, you know, immediately killing him, the pieces of exploded phone embed themselves in his brain …

… which give him superpowers. More specifically, he can psychically read and even control smartphones. And of course the human cellphone uses his powers to fight crime like a tween-friendly Dark Knight.

You may be wondering how he actually fights bad guys. After all, having Google Maps and Shazam coursing through your cerebral cortex doesn’t necessarily mean you can kick ass. It’s simple: When he’s cornered by a cadre of thugs, iBoy psychically causes all their phones to explode:

Say what you will about Batman, but even he hasn’t been able to figure out a way to set his adversaries’ balls on fire without lifting a finger.

1

Fuck You, The Book Of Henry

Judging by the box office results, a lot of you didn’t see Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow’s The Book Of Henry, either because it was savaged by critics or because the poster made it look like the world’s crappiest Choose Your Own Adventure book.

The film tells the story of Henry, a genius kid straight out of a script Wes Anderson started and then threw away. He spends his life making Rube Goldberg devices, playing the stock market, and generally being lauded for how brilliant he is. We never find out who his father was, though presumably his mom had a one-night stand with an anthropomorphic Screenwriting For Dummies book.

Oddly, his mom is content letting him run her entire life, which seems … unhealthy. She consults with him before financial decisions and sees him more as a sort of surrogate husband than a son. Even Marty McFly would find this dynamic unsettling.

Oddly, the precious, quirky, autumn-leaf-filled indie drama soon becomes very thriller-like when Henry notices that the girl who lives next door is being sexually abused by her stepdad — meaning some genius waltzed into a Hollywood studio and pitched “Rear Window, but with kids getting molested,” and it worked. Henry’s on the case, but no one will take him seriously because the stepdad is the police commissioner (and also played by Hank from Breaking Bad). So with the school principal and child services being total dicks, Henry formulates a plan … to murder the stepdad.

And by the way, we’re just getting started.

Before Henry can go through with his plan, in another twist, it turns out that he has a brain tumor. The titular character dies halfway through the movie. Henry’s little brother then tells the mom about Henry’s dying wish that she read his journal, which contains the elaborate murder plan. Henry is so annoyingly smart that he even anticipated what people would say out loud after he’s dead:

The mom rejects the plan at first, but eventually gets sucked in. She ends up buying a giant hunting rifle and luring her target into the woods during a school talent show:

She comes very close to pulling the trigger, but doesn’t go through with it, because she remembers that Henry was “a child.” Yeah, her arc is realizing she doesn’t have to do everything a young kid told her to. At the same time, the school principal finally decides to do something about the sex abuse. Why does she come to this conclusion? Because the girl’s dance at the talent show is just so pathos-filled.

What made The Book Of Henry a next-level debacle wasn’t simply its critical lambasting, paltry box office receipts, or “bloodstained Mad Libs you found at an abandoned bus station on Halloween” of a plot. No, it’s the fact that its utter craptitude might’ve catalyzed Trevorrow’s dismissal as the director of Star Wars Episode IX. This is why you never, ever pursue your passion projects, kids.

You (yes, you) should follow JM on Twitter, or check out the podcast Rewatchability.

If you loved this article and want more like it, please support our site with a visit to our Contribution Page.

We’re willing to bet the next transformers will be a movie based on a tv show based on a toy based on a USB memory stick. That USB memory stick is this.

Also check out 5 Really Awesome Movies Hidden Inside Really Crappy Movies and 5 Terrible Movies With Awesome Hidden Meanings.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Scenes So Good They Make a Terrible Movie Worth Watching, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Follow our new Pictofacts Facebook page, and we’ll follow you everywhere.

Get intimate with our new podcast Cracked Gets Personal. Subscribe for funny, fascinating episodes like “Inside The Secret Epidemic Of Cops Shooting Dogs” and “Murdered Sex Dolls And Porn Suitcases: What Garbagemen See,” available wherever you get your podcasts.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-recent-movies-you-never-realized-were-completely-insane/

[adambstingus]

If you haven’t tuned in to the RNC yet, here are 13 reasons why you should.

If you haven’t tuned in to the Republican National Convention yet, youre not alone.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Maybe youre a Republican who gnashes their teeth every time Donald Trump opens his mouth. Maybe youre a Democrat whos already heard “Jail Shillary Clinton” enough for one decade. Or maybe youre just a person who gets bored by boring speeches.

And yet, you still want to do your civic duty. You want to be able to participate in the watercooler conversation. Or, perhaps, youre a nervous internet writer who dabbles in politics and you want to continue to justify your salary to the publication that employs you.

Fear not! Even if the speeches ramble, the music is suspect, and the balloon drop is anticlimactic, there are many ways to make watching the RNC a fun experience for the whole family:

1. Focus on the fun hats.

When you watch a baseball game, you see baseball caps. When you watch a rodeo, you see cowboy hats. When you watch bearded 27-year-old programmers in “Buffy” T-shirts hitting on college students, you see fedoras.

The hats at the RNC are in another league. A noble league … like The League of Nations.

A league that peaked in 1918.

Cowboy hats?

Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images.

Check.

Coonskin caps?

Check!

Hats directly from the costume chest for the West Oakport Community Players production of “The Music Man”?

Check and mate.

If youre a fan of delightfully anachronistic haberdashery, the Republican National Convention is the small-screen event of the mid-2010s.

2. Watch campaign operatives desperately try to spin obvious screwups into success stories.

Melania Trump’s apparent cribbing of a passage from a 2008 Michelle Obama speech on the first night of the RNC has already sent Trump’s surrogates into a flurry of questionably credible but extremely entertaining denials.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Some simply pretended it didn’t happen. Some tried to explain it away as a case of the two women simply having the exact same thoughts on the exact same subject. Others suggested that hey! only 7% of the speech was plagiarized, which really isn’t that much. (College students on deadline, take note!)

There’s no feeling quite so warm and cozy as sitting back on your couch, knowing there’s a problem out there in the world … and it’s someone else’s job to deal with it.

3. Cheer on the dancing delegates.

The RNC remains Americas #1 source of elderly people whove still got it, show it, and want you to know it.

Curious what style of arrhythmic jerking was popular in 1962? Looking forward to seeing some semi-coordinated American flag-ography? Want to watch a county commissioner from Ladysmith, Wisconsin, gingerly hip-bumping the state comptroller of Tennessee?

You only get one chance every four years. Seize it!

4. Gawk at the ridiculously over-the-top entrances.

For Donald Trump, last night’s raucous, backlit entrance to “We Are the Champions” was actually pretty restrained.

Scott Baio (Chachi!) was there Monday night.

Ehhhhhhhhhh. Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

So was Antonio Sabato Jr., who totally was in something once.

Oh and hey, remember soap star Kimberlin Brown? No? Well, shes speaking too.

Like Pogs, jelly shoes, and friendship bracelets, you might not have missed them and you might not have even loved them all that much even at the height of their popularity, but they’re back, and sure, why not!

6. Cringe at the massive pandering fails.

In a Monday session with delegates from Pennsylvania, Paul Ryan took a few seconds to wave a Terrible Towel an emblem of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the air…

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

…which irked some in the city of Cleveland, where the RNC is happening. They were none too pleased to see the Republican leader brandish the banner of their bitter football rival.

In other news, Cleveland and Pittsburgh are apparently different cities. You learn new things when you watch the RNC!

7. Shovel popcorn into your mouth as Trump and his team pick random, hugely entertaining fights with GOP lawmakers.

Fittingly, for a candidate whose highest profile accomplishment is hosting a reality show, Donald Trump is really, really, good at draaaaaaaaaama.

Even before the speeches started, top Trump aide Paul Manafort attacked Ohio Gov. John Kasich America’s Republican uncle as “petulant” for refusing to attend the convention.

Photo by J.D. Pooley/Getty Images.

“Manaforts problem, after all those years on the lam with thugs and autocrats, is that he cant recognize principle and integrity,” Kasich strategist John Weaver fired back in an e-mail to The New York Times, calling out Manafort’s public relations work for the former president of Ukraine.

Rawr! Go get ’em, boys!

8. Daydream about what LeBron James is doing elsewhere in Cleveland while all this is going on.

Photo by Mike Lawrie/Getty Images.

One of the great things about Cleveland hosting the convention is that, if youre not feeling the program, you can just close your eyes and imagine what King James is up to just a few blocks away at any given moment. Maybe he’s grabbing a beer at the Radisson lobby bar across the street or wandering around the perimeter of Quicken Loans Arena trying to catch a Pikachu!

Train your brain to conjure ‘Bron, and you’re sure to realize a truth that hardened political insiders have long known: The mental image of LeBron James doing anything beats watching the 19th lieutenant governor shuffle haltingly around the stage to Kid Rocks “Born Free.”

9. Enjoy the spectacle of news organizations testing out new technology with mixed results.

The Washington Post has a robot!

LOOK OUT: The yet-to-be-named @washingtonpost robot is roaming the halls of the #gopconvention. (Cc @rkellett) pic.twitter.com/KCFFdootWo Ed O

Come for the debut of an amazing, cutting-edge mass communication tool. Stay for the schadenfreude of when it inevitably, hilariously tips slowly forward and plants on its face.

10. Applaud the fact-checkers doing A+ work.

It’s pretty hard to wallow in self pity about having to sit through three prime-time hours of the Trump Family Variety Spectacular when the heroes at FactCheck.org are spending their week watching every minute of both conventions evaluating every ridiculously hyperbolic claim made by every marginal elected official on that stage, presumably with their eyelids taped open.

David Clarke says Americans don

Every single American owes these people a drink. At the very least, we need to all go in for a gift basket.

11. Savor the meme-worthy speech faces.

Like this one:

A delegate stands on stage. The lights are hot. He’s got his suit, tie, and firmest scowl on. He’s projecting a stern air of authority. He’s feeling good.

And then, this happens:

THE RNC GAVEL IS ALREADY FALLING APART pic.twitter.com/6sL4Mp3z8V Timothy Burke (@bubbaprog) July 18, 2016

One prop master’s catastrophe is one potato-chip-eating, couch-slouching American’s perfect television.

12. Rock out to the endless playlist of music you love to hate to love to wonder what even is it?

Between the speeches, the logistical announcements, and the arcane points of order, the playlist on the first day of the 2016 RNC featured a weird collection of B sides “Limelight” by Rush, The Who’s “Eminence Front,” “Stay With Me” by Rod Stewart that undoubtedly delighted your Uncle Craig:

But it pretty much left everyone else scratching their heads. And you know what, scratching your head is immensely soothing and gratifying, so thanks, music team!

13. Appreciate that you are watching democracy happen in real time weirdly exactly the way its supposed to.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

You may not be thrilled about the election. You may think the ads are tacky. You may wish the participants were different (dear God, you may wish the participants were different).

You can hate everything about the American political process and still be grateful this is how our political transitions go down rather than when the guy in charge dies and his 9-year-old son takes over, or when a bunch of tanks plow over the White House while the president is in Bermuda, or when every federal employee is replaced by an alien impostor except for a single, mild-mannered Nebraska congressman who, luckily, is played by Kurt Russell.

New political administrations in America happen after a bunch of nerdy bureaucrats make a bunch of boring speeches about freedom, justice, and patriotism in support of candidates we dont like very much but who we will dutifully go out and choose between in November.

Its unglamorous. Its stressful. Its frustrating and exhausting. But Im going to tune in. Because it really is the worst.

Except for all the other options.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/11/if-you-havent-tuned-in-to-the-rnc-yet-here-are-13-reasons-why-you-should/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/162878455032

[jimdsmith34]

If you haven’t tuned in to the RNC yet, here are 13 reasons why you should.

If you haven’t tuned in to the Republican National Convention yet, youre not alone.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Maybe youre a Republican who gnashes their teeth every time Donald Trump opens his mouth. Maybe youre a Democrat whos already heard “Jail Shillary Clinton” enough for one decade. Or maybe youre just a person who gets bored by boring speeches.

And yet, you still want to do your civic duty. You want to be able to participate in the watercooler conversation. Or, perhaps, youre a nervous internet writer who dabbles in politics and you want to continue to justify your salary to the publication that employs you.

Fear not! Even if the speeches ramble, the music is suspect, and the balloon drop is anticlimactic, there are many ways to make watching the RNC a fun experience for the whole family:

1. Focus on the fun hats.

When you watch a baseball game, you see baseball caps. When you watch a rodeo, you see cowboy hats. When you watch bearded 27-year-old programmers in “Buffy” T-shirts hitting on college students, you see fedoras.

The hats at the RNC are in another league. A noble league … like The League of Nations.

A league that peaked in 1918.

Cowboy hats?

Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images.

Check.

Coonskin caps?

Check!

Hats directly from the costume chest for the West Oakport Community Players production of “The Music Man”?

Check and mate.

If youre a fan of delightfully anachronistic haberdashery, the Republican National Convention is the small-screen event of the mid-2010s.

2. Watch campaign operatives desperately try to spin obvious screwups into success stories.

Melania Trump’s apparent cribbing of a passage from a 2008 Michelle Obama speech on the first night of the RNC has already sent Trump’s surrogates into a flurry of questionably credible but extremely entertaining denials.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Some simply pretended it didn’t happen. Some tried to explain it away as a case of the two women simply having the exact same thoughts on the exact same subject. Others suggested that hey! only 7% of the speech was plagiarized, which really isn’t that much. (College students on deadline, take note!)

There’s no feeling quite so warm and cozy as sitting back on your couch, knowing there’s a problem out there in the world … and it’s someone else’s job to deal with it.

3. Cheer on the dancing delegates.

The RNC remains Americas #1 source of elderly people whove still got it, show it, and want you to know it.

Curious what style of arrhythmic jerking was popular in 1962? Looking forward to seeing some semi-coordinated American flag-ography? Want to watch a county commissioner from Ladysmith, Wisconsin, gingerly hip-bumping the state comptroller of Tennessee?

You only get one chance every four years. Seize it!

4. Gawk at the ridiculously over-the-top entrances.

For Donald Trump, last night’s raucous, backlit entrance to “We Are the Champions” was actually pretty restrained.

Scott Baio (Chachi!) was there Monday night.

Ehhhhhhhhhh. Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

So was Antonio Sabato Jr., who totally was in something once.

Oh and hey, remember soap star Kimberlin Brown? No? Well, shes speaking too.

Like Pogs, jelly shoes, and friendship bracelets, you might not have missed them and you might not have even loved them all that much even at the height of their popularity, but they’re back, and sure, why not!

6. Cringe at the massive pandering fails.

In a Monday session with delegates from Pennsylvania, Paul Ryan took a few seconds to wave a Terrible Towel an emblem of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the air…

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

…which irked some in the city of Cleveland, where the RNC is happening. They were none too pleased to see the Republican leader brandish the banner of their bitter football rival.

In other news, Cleveland and Pittsburgh are apparently different cities. You learn new things when you watch the RNC!

7. Shovel popcorn into your mouth as Trump and his team pick random, hugely entertaining fights with GOP lawmakers.

Fittingly, for a candidate whose highest profile accomplishment is hosting a reality show, Donald Trump is really, really, good at draaaaaaaaaama.

Even before the speeches started, top Trump aide Paul Manafort attacked Ohio Gov. John Kasich America’s Republican uncle as “petulant” for refusing to attend the convention.

Photo by J.D. Pooley/Getty Images.

“Manaforts problem, after all those years on the lam with thugs and autocrats, is that he cant recognize principle and integrity,” Kasich strategist John Weaver fired back in an e-mail to The New York Times, calling out Manafort’s public relations work for the former president of Ukraine.

Rawr! Go get ’em, boys!

8. Daydream about what LeBron James is doing elsewhere in Cleveland while all this is going on.

Photo by Mike Lawrie/Getty Images.

One of the great things about Cleveland hosting the convention is that, if youre not feeling the program, you can just close your eyes and imagine what King James is up to just a few blocks away at any given moment. Maybe he’s grabbing a beer at the Radisson lobby bar across the street or wandering around the perimeter of Quicken Loans Arena trying to catch a Pikachu!

Train your brain to conjure ‘Bron, and you’re sure to realize a truth that hardened political insiders have long known: The mental image of LeBron James doing anything beats watching the 19th lieutenant governor shuffle haltingly around the stage to Kid Rocks “Born Free.”

9. Enjoy the spectacle of news organizations testing out new technology with mixed results.

The Washington Post has a robot!

LOOK OUT: The yet-to-be-named @washingtonpost robot is roaming the halls of the #gopconvention. (Cc @rkellett) pic.twitter.com/KCFFdootWo Ed O

Come for the debut of an amazing, cutting-edge mass communication tool. Stay for the schadenfreude of when it inevitably, hilariously tips slowly forward and plants on its face.

10. Applaud the fact-checkers doing A+ work.

It’s pretty hard to wallow in self pity about having to sit through three prime-time hours of the Trump Family Variety Spectacular when the heroes at FactCheck.org are spending their week watching every minute of both conventions evaluating every ridiculously hyperbolic claim made by every marginal elected official on that stage, presumably with their eyelids taped open.

David Clarke says Americans don

Every single American owes these people a drink. At the very least, we need to all go in for a gift basket.

11. Savor the meme-worthy speech faces.

Like this one:

A delegate stands on stage. The lights are hot. He’s got his suit, tie, and firmest scowl on. He’s projecting a stern air of authority. He’s feeling good.

And then, this happens:

THE RNC GAVEL IS ALREADY FALLING APART pic.twitter.com/6sL4Mp3z8V Timothy Burke (@bubbaprog) July 18, 2016

One prop master’s catastrophe is one potato-chip-eating, couch-slouching American’s perfect television.

12. Rock out to the endless playlist of music you love to hate to love to wonder what even is it?

Between the speeches, the logistical announcements, and the arcane points of order, the playlist on the first day of the 2016 RNC featured a weird collection of B sides “Limelight” by Rush, The Who’s “Eminence Front,” “Stay With Me” by Rod Stewart that undoubtedly delighted your Uncle Craig:

But it pretty much left everyone else scratching their heads. And you know what, scratching your head is immensely soothing and gratifying, so thanks, music team!

13. Appreciate that you are watching democracy happen in real time weirdly exactly the way its supposed to.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

You may not be thrilled about the election. You may think the ads are tacky. You may wish the participants were different (dear God, you may wish the participants were different).

You can hate everything about the American political process and still be grateful this is how our political transitions go down rather than when the guy in charge dies and his 9-year-old son takes over, or when a bunch of tanks plow over the White House while the president is in Bermuda, or when every federal employee is replaced by an alien impostor except for a single, mild-mannered Nebraska congressman who, luckily, is played by Kurt Russell.

New political administrations in America happen after a bunch of nerdy bureaucrats make a bunch of boring speeches about freedom, justice, and patriotism in support of candidates we dont like very much but who we will dutifully go out and choose between in November.

Its unglamorous. Its stressful. Its frustrating and exhausting. But Im going to tune in. Because it really is the worst.

Except for all the other options.

source http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/11/if-you-havent-tuned-in-to-the-rnc-yet-here-are-13-reasons-why-you-should/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/07/if-you-havent-tuned-in-to-rnc-yet-here.html

[samanthasroberts]

If you haven’t tuned in to the RNC yet, here are 13 reasons why you should.

If you haven’t tuned in to the Republican National Convention yet, youre not alone.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Maybe youre a Republican who gnashes their teeth every time Donald Trump opens his mouth. Maybe youre a Democrat whos already heard “Jail Shillary Clinton” enough for one decade. Or maybe youre just a person who gets bored by boring speeches.

And yet, you still want to do your civic duty. You want to be able to participate in the watercooler conversation. Or, perhaps, youre a nervous internet writer who dabbles in politics and you want to continue to justify your salary to the publication that employs you.

Fear not! Even if the speeches ramble, the music is suspect, and the balloon drop is anticlimactic, there are many ways to make watching the RNC a fun experience for the whole family:

1. Focus on the fun hats.

When you watch a baseball game, you see baseball caps. When you watch a rodeo, you see cowboy hats. When you watch bearded 27-year-old programmers in “Buffy” T-shirts hitting on college students, you see fedoras.

The hats at the RNC are in another league. A noble league … like The League of Nations.

A league that peaked in 1918.

Cowboy hats?

Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images.

Check.

Coonskin caps?

Check!

Hats directly from the costume chest for the West Oakport Community Players production of “The Music Man”?

Check and mate.

If youre a fan of delightfully anachronistic haberdashery, the Republican National Convention is the small-screen event of the mid-2010s.

2. Watch campaign operatives desperately try to spin obvious screwups into success stories.

Melania Trump’s apparent cribbing of a passage from a 2008 Michelle Obama speech on the first night of the RNC has already sent Trump’s surrogates into a flurry of questionably credible but extremely entertaining denials.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Some simply pretended it didn’t happen. Some tried to explain it away as a case of the two women simply having the exact same thoughts on the exact same subject. Others suggested that hey! only 7% of the speech was plagiarized, which really isn’t that much. (College students on deadline, take note!)

There’s no feeling quite so warm and cozy as sitting back on your couch, knowing there’s a problem out there in the world … and it’s someone else’s job to deal with it.

3. Cheer on the dancing delegates.

The RNC remains Americas #1 source of elderly people whove still got it, show it, and want you to know it.

Curious what style of arrhythmic jerking was popular in 1962? Looking forward to seeing some semi-coordinated American flag-ography? Want to watch a county commissioner from Ladysmith, Wisconsin, gingerly hip-bumping the state comptroller of Tennessee?

You only get one chance every four years. Seize it!

4. Gawk at the ridiculously over-the-top entrances.

For Donald Trump, last night’s raucous, backlit entrance to “We Are the Champions” was actually pretty restrained.

Scott Baio (Chachi!) was there Monday night.

Ehhhhhhhhhh. Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

So was Antonio Sabato Jr., who totally was in something once.

Oh and hey, remember soap star Kimberlin Brown? No? Well, shes speaking too.

Like Pogs, jelly shoes, and friendship bracelets, you might not have missed them and you might not have even loved them all that much even at the height of their popularity, but they’re back, and sure, why not!

6. Cringe at the massive pandering fails.

In a Monday session with delegates from Pennsylvania, Paul Ryan took a few seconds to wave a Terrible Towel an emblem of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the air…

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

…which irked some in the city of Cleveland, where the RNC is happening. They were none too pleased to see the Republican leader brandish the banner of their bitter football rival.

In other news, Cleveland and Pittsburgh are apparently different cities. You learn new things when you watch the RNC!

7. Shovel popcorn into your mouth as Trump and his team pick random, hugely entertaining fights with GOP lawmakers.

Fittingly, for a candidate whose highest profile accomplishment is hosting a reality show, Donald Trump is really, really, good at draaaaaaaaaama.

Even before the speeches started, top Trump aide Paul Manafort attacked Ohio Gov. John Kasich America’s Republican uncle as “petulant” for refusing to attend the convention.

Photo by J.D. Pooley/Getty Images.

“Manaforts problem, after all those years on the lam with thugs and autocrats, is that he cant recognize principle and integrity,” Kasich strategist John Weaver fired back in an e-mail to The New York Times, calling out Manafort’s public relations work for the former president of Ukraine.

Rawr! Go get ’em, boys!

8. Daydream about what LeBron James is doing elsewhere in Cleveland while all this is going on.

Photo by Mike Lawrie/Getty Images.

One of the great things about Cleveland hosting the convention is that, if youre not feeling the program, you can just close your eyes and imagine what King James is up to just a few blocks away at any given moment. Maybe he’s grabbing a beer at the Radisson lobby bar across the street or wandering around the perimeter of Quicken Loans Arena trying to catch a Pikachu!

Train your brain to conjure ‘Bron, and you’re sure to realize a truth that hardened political insiders have long known: The mental image of LeBron James doing anything beats watching the 19th lieutenant governor shuffle haltingly around the stage to Kid Rocks “Born Free.”

9. Enjoy the spectacle of news organizations testing out new technology with mixed results.

The Washington Post has a robot!

LOOK OUT: The yet-to-be-named @washingtonpost robot is roaming the halls of the #gopconvention. (Cc @rkellett) pic.twitter.com/KCFFdootWo Ed O

Come for the debut of an amazing, cutting-edge mass communication tool. Stay for the schadenfreude of when it inevitably, hilariously tips slowly forward and plants on its face.

10. Applaud the fact-checkers doing A+ work.

It’s pretty hard to wallow in self pity about having to sit through three prime-time hours of the Trump Family Variety Spectacular when the heroes at FactCheck.org are spending their week watching every minute of both conventions evaluating every ridiculously hyperbolic claim made by every marginal elected official on that stage, presumably with their eyelids taped open.

David Clarke says Americans don

Every single American owes these people a drink. At the very least, we need to all go in for a gift basket.

11. Savor the meme-worthy speech faces.

Like this one:

A delegate stands on stage. The lights are hot. He’s got his suit, tie, and firmest scowl on. He’s projecting a stern air of authority. He’s feeling good.

And then, this happens:

THE RNC GAVEL IS ALREADY FALLING APART pic.twitter.com/6sL4Mp3z8V Timothy Burke (@bubbaprog) July 18, 2016

One prop master’s catastrophe is one potato-chip-eating, couch-slouching American’s perfect television.

12. Rock out to the endless playlist of music you love to hate to love to wonder what even is it?

Between the speeches, the logistical announcements, and the arcane points of order, the playlist on the first day of the 2016 RNC featured a weird collection of B sides “Limelight” by Rush, The Who’s “Eminence Front,” “Stay With Me” by Rod Stewart that undoubtedly delighted your Uncle Craig:

But it pretty much left everyone else scratching their heads. And you know what, scratching your head is immensely soothing and gratifying, so thanks, music team!

13. Appreciate that you are watching democracy happen in real time weirdly exactly the way its supposed to.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

You may not be thrilled about the election. You may think the ads are tacky. You may wish the participants were different (dear God, you may wish the participants were different).

You can hate everything about the American political process and still be grateful this is how our political transitions go down rather than when the guy in charge dies and his 9-year-old son takes over, or when a bunch of tanks plow over the White House while the president is in Bermuda, or when every federal employee is replaced by an alien impostor except for a single, mild-mannered Nebraska congressman who, luckily, is played by Kurt Russell.

New political administrations in America happen after a bunch of nerdy bureaucrats make a bunch of boring speeches about freedom, justice, and patriotism in support of candidates we dont like very much but who we will dutifully go out and choose between in November.

Its unglamorous. Its stressful. Its frustrating and exhausting. But Im going to tune in. Because it really is the worst.

Except for all the other options.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/11/if-you-havent-tuned-in-to-the-rnc-yet-here-are-13-reasons-why-you-should/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/07/11/if-you-havent-tuned-in-to-the-rnc-yet-here-are-13-reasons-why-you-should/

[allofbeercom]

If you haven’t tuned in to the RNC yet, here are 13 reasons why you should.

If you haven’t tuned in to the Republican National Convention yet, youre not alone.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Maybe youre a Republican who gnashes their teeth every time Donald Trump opens his mouth. Maybe youre a Democrat whos already heard “Jail Shillary Clinton” enough for one decade. Or maybe youre just a person who gets bored by boring speeches.

And yet, you still want to do your civic duty. You want to be able to participate in the watercooler conversation. Or, perhaps, youre a nervous internet writer who dabbles in politics and you want to continue to justify your salary to the publication that employs you.

Fear not! Even if the speeches ramble, the music is suspect, and the balloon drop is anticlimactic, there are many ways to make watching the RNC a fun experience for the whole family:

1. Focus on the fun hats.

When you watch a baseball game, you see baseball caps. When you watch a rodeo, you see cowboy hats. When you watch bearded 27-year-old programmers in “Buffy” T-shirts hitting on college students, you see fedoras.

The hats at the RNC are in another league. A noble league … like The League of Nations.

A league that peaked in 1918.

Cowboy hats?

Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images.

Check.

Coonskin caps?

Check!

Hats directly from the costume chest for the West Oakport Community Players production of “The Music Man”?

Check and mate.

If youre a fan of delightfully anachronistic haberdashery, the Republican National Convention is the small-screen event of the mid-2010s.

2. Watch campaign operatives desperately try to spin obvious screwups into success stories.

Melania Trump’s apparent cribbing of a passage from a 2008 Michelle Obama speech on the first night of the RNC has already sent Trump’s surrogates into a flurry of questionably credible but extremely entertaining denials.

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

Some simply pretended it didn’t happen. Some tried to explain it away as a case of the two women simply having the exact same thoughts on the exact same subject. Others suggested that hey! only 7% of the speech was plagiarized, which really isn’t that much. (College students on deadline, take note!)

There’s no feeling quite so warm and cozy as sitting back on your couch, knowing there’s a problem out there in the world … and it’s someone else’s job to deal with it.

3. Cheer on the dancing delegates.

The RNC remains Americas #1 source of elderly people whove still got it, show it, and want you to know it.

Curious what style of arrhythmic jerking was popular in 1962? Looking forward to seeing some semi-coordinated American flag-ography? Want to watch a county commissioner from Ladysmith, Wisconsin, gingerly hip-bumping the state comptroller of Tennessee?

You only get one chance every four years. Seize it!

4. Gawk at the ridiculously over-the-top entrances.

For Donald Trump, last night’s raucous, backlit entrance to “We Are the Champions” was actually pretty restrained.

Scott Baio (Chachi!) was there Monday night.

Ehhhhhhhhhh. Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

So was Antonio Sabato Jr., who totally was in something once.

Oh and hey, remember soap star Kimberlin Brown? No? Well, shes speaking too.

Like Pogs, jelly shoes, and friendship bracelets, you might not have missed them and you might not have even loved them all that much even at the height of their popularity, but they’re back, and sure, why not!

6. Cringe at the massive pandering fails.

In a Monday session with delegates from Pennsylvania, Paul Ryan took a few seconds to wave a Terrible Towel an emblem of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the air…

Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

…which irked some in the city of Cleveland, where the RNC is happening. They were none too pleased to see the Republican leader brandish the banner of their bitter football rival.

In other news, Cleveland and Pittsburgh are apparently different cities. You learn new things when you watch the RNC!

7. Shovel popcorn into your mouth as Trump and his team pick random, hugely entertaining fights with GOP lawmakers.

Fittingly, for a candidate whose highest profile accomplishment is hosting a reality show, Donald Trump is really, really, good at draaaaaaaaaama.

Even before the speeches started, top Trump aide Paul Manafort attacked Ohio Gov. John Kasich America’s Republican uncle as “petulant” for refusing to attend the convention.

Photo by J.D. Pooley/Getty Images.

“Manaforts problem, after all those years on the lam with thugs and autocrats, is that he cant recognize principle and integrity,” Kasich strategist John Weaver fired back in an e-mail to The New York Times, calling out Manafort’s public relations work for the former president of Ukraine.

Rawr! Go get ’em, boys!

8. Daydream about what LeBron James is doing elsewhere in Cleveland while all this is going on.

Photo by Mike Lawrie/Getty Images.

One of the great things about Cleveland hosting the convention is that, if youre not feeling the program, you can just close your eyes and imagine what King James is up to just a few blocks away at any given moment. Maybe he’s grabbing a beer at the Radisson lobby bar across the street or wandering around the perimeter of Quicken Loans Arena trying to catch a Pikachu!

Train your brain to conjure ‘Bron, and you’re sure to realize a truth that hardened political insiders have long known: The mental image of LeBron James doing anything beats watching the 19th lieutenant governor shuffle haltingly around the stage to Kid Rocks “Born Free.”

9. Enjoy the spectacle of news organizations testing out new technology with mixed results.

The Washington Post has a robot!

LOOK OUT: The yet-to-be-named @washingtonpost robot is roaming the halls of the #gopconvention. (Cc @rkellett) pic.twitter.com/KCFFdootWo Ed O

Come for the debut of an amazing, cutting-edge mass communication tool. Stay for the schadenfreude of when it inevitably, hilariously tips slowly forward and plants on its face.

10. Applaud the fact-checkers doing A+ work.

It’s pretty hard to wallow in self pity about having to sit through three prime-time hours of the Trump Family Variety Spectacular when the heroes at FactCheck.org are spending their week watching every minute of both conventions evaluating every ridiculously hyperbolic claim made by every marginal elected official on that stage, presumably with their eyelids taped open.

David Clarke says Americans don

Every single American owes these people a drink. At the very least, we need to all go in for a gift basket.

11. Savor the meme-worthy speech faces.

Like this one:

A delegate stands on stage. The lights are hot. He’s got his suit, tie, and firmest scowl on. He’s projecting a stern air of authority. He’s feeling good.

And then, this happens:

THE RNC GAVEL IS ALREADY FALLING APART pic.twitter.com/6sL4Mp3z8V Timothy Burke (@bubbaprog) July 18, 2016

One prop master’s catastrophe is one potato-chip-eating, couch-slouching American’s perfect television.

12. Rock out to the endless playlist of music you love to hate to love to wonder what even is it?

Between the speeches, the logistical announcements, and the arcane points of order, the playlist on the first day of the 2016 RNC featured a weird collection of B sides “Limelight” by Rush, The Who’s “Eminence Front,” “Stay With Me” by Rod Stewart that undoubtedly delighted your Uncle Craig:

But it pretty much left everyone else scratching their heads. And you know what, scratching your head is immensely soothing and gratifying, so thanks, music team!

13. Appreciate that you are watching democracy happen in real time weirdly exactly the way its supposed to.

Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images.

You may not be thrilled about the election. You may think the ads are tacky. You may wish the participants were different (dear God, you may wish the participants were different).

You can hate everything about the American political process and still be grateful this is how our political transitions go down rather than when the guy in charge dies and his 9-year-old son takes over, or when a bunch of tanks plow over the White House while the president is in Bermuda, or when every federal employee is replaced by an alien impostor except for a single, mild-mannered Nebraska congressman who, luckily, is played by Kurt Russell.

New political administrations in America happen after a bunch of nerdy bureaucrats make a bunch of boring speeches about freedom, justice, and patriotism in support of candidates we dont like very much but who we will dutifully go out and choose between in November.

Its unglamorous. Its stressful. Its frustrating and exhausting. But Im going to tune in. Because it really is the worst.

Except for all the other options.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/11/if-you-havent-tuned-in-to-the-rnc-yet-here-are-13-reasons-why-you-should/