#Instead of being angry at arabs and people of Arab decent for not wanting to validate the monsters bankrolling our genocide

[dallasdrevis]

Liberals stop trying to pretend you know what's better for Palestinian Americans than we do challenge impossible.

[hateswifi]

Rising from the Ashes: Of Nicknames and Luck

So this is Part Five here is to my Master List and Part Four. Enjoy!! I just felt like... hey why not post two today? So that’s what I did, I hope you enjoy these shenanigans.

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Back with Marinette now in her hotel room, she decides to unpack a bit and look for an apartment offer online using the hand-me-down laptop Chloe had given her. 

After about an hour, she decides to take a break from apartment hunting and go to the grocery store even though she couldn’t exactly cook anything from her hotel room. She could at least make some good sandwiches.

When she got to the grocery store and after she had collected everything she needed which included: bread, peanut butter, jelly, chicken, lettuce, tomato, and some chips she hadn’t heard of before. The cashier looked her up and down then asked. “Are you the Ice Prince's girlfriend?”

“I’m no one's girlfriend. You must be confusing me with someone else,” she said as she paid then left. On her walk home she heard a bing: someone said they would meet with her about renting an apartment. The person was the manager of a building owned by Wayne Enterprises. They said she would like to meet Marinette at one o'clock: two hours from now. She decided on a salad for lunch because she had something so sugary for breakfast. She still wanted to keep a somewhat healthy diet.

She sits down and decides to check out what Diana recommended last night. She Googles ‘Gotham's Heroes' results immediately came up with Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and lastly a traffic light looking boy named, Robin. Seriously, who designed that outfit? If she ever met him she would have some words with him. She sighed while checking the time: twelve-thirty. She grabbed her stuff and left quickly.

“Hello my name is Marinette, I’m here to talk with,” she pauses, looking at her phone. “a Ms. Simms.”

“I’ll call her,” the receptionist said reaching then dialing on the phone. “Hello, Ms. Simms your one o’clock is here, Miss Marinette? Of course.” She hangs up then stands. “Please follow me.” They walk quietly into an office. She knocks on the door. 

“Enter,” a voice says from inside. “Hello, Marinette. My name is Sarah Simms. Please come take a seat.”

“So I recently moved here and need an apartment. I already have a way to pay for it, I got a job on Monday,” Marinette said, sitting across from Sarah. 

“Well want to visit the apartment?” Sarah asked, standing. 

“That would be lovely,” Marinette says, following. 

“So the last tenant left their stuff here which includes a fridge-freezer combo, a table, a couple of chairs, a couch, and two beds, one queen and one twin. They also left a smaller television,” she finishes, opening the door. The apartment was on the third floor with a decent view. “The rent would be six hundred a month and you would need to sign a year contract with a down payment of a hundred today.”

“This sounds almost too good to be true!” Marinette smiles after she finishes looking around the apartment she says. “Where can I sign?”

“Let’s head to my office and I’ll print the papers,” Sarah said, smiling as they left the apartment. 

After the papers were signed and money was paid, Marinette left for the hotel grabbed her stuff and checked out. She smiles for the first time in quite a while she was happy and proud of herself. 

She heard ringing as she dropped her stuff: it was Chloe. She immediately picked up. “Hey, Mar, how’s the second day of your new life,” Chloe asked, her voice crackling over the line a bit. 

“It has been pretty good. I got up early and went to a park close to the hotel I was staying at. This dog tackled me and the dog’s owner felt bad, so he took me to breakfast. His name is Damian, I really hope to see him again… crap he ran off before I could get his number,” she pauses falling on the couch. 

“Sounds like someone has a crush?” Chloe asks, Marinette can hear Chloe’s smirk through the phone. 

“I only met him once. After that, I went grocery shopping. Also, I got an apartment! Most of it is already furnished all I have to buy some basic things like pots, pans, plates, utensils, towels, and you know little things like that,” Marinette explained. 

“That’s great Mar. I’m so happy for you!” Chloe said.

“How was your day going?” Marinette asked. 

“I miss you a lot and life is quite boring without you. Lila was talking crap about you again,” Chloe answered. 

“I don’t even care at this point, as long as we know the truth. She doesn’t affect me anymore,” Marinette explained. 

“I know it just makes me angry knowing that her lies are so terrible,” Chloe sighed. 

“I know I’m sorry I’m not there, but I couldn’t stay in Paris. There is too much trauma and no family left for me,” Marinette explained. 

“Marinette I’m family. Luka, Adrien, and Kagami. We’re all your family! We all love and miss you!” Chloe exclaimed angrily, then hung up. 

Marinette sighed and plopped on the couch then turned on the small tv that was just across from her. It was some celebrity news so she changed it and watched an English cartoon instead as she checked her Twitter feed, which is still based on Paris. Chat had given the announcement of her leaving Paris, along with an announcement of no longer endorsing the Ladyblog after a post of Lila being love rivals with Ryuko for Viperon. Chat also announced that the rest of the team would continue with patrols. 

She hung out for the rest of the day making a list of things she needs to get. She would go to buy things after work tomorrow. She made herself a chicken, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. She then went to bed early so she could be on time for work which starts at seven.

When she woke up to her blaring alarm at six-twenty she put on a pink long-sleeved sweater, which she tucked into a black high waisted shirt with a belt. She paired her outfit with kitty black heels. She also put her hair up in princess bun. 

She rushed to work and arrived on time. She greets Diana and put her purse in the back. 

“Marinette in a little bit there will higher class customers in need of suits. I would appreciate it if you would measure them. They are as I said celebrities and like their privacy, please respect that,” Diana explains. Not long after Diana finished speaking a group of people walked in four of them to be exact. 

“Welcome, Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim. Damian is not with you?” Diana asks as they entered the store.

“No, he had a class this morning,” Bruce informed Diana of the changed plans.

“But it is to my understanding that he also needed a suit,” Daina states. 

“That is true, I was wondering if I could call in a favor,” he asks.

“Well, I can’t because I’m leaving to visit my family, but I’m sure I could ask my new employee, Marinette, to go take his measurements,” Diana said, looking for Marinette.

“I’m right here, Diana,” she says, exiting the back room. “I was grabbing the measuring tape, a notebook, and a pencil.”

“Oh my god! You’re Demon Spawn’s girlfriend!” Dick yells, running up to her.

“I’m no one's girlfriend,” Marinette says back then mutters in Mandarin. “Why does everyone keep asking that.”

Jason hears what she says and responds in Mandarin. “Because people saw you out--”. Dick elbowed him before he could finish not wanting to blow Damian’s secret. “We mistook you for someone else.”

“What was that for!” Jason exclaims. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Dick mutters.

“Ok so now that's over, please take the boys to the back to take their measurements,” Diana said, pointing the boys to follow her. In the back, Dick stood on a platform so Marinette could measure him.

“So Marinette,” Dick started being cut off. 

“I am pretty sure Diana didn’t say my name. How do you know me?” Marinette paused her measuring of Dick. “Would you be able to step down? I have to measure your shoulder blades.”

“I heard Diana say it,” Dick says as he stepped down. He felt her feather-light touch dance across his back as she measured him. She then stepped in front of him measuring his chest then arms. 

“How old are you and how long have you been working here?” Tim asks, staring at the petite girl while she works. 

“Ummm… today is my first day working here, but I am experienced in the fashion world. I don't want to talk about my past work because this is my new beginning and I turned eighteen about two months ago,” Marinette said, measuring her legs.

“We’re all about new beginnings, that's why Bruce adopted us,” Jason chimed in.

“They’re not pretentious like how I thought Americans would act,” Marinette mutters in French. 

“Thanks, but we’re not like most Americans,” Dick responds, looking down at the now flustered girl.

“I’m sorry to assume. In Paris, most Americans are shown as fools or snobs. I’ve only met a couple before today. How many languages do you all speak?” Marinette asked, working faster while keeping her head down.

“We all speak, English, French, Mandarin, Spanish, and Italian, but our youngest brother also speaks Slavonic and Arabic,” Tim explained.

“Ok, you’re all down Ummm… I’m sorry I never caught your names,” She speaks softly while backing up to give Dick room.

“You don't know us?” Dick asked shocked.

“Diana said you guys were celebrities, but I don’t pay attention to famous people unless they’re from the fashion industry and I haven’t exactly caught up on American celebrities yet,” Marinette explained.

“Well I’m Jason Todd-Wayne, this is my younger brother Tim Drake-Wayne, and my oldest brother Dick Grayson-Wayne,” Jason said, pointing at each of them as he talked.

“Ok, which one of you wants to go next,” Marinette asked, looking between the younger two of the trio.

“He’ll go next,” Jason said, pushing Tim forward.

“So you said you’ve only met a couple of people we know a bunch of people would you be able to tell us who you met?” Tim asked.

“The first person I met Diana she is quite nice, I don’t know much about her though. The second person I met was a guy named Damian. His dog, Titus, tackled me, so I guess he felt bad, we met at the park across from where I was staying. He wanted to make it up to me by breakfast, which was so delicious. I had waffles!  I met my landlord, Sarah Simms, she seems a bit distant, but I barely know her. Then I met you guys, your dad seems cold, but you guys are quite nice,” Marinette explains as she finishes up with Tim. 

“Are you and Damian friends now? You sound quite fond of him,” Jason asks as he takes Tim’s place. 

“He ran off to take a call or something as I was going to ask for his number, it’s truly a shame he was nice,” Marinette says then blushes and looks down. “And he was handsome not going to lie.”

“Aww someone has a crush?” Dick asks. 

“I’ve only met him once, but if I ever met him again I would ask him out, he was so nice, so kind,” Marinette sighs, looking lost in thought. 

“Are we sure she’s talking about the same person?” Tim asks in Italian. “She looks smitten by him.”

“We have to get them together! She would be so good for him,” Dick answers in Italian. 

“Guys I’m pretty sure Damian doesn’t want us to interfere,” Jason responds, holding out his arms for her to measure. 

“I’m all done. I’ll go call Diana to see what she wants me to do with the measurements,” Marinette says as she gets up and leaves. 

“She’s perfect for him. Think he hasn’t dated or been open with anyone before maybe she could be a first,” Tim says still in Italian. “Also she’s adorable!”

“You guys decided to talk in Italian while she was working? She thought that you guys don’t like her and we’re going to have her be fired, but she may have been overthinking,” Bruce said, entering the measuring room. 

“Damian was nice to that girl. She likes him. He likes her!” Dick exclaims, standing up.  

“Well it’s a good thing she’s coming over tomorrow to take Damian’s measurements,” Bruce smirked. 

“She is, what time?” Jason asked. 

“You’re not to disturb them. If there’s a girl out there he won’t send off or a girl who won’t run to the hills, we have to at least try to set them up,” Bruce said. 

After Marinette left the boys she went to give the measurements to Diana. 

“Here you go,” Marinette said, cheerfully. 

“Thank you. Also tomorrow there’s one more boy’s measurement to do. Bruce said he would pay extra if you go to the manor after the boutique's closing. Would you be able to take the boy’s measurements?” Diana asks taking the notepad. 

“That will be easy, but would you be able to tell me the address?” Marinette asked, pulling out her phone ready to type the address. 

“Bruce said he would send a car,” Diana informed Marinette. “May I have your address to give to him for his driver?”

“Yes, I live in Wayne Apartments, which is ironic because you know they’re the Waynes,” Marinette said, laughing. 

“That’s so funny!” Dick said, pointing at Bruce. “You’re friends with us, the Waynes, and you live in a building he owns.”

“To be fair I’ve only been in America for three days and I already have a job and an apartment. I think that’s pretty good,” Marinette says, crossing her arms. 

“I would also say pretty lucky, Spot,” Diana says as Marinette blushes. 

"Bye Sunshine!" Dick calls as he goes to open the door.

“Thank you, guys! I guess I’ll see you tomorrow!” She waves to them as they leave. The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly, she designed a bit while there weren't any customers in the store. 

Diana closes her shop around seven o’clock, her business is thriving. She goes home eats some food then grabs her money to buy the stuff on the list she made earlier. She left quickly and went to the closest store. She finished shopping and when she got home put the stuff away. She then took a shower and went to bed.

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Tag list (Open):

@northernbluetongue @melhuney @ladysblackcat @sturchling @otaku4312 @g-arya @smolplantmum @bluefyoto94 @echpr @moonlightstar64 @thesunanditsangel @cutechip @heaven428 @elmokingkong @kass-is-weird @niza13149 @urbanpineapplefarmer @ginamarie1512 @chocolatecatstheron @crazylittlemunchkin 

[dcnatural]

Is There Somewhere

Word Count: 2392

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn meet to finish unfinished business, and Ivy recalls a magical night the duo had shared.

Unless you knew what you were looking for, the Gotham Garden Motel was hard to spot. Squeezed between two warehouses on the road leading to Arkham Island, the building seemed abandoned: the glass of the windows was covered in dust, making it impossible to see anything in the other side; the sign which announced the name of the establishment was missing some letters and the neon lights had long stopped working; the roof was missing a couple of tiles and the white paint was peeling off the outside walls, which were covered by cracks. It was a miracle the place was still standing.

Despite the decrepit state of the motel, its driveway was often filled with cars and people were seen going in and out at a regular basis. If one dared to open the rotten wooden door, they would find themselves inside a shockingly well illuminated reception. It even had a waiting area, which included a tube television and a coffee machine. An employee in a cheap cotton uniform sat behind the large desk, alternating between watching a soap opera and scribbling something on the notebook open in front of them. A door reading “Employees Only” leads into the office, a separated area with two large window panes that could be used to spy on the reception. 

They didn’t ask for IDs and only accepted upfront payments made in cash, the registration was as simple as writing whichever name you wanted in the book and leaving the money. You would then be given a key to your room. This discretion was the main reason behind the motel's popularity. Whether you were a cheating husband, a drug dealer or a high tier super criminal, if you wanted to have a clandestine meeting, this was the place to come. Everyone who visited the motel was involved in some shady business. The whole premise of the place was that you could come, do your shit and leave, no questions asked.

That's why the clerk didn’t bat an eye when Poison Ivy came striding in through the front entrance, placed a wad of cash in the front desk, signed the visitor’s log, took the key for room 93 and headed to the staircase without saying a word. Nor did the clerk find it unusual when, fifteen minutes later, Harley Quinn burst in and raced upstairs, not even bothering to close the door after her.

Room 93 was located on the fourth floor. Unlike most hotels, which the room’s number indicated their respective floor, the Gotham Garden didn’t use this rationale. Instead, the numbers had been randomly assigned; a brilliant idea that occured to the first owner after getting wasted in a bar downtown. Therefore, there was no intuitive way of finding your room, and the guests were required to carefully read the maps plastered to the walls of the staircase.

While the reception gave the impression of belonging to a decent place, the rest of the hotel matched the state of the outside. The red carpet covering the floor had a thick cover of dust and mold, the lamps in the ceiling were either burned out or flickered inconsistently. Cockroaches crawled around, and one could hear the screeches made by the rats inhabiting the wall. Each door had been painted with a different color, but now the ink was faded and everything looked like a lifeless gray.

Harley verified if the hallway was clear before tapping on the dark-blue door. Dressed in a black hat with a wide brim, overly large star-shaped pink sunglasses and an old trench coat, she looked like the most comical spy in the world.

The knock caused Ivy to jump from her chair, and she stumbled to reach the door. She gave a quick glance at the bathroom mirror to ensure that her vivid red hair was well combed and her shirt was in place. Her heartbeat was frantic and she took a deep breath to calm herself, inhaling the lavender scent of her perfume.

Ivy sighed as she contemplated the girl before her. “Didn’t I tell you to be discreet?”, she complained as Harley skipped inside.

“This is discreet, Pams. No one can recognize me with these glasses. Betcha you wouldn’t have known it was me if I hadn’t told you I was coming disguised”, she replied as she removed the sunglasses and tossed them aside. They skittered through the floor before stopping underneath the wardrobe. 

She then took off her hat, letting her blonde locks cascade down her back. The colorful streaks had been washed off, with only ghostly remnants of pink and blue to evidence the product of Harley’s latest post-break-up-hair-makeover. It only made sense that now that she was back with the Joker she would try to erase any change she had made during their time apart.

The darkened windows didn’t allow much light to pass through and, despite being early afternoon, Ivy had turned on the twin lamp shades that decorated the nightstands, their floral pattern casting shadows in the threadbare arabic rug that covered the floor underneath the bed.

Harley sat in the far end of the bed, back propped against the wall and legs stretched over the mattress. “So, what’d you wanted to talk about, uh?”

Ivy paced around the room, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Harley. “How could you go back to him?”, the words left her mouth in an urgent whisper. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision and she felt the urge to brush them away. Tears were a sign of weakness and weaknesses weren't a luxury she could afford. In fact, the last time she had cried was back when she still was Pamela Isley, on that fateful day that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her last tears had been shred when she laid on the floor, dying only to be reborn as Poison Ivy.

Harley idly played with her hair, curling it around her well manicured fingers. She didn’t know how to reply to that. Why did she return to the Joker every time? Why did she still love him when all he did was hurt her? She knew it was an abusive relationship, she hadn't spent years training as a shrink for nothing, but she couldn't find the strength in herself to cut him out of her life. For better or for worse, he had shaped her into who she was now. She feared that without his influence in her life, she would go back into being Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and honestly, the prospect of normalcy terrified her.

But she couldn't tell Ivy all of that, so she did what she knew best and created a diversion. "You know, your hair’s fantastic today. Are you using a new shampoo?"

As if moving by their own accord, Ivy's lips curled into a smile. She cursed herself. She should be angry, sad, outraged. But there was something about Harley that always made her let her guard down. Harley had the gift of bringing happiness into Ivy's loneliness. And perhaps that was the reason why that betrayal had hurt so much.

Ivy collapsed into the bed, careful not to get too close to Harley. She wasn't sure if she could deal with so much proximity right now. Not in this bed, at least. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wonder. To travel back to a week ago, before the Joker sweeped in again and took Harley with him. Back to when it had been just the two of them, hiding in this same room while they counted their loot and laughed about the stupidity of the guards of the jewelry story they had just robbed.

That day had awakened something in Ivy, and she had thought that her friend felt the same. But clearly she had been wrong. 

In her mind she relieved it all, every single detail of that fateful day, from the smell of the strawberry bubblegum Harley had been chewing to the sound of gold clittering against gold.

* * *

The first thing Harley had done once they were secured inside the room was to remove her jester suit, the sweaty outfit was sticking to her skin and making her itchy. Stripped to her underwear and tube socks, she had then proceeded to catalogue every single item they had stolen, listing the retail price in a chart. 

Ivy had offered to help, but Harley had her own system and every time the redhead tried to do something she only mixed it all up. So she had given up and was texting her usual fence to ask when they could meet.

"I love this song", Harley shouted when the radio began to play a slow pop ballad. She seemed like a completely different person from the concentrated woman she was seconds ago. Climbing off the bed, she began to dance, with a grace that only the ones who had trained for years were able to do. She moved like air, arms swaying to the rhythm of the music and hips rocking back and forth in matching pace. The whiteness of her skin was a stark contrast to the black and red socks she wore, and Ivy’s gaze lingered on those long and slender legs. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to have those legs tangled around her own body, to have those hands caressing her skin. 

“Come dance with me”, Harley asked, tugging Ivy’s arm and trying to pull her to her feet.

Ivy shook her head. “I don’t dance.”

Harley rolled her eyes and pouted. “Pretty please, for me! It’s boring to dance alone.”

Faced with the other girl’s plea, Ivy couldn’t find in her the strength to say ‘no’ and so she relented, allowing Harley to pull her up. Ivy’s movements were awkward, her body rigid whereas Harley’s was fluid. She misteped and tripped, but Harley was always there to catch her before she fell.

The song ended and another began, and they kept swirling around the room. The soft melody brought them closer, Harley’s arms embracing Ivy’s waist, chests pressed together and faces inches apart. Harley suppressed a yawn, eyelids fluttering shut as exhaustion began to take over. She nestled her head on Ivy’s shoulder, taking advantage of her friend’s taller stature. 

The rest of the world faded away, all that Ivy could think of was the intoxicating feeling of Harley’s lips brushing against her bare skin. Outside, a car passed by, the headlamp shining even through the dirt glass, creating a brief spotlight for the two girls.

A false move caused Harley to trip, and they stumbled, Ivy’s back landing on the saggy mattress with Harley on top of her. For a moment, time stood still. They laid over the white sheets, not moving and barely breathing. A tension hung in the air between them, an unvoiced desire that previously neither had felt. 

Then, before Ivy knew what was happening, Harley leaned down and brought her mouth to Ivy’s, hovering like that for an instant before closing the remaining distance. At first, the touch was light as a feather, barely there. Then, with renewed passion, Harley pressed harder, Ivy’s lips welcoming her. Ivy didn’t protest as Harley slid the strapless leotard out of her body, the garment falling to the floor near where Harley’s own jumpsuit laid.

When Harley pulled away, it was only so she could lay a trail of wet kisses. She sucked, licked and bit every inch of exposed skin, venturing further down with each second. She stopped at Ivy’s navel, looking up in search for permission, and Ivy remembered how to move for just long enough to nod, before collapsing back onto the bed. 

Every nerve in Ivy’s body was on fire. Her mind was numb. She felt nothing but Harley. Harley’s mouth. Harley’s fingers. Harley’s skin. Harley. Harley. Harley. The name echoed in Ivy’s mind with every beat of her heart. Ivy clutched tightly at Harley’s arms, the firmness of the muscles underneath her fingers ensuring her that this wasn’t just part of her imagination. Ivy felt herself coming undone under her friend’s touch. She couldn’t think she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breath. All her worries and fears that clouded her brain faded away until only Harley was left.

* * *

“Pammy?”

Harley’s voice pulled Ivy back to the present and she snapped her eyes open. “I thought we had something.”

“We did. We do. You are my best friend. I love you. I really do”, there was a note of sadness in Harley's voice as she spoke.

Tears spilled out of the corners of Ivy’s eyes. “But you love him more.”

Harley nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“No”, Ivy interrupted, sliding out of the bed. “It’s fine. I was foolish to believe you would actually leave him for real. I just wish I could let this go, forget it ever happened.”

She realized now how stupid this had been. Nothing she did could ever change Harley’s mind. She needed to get out of that room, she needed fresh air.

“Ives, come on”, Harley pleaded, rushing to grab Ivy’s arm before she could leave.

Ivy twisted out of her friend’s hold and opened the door. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

The door closed shut behind Ivy and Harley allowed her body to fall to the floor, back against the scrapped dark blue paint. A sob escaped her lips and she buried her face in her knees, shielding herself from the world. She felt alone. Her best friend had abandoned her. And perhaps I deserve that, Harley thought. She didn’t know which was her worst mistake: falling in love with the Joker or with Ivy.

Outside, Ivy inhaled the fresh afternoon air and began the long walk back to the Botanical Garden. She hadn’t meant to fall in love that night, but now it was done and there’s no way of fixing it. She wished Harley could leave the Joker, not just out of jealousy but because she knew her friend deserved better. I could offer her better.

The dusk had settled over Gotham when a figure wearing a trench coat and hat left the Gotham Garden Motel. She opened the door to a green car and, with the motor rumbling, she took off into the darkness.

[tessatechaitea]

Darkstars #5

What happens when two guys clash, each thinking they're the ultimate authority for good and each believes violence is the best solution to a problem? We'll find out this issue!

I didn't know hawks were angry assholes but I'm assuming Hawkman is the personification of a hawk's personality so it must be true. I also didn't know spiders were mild-mannered. Or guys were misogynist, short-tempered jerk-offs (you know, like Guy Gardner). I've learned a lot from comic books! I just looked over the cover again and I think it might be on my Top Ten Sexiest Comic Book Covers of All Time. Mostly it's due to the way it looks like Detective Crumbstache and Hawkman look like they're furiously trying to jerk each other off and the way Hawkwoman double grips that crossbow the way she'd not have to double grip my cock.

How come I never read Modesty Blaise? It was about two whole things, one of which I really enjoy!

The cover of this issue just got even sexier if you consider the inside advert as part of the cover which I do because look at the way Modesty is sucking off that gun. I bet I was planning on buying Modesty Blaise but then I jerked off over this advert, fell immediately asleep on top of the comic, and woke up later having forgotten all about it. It's the exact same reason I never read Warlord. Now I want to make this advert into a sign to protest the police. It should really confuse them! This issue is called "Slaves and Other Prisoners." If one of the "R"s in "prisoners" was a "B", it would be an anagram for pissboner. A better writer probably would have written about the problematic casual use of the word slaves in the American vernacular. "Vernacular" is an anagram for "anal curver." A couple of aliens have arrived in Earth's orbit to pick up Evil Star and his Starlings and transport them to Galactic Prison. They treat Evil Star like shit and Darkstar is all, "Whoa, my dudes! Chill out, man! Don't make me have to raise my voice! We're all cool here. No need for negative vibes!" Man, I really misjudged Darkstar Colos when I began reading this comic book. He's actually a decent cop. But then again, his story is the exact story of any cop that tries to be decent in a corrupt system that fetishizes violence, power, and respect. He's been shoved off to a backwater planet that's so far out of the Controller's sphere of influence that they've already questioned the leader of the Darkstars as to the need for space cops so far afield. Colos was trouble and he was acting better than the other cops so he got sent off to where he can't cause any problems. Weird to think that the phrase "can't cause any problems" in police lingo actually means "improves the system and works toward justice and accountability." Detective Chicago-head gets put on the Carla White kidnapping case. The cops don't actually know she's been kidnapped but they suspect Pappas, the Loco kingpin, took her against her will. But Detective Two-Sausages-One-Bun pretends he's been on a drinking jag and isn't in his right mind to lead a raid on Pappas's warehouse. That's because he wants to raid the place himself in his Darkstars Sidekick outfit. Once again, he's proving that he's a terrible cop (aka a status quo, regular, run-of-the-mill police). Detective Two-Sizes-Too-Big-Head had better hurry with the rescue mission because Carla White is currently being sold into the space sex slave trade. I was going to make a joke earlier about her being sold into the alien sex slave trade but then I thought better of it, realizing that just putting "space" in front of "sex slave trade" didn't rise to an appropriate level of satire that would justify making light of sex slavery. I did add the word "space" to sex slave trade at the beginning of this paragraph but it wasn't for a joke; it was just stating the facts of this comic book. Look, we all read the title! We all knew where this story was headed but I wasn't brave enough to broach the subject earlier. I just said that stupid thing about an nearly correct anagram and moved on. Oh, by the way, when Carla White hears she's going to be sold into sex slavery, she's all, "I'm not going to be the property of some Middle East sheikh!" Seems a little racist to me. I bet she felt dumb (and racist) when she found out she was being sold to aliens and not Arabs.

Is this why conservatives don't have any morals or ethics? Because they think if they acted on those things, they'd get sold into the space sex slave trade?

Since I've added "space" to the phrase "sex slave trade," I can probably call it hyperbole and satire when I write something like, "Boy! I sure wish all conservatives would get sold into the space sex slave trade!"

Actually, yes, Detective Mustached-Rumproast, that's exactly what you were supposed to do.

It's not the cop's job to become judge and jury because they don't trust the judge and jury will do their job. If that's why cops kill people then I think it means citizens are allowed to kill cops if we don't believe they'll do their job? Am I using logic correctly? I'm just a stupid libturd so I wouldn't know logic if it constantly @ed me on Twitter demanding that I debate it. Flint (that's the name of Detective Sausage-fingers. I learned his name because I've run out of different types of meat to compare his fat head to) breaks into Pappas's space sex slave trade warehouse where the ship is nearly fully loaded with slaves for space sex. But instead of battling the space sex slave traders and saving the day, he starts a fight with Hawkman and Hawkwoman. Where rock has this guy's pink, salty ham-head been stuck under his entire life? He doesn't recognize the good heroes of the DC Universe?! I wonder if Stan Lee had ever considered a law suit against every comic book that had two different heroes mistakenly battle each other before they realized their error and teamed up? It's so recognizably a Marvel idea that I would have awarded Stan Lee all the money. Unless the idea is actually from The Bible? I mean Cain and Abel almost pulled that trick except Abel just wound up being too much of a loser to survive to the team up part. During the confusion of the violent good guys fighting the other violent good guys, the rocket with the space sex slaves takes off. Hopefully Hawkman and Detective Flint will learn a lesson from this incident. Maybe suss out the situation before beating everybody you see to a bloody pulp. Darkstars #5 Rating: B. The Hawklovers were only in this issue for a couple of pages which is fine by me but probably not ideal for all the Hawklover fans who purchased this book because they were on the cover. I'm sure the next issue will feature more Hawklover action. I'm also sort of hoping that Carla White has now been launched into space and won't be rescued. She'll just turn up in a spin-off series called Space Sex Slave Traders. Obviously that never happened but now that I put the idea out there, maybe it did happen in another, better, sexier timeline.

[macchiatomingi]

dysnomia.exe (ATEEZ Cyberpunk!AU) Chapter 5

Exploration

Word Count: 2.7k

“So, how’re the pairs working?” San asked once everyone was out of the house and the door was locked. You were Curious too; getting paired with Mingi was a recipe for disaster, and even though you spent a decent amount of time with Yunho, things would still be slightly awkward, but San can be extremely Hyper and you don’t know if you were ready to handle that just yet.

“Well,” Yunho starts, a look of contemplation washing over his face, “San, you and Calixte work best with each other. I work best with Mingi. We should just go based on that.”

The group fell silent, your eyes glowed a yellowish-green in confirmation. One thing you weren’t expecting was the slight change in your color coding, but Hongjoong said the color was nice and contrasted well with your current skin covering, whatever that means…

“Okay,” Mingi said, adjusting his shirt to cover the gun tucked in his waistband, “let’s go then. The faster we go the faster we can come back.”

And with that, the four of you were off.

The walk to the Red was silent, Yunho led the way, trying to make small talk with Mingi but failing miserably. The taller boy was completely silent as he had his eyes trained ahead. San walked at a leisure pace next to you, and there wasn’t much talking if any at all.

Upon arrival, you were Dumbfounded. Everything in the Red was so...bright? Vivid? For the first time since you were booted up, you couldn’t find the words to describe the sights you saw before you. People of all denominations bustled about, women, cyborgs, even androids that you registered as Discontinued bustled about behind their human caretakers. Contrary to the name, nothing was really Red. You followed slowly behind the boys, taking in all the sights. The people, the buildings, the signs were written in languages your translators could barely keep up with. You recognized some of the Old Languages, but couldn’t translate them due to a lack of information about them. Arabic, French, Chinese, but also a strange combination of Faric, Telunese, and Swanlic languages were present. The combinations were baffling, some signs having a mix of both Old and New languages, your processors were whirring trying their best to keep up with everything but there was just so much going on it was nearly impossible to do so.

“Oh no,” San started, rushing back to you and moving back the skin covering on the back of your neck, “let me fix this so things aren’t as overwhelming for you Cal.”

He flipped three switches, and all of a sudden things were calm. Sounds weren’t loud and blasting, lights weren’t bright and glaring, and signs were all in Kojan, the Primary language. Internally, things calmed down, which was good, it was what you wanted.

You soon broke off from the main group with San, going north while Yunho and Mingi went west. San rattled off rules for you to follow, your eyes glowing a bluish-gray in understanding. You followed closely behind him, per his instructions, and remained silent, also per his instructions.

The two of you walked until a dimmed down neon sign appeared, from what you could gather, it was a bar. Cupid’s Nest. The name made no sense, Cupid’s are mythological beings from Greek mythology, they don’t have nests according to what your archives said.

“Hey,” San started, faltering a bit in his steps, “maybe we can find answers here?”

“Perhaps.”

“Let’s go then.”

As San walked to the entrance, you slowly followed behind. Even though San altered your sensors, things were still so...new...so different, you couldn’t help but lag behind to try and see everything.

You noticed a narrow alleyway, one between the Cupid’s Nest, and the diner next to it. Something about it was captivating, almost entrancing. You couldn’t take your focus away from it even though you were standing close enough to the bar that you could smell the booze and cheap perfume that seemed to have embedded itself into the walls.

01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110111 01100001 01111001

Your body moved without you controlling it; you abandoned San without saying a word, following the green numbers that flashed across your vision along with coordinates. Your hearing processors had stalled completely, the world was silent. People bustling around without sound, clinking drinks and dancing to music that had no words, no bass, no anything.

The only senses you still had was touch, sight, smell, and taste. Your hearing was gone, but you could smell the smoke in the air, the oil from a black market mechanics shop, the street food lining the alleyway. You could taste the alcohol in the air, thick and heavy and, if you were human, it would most likely be strong enough to burn your throat.

Wooyoung did say that booze always had a little kick to it.

You made it to the end of the alleyway, looking around wordlessly, your eyes were Frantic, flashing from blue to yellow to green all at once before cycling back to their neutral color.

01100111 01101111 01101111 01100100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101

Another set of coordinates popped up on your radar, slightly south of where you were currently. You followed it down to the number of steps, not wanting to mess anything up, but at the same time not having control of your actions.

Messages are coming in but you can’t decipher them, something’s off about them. There’s noise in the messages, you have an inkling that it’s San, but there’s no way to be sure.

C̶̢̹̳̝̪̜͂̈́̚ą̵͖̪̞͉̿̈͋̎̐ļ̶̟̘͓̪̮̈̋͊̽ĭ̸̗̲͉͛̉̑́͊̋̅̑̿͘͘x̶̨̯̪̰̲̝̥͚̟̬̣͔̀̈͒ͅt̸̙̖̤̗͂̂̔́͆̾̔͐̈́́̚͝ẹ̵͕̞̈͛̽̾̑̉̑?̶̨̛̠͇̘̪̪͇̺̿͗̒̈́͆͒̔̀ͅ ̶̡̥̜̖̹̰̀̑͐̽͌͑̃̂̌͝W̸̢̯̻̩͊̀͊̐͋͘h̷̘̖̞̗̩̗̀͐̎͗̇̍̀̿̋͘̚ḙ̷̡̼̳͔͓̋͐͊͋́͆̈́͂̋̄͘ͅr̵̨͕̺̟͙͂̅e̷̛̳͎̖̪̊̄̋͑̑͑̄ ̵̳͎͎̅̈́͝a̷̝̞͖̙̭̲̔̿͐̿̎̂̾̅͛̕ŗ̴̢̪̞͓̦̻̞͕̠̯̬̈̋̆̔̓̐̀ͅe̴̺̙̮̺̤̺͎̝̱̗̽̓́̒̑͆̕͝͝ ̵̡̡̥̖̹̮͈̫͖͕͈͋͗̽̏̒͋͗̅̀̋͝y̷̢̗̝̓̂͑̕o̵̝̩̘̙͔̪̻̘͆͑͒̈̿̃u̶̢͍̠̣͓̣͍̮̒͆̽̄͆̎̅͝?̸̘̯̅̊͛͂͊͑̈̄͐͐

You keep walking, following the coordinates until you reach a small mechanics shop. Spare android parts hang from the entrance; arms and legs, sometimes whole mechanized heads hang on hooks and strings in front of you.

Your hearing slowly fades back in.

C̶̢̹̳̝̪̜͂̈́̚ą̵͖̪̞͉̿̈͋̎̐ļ̶̟̘͓̪̮̈̋͊̽ĭ̸̗̲͉͛̉̑́͊̋̅̑̿͘͘x̶̨̯̪̰̲̝̥͚̟̬̣͔̀̈͒ͅt̸̙̖̤̗͂̂̔́͆̾̔͐̈́́̚͝ẹ̵͕̞̈͛̽̾̑̉̑?̶̨̛̠͇̘̪̪͇̺̿͗̒̈́͆͒̔̀ͅ

More noisy messages; you couldn’t be bothered with them right now though. You had a mission, even though you didn’t know what it really was.

You step into the shop to see an old man, sitting calmly in a chair. Almost as if he was waiting for you.

01100111 01101111 00101110 00100000 01110011 01101001 01110100 00101110

Your body moves before you can understand what’s happening; one minute you were standing as the world regained it’s sound, the next you were strapped to a chair with wires being shoved in the ports at the nape of your neck.

The man presses buttons, frantically, almost as if he knows he won’t have time to complete everything, and then the world goes black.

Black.

Blue.

Green.

White.

The world rushes back to you as you feel the cords ripped from your neck, a stinging sensation left in their wake. Your eyes are trying to adjust, barely making out the figure that’s dragging you out the store, body barely registering that it’s moving again. Your legs fumble over themselves like a newborn baby deer and your systems battle to try and catch up to everything going on.

You only register a tight pain in your arm, the feeling was foreign. Almost as if that man had cut you open, like a fish, and inserted nerves into you. This was a feeling foreign to your touch receptors and you didn’t understand it. It hurt, it stung, and you didn’t like it.

You nearly felt scared, until you crashed into the body in front of you.

Mingi. He had gotten you out of that mechanic’s shop. He had dragged you along random sidewalks, for around fifteen minutes without saying anything, until he noticed the building to his right.

A simple black brick building, with neon purple and blue lights cemented to the side. You couldn’t process the name, but you took note of Mingi’s expression.

His eyes were vacant as if his soul had left his body. His normally sharp and hyper-aware demeanor dropped for one that was empty. He was just a shell of his former self and you were worried; the change was sudden. One minute he was fuming, dragging you along so quickly that your legs couldn’t keep up, and the next he was as still as a statue.

“Sorry mister,” comes from your left as a child bumps into Mingi, not really paying attention to where he was going. You thought it was cute, but concerning; why would a child, barely older than 10, be in the Red? It was dangerous here, you knew that, and you barely knew anything outside of what was programmed into you.

It was only after the child left that Mingi let go of your arm, bringing his hand down to your wrist instead. He said nothing and kept walking, at a slower pace than before, until the two of you reached the same forest that the four of you had entered from.

“Mingi!”

“Cal!”

“What the fuck happened,” San starts, nearly fuming, “Calixte where did you go?!”

“I…” your words get caught, you genuinely didn’t know how to respond; you had never seen San this angry, red and black hair covering his eyes, voice hushed but rough, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are Cal’s eyes glowing purple,” Yunho started, “Mingi where did you find them?”

You turned to look up at Mingi, his expression still as glassy as what it was earlier, he didn’t respond. He just stared blankly ahead, which only served to agitate San even more.

You gave a small squeak of surprise and backed up when San stormed up to grab Mingi by the collar of his shirt, “What happened to Calixte?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

Yunho had to step between the two to calm things down, you were trembling, circuits stressed from so many new experiences and things happening all at once. It was overwhelming, everything was so overwhelming. It was too much and everything was getting hot and you couldn’t focus and you didn’t know what to do. Too much, it was all just too much and you didn’t like it and you just wanted it all to stop but it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t stop and you didn’t know what that old man did but whatever it was caused...this.

You were panicking, you didn’t even know that you could panic; your circuits were hot and your systems were trying to keep up with everything, it wasn’t fun. Your sight kept glitching, big, glaring ERROR and RECALIBRATING notices popped up. Your hearing went from silent to overstimulated to completely mute within the span of seconds. At some points, you could feel every dust particle as it passed over your skin covering, other times you felt nothing.

You felt like you were dying, and you didn’t even know what death felt like.

“The building,” Mingi starts, voice hoarse, San and Yunho look to each other then back at him, all unaware of the complete system meltdown you’re having a mere two feet away, “it was too similar.”

Nobody says anything as Mingi stalks off, back to the house. San and Yunho turn around to look at you; San still looks mad, but he seemed to have softened after seeing the state Mingi was in. He walks ahead, Yunho grabs your hand and begins walking behind the two of them.

Everything was still on overdrive, but Yunho’s hand was a comforting weight in yours. It was warm and much bigger than your hand. You didn’t realize it, but you had begun to inch closer to Yunho’s side. Almost as if he would protect you from the very happenings of the world.

He thought it was strange, that an android was taking solace in his presence, but he removed his hand from yours and wrapped it around your shoulders instead, bringing you even closer to him. You didn’t mind; the contact was nice, wanted even. All of this was foreign to you and there weren’t words to describe the emotions, so it was nice to have Yunho as a sort of grounding force.

The walk back to the house was silent, your systems whirred loudly as they tried to process everything that you were feeling. Yunho noticed, you know he did, but he didn’t say anything. He just held you to his side and kept walking.

The two of you were the last to make it back, and from a distance, you could hear Mingi, San, and Hongjoong screaming at each other. The words were fuzzy, you could just identify their voices.

“What the hell were you thinking? You can’t just bring Calixte into the Red!”

“It was the only way we’d get answers for whatever the fuck is going on! What else were we supposed to do?”

“Maybe sit and wait until I give instructions? I’m the leader, it’s my job to make sure none of you get hurt or worse!”

“Yeah well, you sure as hell did a good job with that the last mission we had.”

“Mingi, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Mingi started, voice booming. Even outside you could feel the frustration seeping from his words, each one cutting a hole deeper into you, “if you took your job seriously then we’d be able to bring Jongho on missions with us. If you actually gave a damn then maybe we’d be able to use him on the field instead of having to rely on him from base!”

“Mingi…” San was trying to stop him now, you and Yunho stood at the open doorway, watching everything unfold. Yunho held you behind him, but you still peeked over his shoulder to see what was going on.

Hongjoong and Mingi were chest to chest at this point, Hongjoong’s face was blank, void of all emotion, but if you looked at his eyes you would see nothing but pure, white-hot anger. Mingi was the same, but his emotions were shown in his posture: back straight, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white, everything about him screamed danger, but Hongjoong didn’t back away.

“Mingi,” Hongjoong’s words were quiet, but sharp, “if you know what’s good for you, I’d shut up.”

“If you knew anything about being a leader then all of us wouldn’t have had to go through hell for your plan,” Every word Mingi said was laced with such venom, nobody in the room dared to interrupt him, “Jongho wouldn’t have to deal with partial paralysis, Yeosang would have a hundred percent of his hearing, Wooyoung wouldn’t have his scars,” his words got harsher as he continued speaking, hands trembling, “if you knew a goddamn thing about being a leader then we’d have actually made some fucking progress in this stupid scheme of yours and-”

His words were cut off with a swift hit to the jaw. Hongjoong brought his hand back, releasing the fist he had balled up and with trembling shoulders, looked up at the taller boy.

His gaze was deadly, and you found yourself clinging to Yunho’s shirt to be away from it even though it wasn’t even directed at you.

“If you feel so strongly about me, and my method of running things,” Hongjoong started, his voice strained, “then leave.”

Mingi stood motionless, his lower lip swollen from the new split in it, holding his jaw that was sure to bruise from the force of the impact. He lowered his hand to his side, standing still aside from the heaving of his chest.

“Fine. I will.”

And with that, he stormed past you and Yunho, anger rolling off of him in waves. He walked away from the house and didn’t look back, not even when Wooyoung or Seonghwa called after him, or when Jongho screamed at Hongjoong about why he couldn’t have just let the argument go. He didn’t look back when San and Shiber took off after him.

He just left. And this time nobody was sure if he was planning on coming back or not.

You buried your head into Yunho’s back, between his shoulder blades, systems overworking themselves again to process everything. You felt him turn around and pull you close, into a hug, as Wooyoung called it. You trembled, and he held you. He held you close as more binary code popped in your vision, blurring everything, canceling sound, muting touch, and once again you couldn't decipher the message.

01010100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110011 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100111 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110111 00101110 00100000 01000010 01100101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01100101 01110000 01100001 01110010 01100101 01100100 00101110

Regardless of what the message meant this time, you knew it wasn’t anything good. And that thought terrified you, it terrified you to your very core.

And you were scared of that.

~~~~~~~~ lots of you wanted yunho...so you got yunho :D from here on things will pick up! sorry it took so long getting this chapter out, school is a pain :’) and so is life in general :’’)

i’m going to spend a lot of time (like,,,a LOT,,,of time) planning out the next few chapters, but due to school and other external circumstances i’m not really sure when i’ll have the next few chapters out? it hopefully wont be as long as it took this one to come out, i feel really bad not providing the chapters as often as i prodive drabbles or imagines or things like that ; ; i promise i’ll get better with it

anyways, tell me what you guys thought of this chapter, or if you have any theories bc i tried to make some things very clear compared to previous chapters, and i wanna see if y’all caught it or not ;)

[evilwickedme]

i don't wanna start a fight but i just want to know your honest opinion. should we support all jews even the racist ones, just because they're jewish? like all the people from israel who think it's great to exterminate brown people to get their land in the name of zionism? i don't think i could ever forgive them, because i can't support bigots, no matter where they're from. again i don't want to fight but i would like to read an opposing opinion. have a good day.

“it’s me again; i looked up ‘zionism’ on your blog and i just wanted to let you know that i have no quarrel with jewish people, like really the people, living their everyday lives, even the ones who happen to agree with zionism. i’m angry towards the ones who order the bombing, and the soldiers who will shoot brown civilians. but the people are innocent to me, they just have an opinion. i think jewish culture is way more decent than christianity, but it doesn’t lack faults is all.

Can’t support oppressors because they’re oppressed too. Will support someone who is Jewish if they face antisemitism, won’t support their racism. One form of bigotry can’t cancel another.”

“Do you think we should support all Jewish people even if they’re racist” is such an invalid question I literally don’t know where to begin

do we support all muslims, even the antisemitic ones? - oh wait, that’s a question nobody fucking asks, ever, because it’s weird and incomprehensible

I’m answering your question to the best of my ability but like… tbh the fact that you felt the need to ask it in the first place? antisemitism

I don’t support anyone just because they’re Jewish just like I don’t support anyone just because they’re gay, I support Jewish people in the radical act of being Jewish in an antisemitic world. If somebody is being racist, I call them out (if it’s safe for me, which sadly, it isn’t always), but I don’t call them out despite them being Jewish? it’s got nothing to do with it. Judaism doesn’t have anything to do with racism, we all grow up in an inherently racist environment and have to unlearn things.

There’s this idea that Jews=white and that is just… literally, factually wrong. More than 50% of Jews in Israel are brown (Mizrahi) themselves. That isn’t to say that Mizrahi Jews don’t face discrimination, because they do, but the situation in Israel is just… incomparable to America. It’s not white vs. brown, it’s Jewish vs. non-Jewish Arabs, and that’s a very complex situation. Not to mention conflating Jewish people with white people, our oppressors for literally thousands of years, is fucking antisemitic. (Again: Jewish people can be pale, brown, black, or Asian and I personally went to school with Jews of every supposed “type”. In Israel.)

Aside from specific, isolated cases that are reprehensible in every way, nobody is going into Palestinian land and just killing people for no reason, nor are they bombing Palestinians for no reason. Historically, the IDF has been a defense army, and I will argue even in cases it technically attacked first it was still being defensive. It’s literally in the name: Israel Defense Forces.

I know this is surprising, but there’s a huge group of Jewish people and Israeli citizens who - gasp - don’t think that we should killing Palestinians at all, including myself. But the fact that we disagree with and even hate the way our country is run doesn’t mean we invalidate its entire existence in the first place. If Israel stopped existing, half the Jewish population of the entire world would very suddenly be in incredible danger, and with nowhere to fucking go.

Of course one form of bigotry doesn’t cancel another, but what antizionists are currently doing doesn’t actually fucking help. Instead of invalidating Israel - which just makes most Israelis take what they say with a cup full of salt - they should actively criticize it, work to change it. That’s what most Israelis do. We go to protests. We pay attention to laws. We vote. We get outraged. We try to make things better for everyone.

Most importantly, this whole thing should never have been about Israel in the first place. Because Jews deserve to exist as Jews and we shouldn’t be interrogated on our opinions about Zionism and Israel to make sure we’re good Jews. We should be allowed to exist, out in the open, shouting: “We’re here, we’re queer, we’re Jewish” without having to answer for the crimes of other people who just happen to share an ethnicity and/or religion with us.

And that’s my answer. I might have gone on a small tangent somewhere.

You have a good day, too, anon. And don’t forget to call out antisemitism everywhere you go.

[fieldmedics]

Things that Donald Trump does or has done that...

 1.      Trump loves his commentary tirades on Twitter attacking both the DNC and the GOP. A good President looks to work across party lines in the hopes of getting unilateral support and backing on issues of the country. This is not how this man operates, he is like a 10 year old play ground bully picking on poor defenseless kindergartners.

 2.      Trump thinks himself as being this planets number one genius and know it all. He has been seen on television in his narcissistic rants on how “I know this better than anyone on the planet”.  Click the link to see just a few of his “I’m Better than anyone on the planet” collage statements on television.

https://nowthisnews.com/videos/politics/donald-trump-is-apparently-the-expert-on-everything-according-to-him?jwsource=cl

 3.      As much as he spats at the Democrats, he spent the better half of his first year in office attacking his own damn party line. Who in the hell does that?

 4.      He has shown to the world that he has absolutely no respect for our allies on this planet. He seems to think that because he is the President of the United States, that places him on the top-spot of the world and they should all bow down before him. This kind of ignorance is tantamount to an epic version of Rome’s Nero. Below is a YouTube link that shows a small example of his total disregard for decorum and respect at a NATO summit not long ago. 

https://youtu.be/RoHL5wy0RQo 5.      He is empowering al-Qaeda in Syria. By forging a de facto alliance with Russia and Iran to defeat the Islamic State, Trump is driving Sunni Arabs into the waiting arms of al-Qaeda — which is preparing to replace the Islamic State and is much more dangerous. And in the latest news he is stating a military pull-out of the region that is still wrought with and ISIS presence, and is placing strain on a strategic alliance with Turkey by putting a caveat that they are to not attack Kurdish forces, even though the Turkish government, along with our own see them as a known terrorist organization. What people need to know is that the Kurds are no different than the Mujahideen, aka “The Taliban” in Afghanistan. 

6.      I am placing this one here because it shows just how low-brow, stupid, and childish he is.  99.1% of his tweets that he throws out to the world is complete rubbish. He tweets like a spoiled toddler who has not gotten their way and is laying on the floor screaming. Please see the link below for a visual comparison…

https://youtu.be/YersIyzsOpc 7.      He has attacked the FBI and the intelligence community. Trump is right to be angry about leaks of private conversations with foreign leaders and the political bias of some individuals involved in the Russia probe. But the vast majority of those in the FBI, the Justice Department and the CIA are good, decent and honorable patriots who deserve the president's respect. Trump should not undermine our institutions because of the corrupt or illegal actions of some individuals.

8.      He has dismissed Russian interference in the 2016 election. During his trip to Asia, Trump said he really believes that when Vladimir Putin tells him Russia did not interfere in the 2016 election, Putin believes it. This is patently absurd. Putin directed Russia's meddling. It is possible to accept that Russia sought to influence our election without accepting that there was any collusion. The fact that a foreign government tried to undermine our democracy should outrage all Americans, regardless of party — including the president.

9.      He stood by Roy Moore. His endorsement of an alleged sex predator was morally indefensible and sent a message to women everywhere that Republicans do not believe that credible allegations of a grown man molesting teenage girls are disqualifying. And that message has been received. Polls show a significant increase in the percentage of women who favor Democrats over Republicans in 2018. 10.  He has failed to condemn the alt-right. His "many sides" response to Charlottesville was shameful. There a lot of things about the presidency that are hard, but condemning neo-Nazis isn't one of them. While Trump eventually did so, as white nationalist Richard Spencer pointed out, "Trump has never denounced the Alt-Right. Nor will he." Sadly, Spencer is right. Trump's failure to condemn the right's fever swamps hurts his presidency and the conservative movement. (and only proves to me and a lot of other people that he is a racist Cheeto.

 11.  Trump should be celebrating a year of achievement, but instead his administration is hemorrhaging public support. When Trump took office, he had 45 percent approval. Yet today — despite policy successes at home and abroad, economic growth exceeding 3 percent and unemployment at a 17-year low — his approval has dropped 10 points to 35 percent, the lowest of any modern president at this time in his administration. If Trump wants to understand why, he can start with this list.

 President Trump needs to stop taking credit for things that he has no hand in doing, nor claiming that it was because of him.  That is nothing more than a narcissistic, egotistical reach around for someone who wants to be important, and does not care for the mass majority of people that he has sworn to serve.

 Lastly is this;

He stated on public television to Mr. Schumer that he would shut down the government, and that he would not blame the Democrats, that he would take the mantle for that. All for getting a stupid wall. Well, he has shut down the government, like a spoiled child throwing tantrum, and he forgot that he said to the nation that he would not blame the Dem’s for it. As we have seen, he has done nothing but blame the democrats for the shut down. He can’t even own up to his own BS, and still thinks his poo doesn’t stink and that he will go down in the annuals as being the BEST PRESIDENT IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

That level of arrogance knows no bounds. What has this Nation become? Have we lost our sensibilities and common sense and dignity? And where does it end?

 Soap box rant. 

[ibilenews]

Pains of Mother Africa, cries of Nigerians by Femi Fani-Kayode

First to come to Africa were the Arabs. They hunted us down like animals, captured us, castrated us, sold us into slavery and kept us in total bondage for 1300 years. What the Arabs did to Africans over that period of time makes everything else that they were subjected to after that by others, including the trans-Atlantic slave trade, look like childsplay.

Worse of all is the fact that in places like Saudi Arabia and Mauritania many black Africans still live in slavery till today. After the Arabs came the Europeans arrived and also enslaved us, shipped us overseas, subjected us to barbarous cruelty and bestial servitude and described us as nothing more than chattel with the brain of a quarter of a man.

After the Europeans came the Chinese. They have come in their full power and glory with their enticing and intoxicating massive bags of money, cheap loans, suspect grants, fake and deceptive smiles and evil intentions with a view to turning us into perpetual serfs, debtors, beggars and economic slaves.

Like a snake coiled around our hapless necks, they are snuffing and suffocating the life out of us more and more as each day goes by and they are turning us into their slaves and minions just as others that came before them once did. Sadly we may never be in a position to free ourselves from the bondage of their sinister and pervasive yoke or to pay off our debts to them. That is where we are today.

O Africa, who has bewitched thee? O mother Africa, who shall deliver thee? I have asked myself these two questions over and over again over the years and I still do not have the answers. Yet such is our pitiful plight today that it calls for some painful introspection and the sharing of some home truths.

In William Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”, the character Cassius said, “the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves that we are underlings.” Nothing could be more appropriate than these words when trying to analyse, decipher and comprehend the African condition and mind-set.

I apologise in advance if anyone is offended by my assertions in this essay but if we are really interested in making progress as a race and if we wish to change our dastardly ways and improve our fortunes then the truth, no matter how bitter, must be spoken. That is the purpose of this contribution.

The illustrious West Indian revolutionary and foremost intellectual, Marcus Garvey, who was undoubtedly one of the most brilliant minds in history, once wrote the following. He said, “having had the wrong education as a start in his racial career, the negro has become his own greatest enemy. Most of the trouble I have had in advancing the cause of the race has come from negroes”.

On his part another great thinker and formidable intellectual, the celebrated black American Booker T. Washington, aptly described the black race in one of his many lectures by stating that they were “like crabs in a barrel”. He said that none would allow the other to climb over the top and, in the event of any such attempt, ALL would continue to pull back into the barrel the one crab that makes the effort to climb out. I wholeheartedly agree with both Garvey and Washington.

The black man is his own worst enemy and in the case of the African this is even more pronounced and self-evident. Permit me to expand on this. There are a few exceptions to the rule but generally speaking the greatest weakness of the African is his inability to provide good leadership, his inability to demand for good quality leaders, his ignorance, his cowardice, his envy and his poverty. This combination and cocktail of deadly afflictions makes us nothing but expendable prey to the rest of the world.

The famous 19th century Arab slave trader Mehmet Ali wrote, “You do not need to destroy the black African because he always ends up destroying himself and his people for you…the minute ANY black African rises up, emerges, starts talking sense and telling the others how to escape our bondage and slavery it is his fellow Africans who he seeks to help that will undermine him, insult him, expose him, ridicule him, destroy him, sell him and kill him. That is the nature of the black African. He reasons more like a wild ape than any other creature on earth”.

Standing up for Africa is a risky business because those that will hate you most of all for doing so are the Africans themselves. They would rather listen to a heartless and savage beast and support and follow him than to someone that truly loves and cares for them, that treats them with restraint, dignity, respect, compassion and kindness and that wishes them well.

I do not know where this sickness of mind and malevolent and self-destructive disposition derives from but I suspect that it is a deep-seated case of self-hate and self-loathing and a touch of what psychiatrics describe as the ‘Stockholm syndrome’. The African always loves his slave-master more than he does his liberator. Worse still he resists the notion of good education and he barely reads. There are a few exceptions to the rule but this is true of most of them.

If you want to keep a secret from an African put it in a book or write it in a long essay. He cannot and will not read either of the two because he is mentally immature, chronically lazy, morbidly indisciplined and utterly shortsighted and because he sees no immediate personal gain or value in it. He would rather listen to music and dance for one hour non-stop or watch a football or a boxing match instead. To him that is far more important and gratifying than anything else. Simply put he is stirred and motivated by his excitable and primitive passions and not by reason or logic.

Nigeria, which was meant to be the leading light of Africa, has now become its irredeemable and irretrievable basket case and the laughing stock of the world. This is a “country” of 200 million hapless and ill-fated people who are still struggling with the very concept of nationhood and who have their own internal colonial system of bondage and servitude where one small race of non-indegineous and non-negroid people have enslaved all the others and laud it over them.

This is a country where genocide, mass murder, ethnic cleansing, islamist terrorism, poverty, the persecution of political opponents and religious minorities, failure, evil, incompetence, insensitivity and wickedness is not only perceived as being a normal way of life and system of governance but also encouraged and celebrated.

Like the proverbial zoo or jungle, only the strongest and fittest can survive or get to the top in such a hellish place and shithole of a country. There is literally no hope for the weak, the poor, the vulnerable or the decent in such an environment and callousness, doublespeak, deceit and impunity appear to be well rewarded.

If this were not the case how can one explain the fact that a so-called nation that once had the greatest, most progressive, most dynamic and most educated people in Africa will accept a barely educated and clearly unfit neanderthal like Muhammadu Buhari as its leader on three separate occasions and continue to support and hail him even after he openly insults them before world leaders and treats them like filth.

His Army has failed woefully in its war against Boko Haram because he has refused to equip them adequately;because he pampers and encourages the terrorists. His economy is heading for the greatest recession in Nigeria’s history due to his incompetence and inability to save money for a rainy day. His impoverished and desperate people are marching, robbing and rioting in the streets of Lagos, in the outskirts of Abuja and in one or two other major cities looking for food and threatening the worse if they cannot find any.

As anarchy looms and sets in on parts of the country, Nigerians are being attacked openly and robbed by massive rampaging and hungry mobs made up of very angry, desperate and wild young men and he has said nothing about it let alone try to put a stop to it. His Airforce bombed scores of innocent and defenceless civilians, including women and children, to death two days ago yet it was barely reported in the press, there was no sense of outrage about it from the people and no-one in the country really gives a damn.

He has locked down his people at home in the nation’s densely populated commercial and administrative capitals of Lagos and Abuja and one or two other provinces in an attempt to prevent the spread of the corona virus without providing any provisions, money, food, water and electricity for them and without offering them any meaningful palliatives even though he knows that they are suffering badly and that his country has been officially designated as the “poverty capital of the world” by numerous international institutions!

It takes a cruel and callous man to do this and turn his back on his people in their time of need. Worse still when it comes to the fight against coronavirus itself in the last 3 weeks he has only managed to test between 10,000 to 20,000 people for the disease in a country of 200 million!

As his citizens are tortured, humiliated, insulted, dragged out of their homes and hotels and made homeless in China and as they are being accused by the Chinese authorities of “creating” and “spreading” Covid-19, he encourages, supports and commends the Chinese Government for doing all this and he welcomes Chinese doctors into his country for an unknown and unstated purpose even though the Nigerian people and the Nigerian Medical Association have expressed their grave concerns and deepest fears about this and kicked and warned against it.

Yours truly was so disgusted and appalled by Buhari’s servile and cowering disposition towards the Chinese that he was constrained to tweet the following this morning: “The support and defence that Geoffrey Onyeama, Nigeria’s otherwise erudite Foreign Minister, provided for China yesterday, even in the light of the barbaric atrocities that Africans are being subjected to in China, was embarrassing, gutless and shameful. Must Buhari always lick foreign arses?”

I am still waiting for an answer to the question but needless to say I will not hold my breath. Things are so pitiful in Buhari’s Nigeria today that even the IMF has refused to touch her with a barge pole and has excluded her from the massive $21 billion USD bail-out and pay packet that they have just offered many other African nations as their contribution to fighting Covid 19 on the African continent.

If there were ever a country that could be best described as a nation of self-flagellation masochists it would have to be Nigeria. It is a country in which the world’s most cruel and heartless sadists are in power and the people appear to like it just like that.

Those that go by the name of IPOB and that have had the presence of mind, decency and courage to protest and say that they have had enough and wish to break out and establish their own country have been locked up, demonized, insulted, maligned and murdered and they have been declared as terrorists even though they never threatened or used violence to effect their purpose.

To say that you want to be free from bondage, tyranny and subjugation and that you wish to chart a new course for your ethnic nationality or tribe because the accursed Lugardian amalgamation and forced marriage union between the north and the south of 1914 has never worked has now become a mortal sin and an unforgivable crime in Nigeria and self-determination has become a dirty word. What a tragedy!

Africa does not need to be conquered because she has already conquered itself. Today Africans are slaves in Libya, they are treated like animals in the Middle East and China, they are barely tolerated in Europe and they are hated and treated with contempt and disdain in Asia and North and South America. All this yet they still believe that their leaders will lead them to the promised land and cut them a better deal in the world. This is nothing but delusion. What a sorry lot we are.