#NAME THE STATUE BOOG

[shaniacsboogara]

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

🕯️ my question 🕯️

🕯️ will be read on the 🕯️

🕯️ mystery files debrief 🕯️

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️ 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

[bitcofun]

This post is the core story in Bitcoin Magazine's" The Orange Party Issue". Click here to subscribe now It's odd how access to info has actually accelerated the self-education of the public to a point where I believe it is ending up being an issue for the gentility. Possibly that's why they're ending up being outrageous and attempting to make the general public discourse so ridiculous. Let's talk. My uncle is an old-school conspiracy theorist; he labored away breaking coal with a pickaxe searching for diamonds compared to how ruined we are now. A smart male, previous Army Ranger turned long-haul trucker. Self-educated, an autodidact type of man; the "anon profile". He was continuously demolishing info in the pre-internet age. He's essentially my subject professional on tap for anything to do with the trilateral commission or militia motion things from the '90 s; he's my man. Finding out these things was so tiresome back then. Having to satisfy individuals face to face and accept details from them, like at weapon reveals and so on. Checking out books you needed to go purchase or physically have a look at, since e-books didn't exist and neither did the web (or what did exist, there wasn't much anyhow). He filled the remainder of the space with talk radio and CB radio with other truckers. It's interesting how truckers are either dumb as bricks or are roaming sages with huge IQ. They're really both ends of the bell curve, just like Combat Arms in the armed force. My bottom line I wished to deal with, and other 30- something or 40- something anons can confirm, is that access to info relocations so quickly and has actually ended up being so uncomplicated that individuals are decreasing the info waterslide at breakneck speeds. It utilized to be that you were a normie, and eventually you got triggered into some type of "alternate" political or belief "tunnel" that was gatekept however a bit off the beaten course. Perhaps you ended up being a libertarian or perhaps had a Marxist stage or something. Eventually, that stopped sufficing, perhaps you ended up being more of a typically conservative type, then a RW type, then more of a mystical type once you act great and deep. This utilized to be a procedure that took a years or more. I'm seeing zoomers go from lolberts who were purchasing Hawaiian t-shirts and larping about the "boog" 2 years ago who are now checking out mystical and political theory books. 4 years ago they were quite near to normie, and now they're checking out Evola and Uncle Ted product. This is likewise bleeding over into the real life in a really significant method. @MogTheUrbanite was talking earlier about how men at his church are simply freely speaking about Klaus Schwab/WEF/Great Reset shit and devils, exposed, in a non-conspiratorial matter of reality method. Younglings may dislike how entirely substantial that is. I got political awareness in a location where the majority of people simply believed George Soros was a hedge fund supervisor and if you stated the name "Rothschild" or "Soros", individuals called you some tinfoil anti-Semite crank. For example, that live clip of Newt Gingrich actually getting tugged mid-interview for talking conspiratorially about Soros. This wasn't even that long earlier, however sufficient individuals understood already. Now, it's simply a home reality. This is something that is a significant modification when observed in a decade-long timescale. This is a huge fucking modification to the status quo. Details availability has, from the POV of standard gatekeepers, entirely drew out of their control. That's why suppression of conspiratorial nodes has, for the many part, capitulated. In electronic warfare terms, the opponent has actually changed from jamming the particular frequency their opponent is utilizing to simply jamming all frequencies with white sound. Simply lunacy throughout the board. I believe this is most quickly observable on the chans and particularly/ pol/.

Reddit had main points of small amounts they might quickly manage. Conde Nast executives at the tactical level and subreddit mediators at the tactical level. They were simple. But 4chan was another monster. There's no "karma" and there's no "downvotes" and with everybody publishing anonymously, you can't simply prohibit the accounts that other individuals keep in high regard and change them with your own. It's "pissing in an ocean of piss", as we utilized to state. What truly did the website in, and most likely costs the powers that be a quite cent, is simply continuous info-ops, trolling, board moving, and dumb BBC threads. Making 4chan suck did what anons constantly stated it would do, which is drive us off our containment website. The chans basically fell on the sword and lost their hermeticism that let deep autistic conversation and ops take place, which was an excellent loss for sure, however in doing so the "anon truth tunnel" broke the guardrails and went off-road, in every instructions, incorporating with others. It resembled there was a huge, hazardous cyst that was triggering issues for the host, so they popped it and contagious frogposters break out in every instructions. Covering the walls, the windows, the door, simply a huge nasty mess that they can't tidy up or return in package. Now we've got zoomers speedrunning political theory that millennial anons originated through an experience that took practically a years. 22- year-olds Kaczynski publishing and laughing with their pals with specific niche in-jokes about long dead thinkers and ancient rites. Lovely. I simply desire individuals who believe withstanding the program is "moving too gradually" to understand just how much has actually altered in the last 25 or so years thanks to the web. Particularly for the zoomers who simply have not been around enough time to see it; it is insane. In the mid '00 s, very few individuals owned ARs or any other semi-automatic rifles, extremely couple of individuals delicately owned body armor or night vision, and practically nobody was training to gunfight as a casual pastime. We were all arguing "Is the Iraq War truly needed or another negative oil play"? That was the level of discourse then, "Is this brand-new war required? Do muslims truly wish to damage us? Just how much cash is this gon na cost?" and arguments over the PATRIOT Act belonged to today's thin blue line cult arguing with individuals who desire you canceled now. Now the whole nation is honestly questioning, through one side or another, the authenticity of different appendages of the federal government. The libs left wing are now calling SCOTUS invalid, while the majority of on the right are calling 2020 invalid which congress is straight-out corrupt. Even if the world got a hell of a lot more clown-y usually, the public resembles 4 times as notified now as they were at that time. It makes my head spin to actually think of it. I see random contacts from IRL on my phone turning up with "Welcome them to Signal/Telegram!" 24/ 7. My terrific auntie checks out The Epoch Times, my other half speak about satanic forces, my fantastic grandmother who is 91 believes we're heading for Weimar Germany, the 22- year-old who repaired an electrical concern on my range delicately spoke to me about adrenochrome ffs. There is a lot awareness now compared to how there utilized to be nearly none. There's no such thing as "fringe" any longer, you can just be cringe. The world is fucking insane and anything is possible. This is excellent due to the fact that you can't resolve an issue individuals do not understand exists. There is no dominating this ideological battlespace for the routine. Dominating it all like they performed in the days of television and Radio is simply too goddamn pricey. It's all broke up into a million various ideological fiefs. At terrific expense, you can dominate a fief, however not all of them. So they fire out digital chaff anxiously in every instructions, they play whack-a-mole with high-engagement nodes that are or might be hazards.

The opponent is now reactively protecting themselves, not proactively guiding the course. This is the Titanic and we are the iceberg. Every time they pop chaff in the type of a brand-new psy-op, pattern acknowledgment begins and less individuals succumb to it; a great deal of individuals recuperate and stop being deceived faster and less individuals succumb to the next one. They're basically stuck in a sheared reactive OODA loop that they aren't going to leave, a death-spiral of hubris and the crows are coming house to roost. They simply screwed up so bad destroying the chans, it's like they banished a lot of web green berets to every nearby nation to train proxy forces. Here we are. If 9/11 took place today, the number of Americans would question it and the number of would link our federal government on the first day? Repeat that to yourself 2 or 3 times; that's just how much has actually altered. If you enjoyed this thread, you can examine me out at aristophanes.substack.com where I evaluate fiction and kids books for anons and mainly by anons. Read More

[auskultu]

Leonard Cohen: Beautiful Creep

Richard Goldstein, The Village Voice, 28 December 1967

And the child on whose shoulders I stand 
 whose longing I purged 
with public, kingly discipline 
today I bring him back 
 to languish forever, 
not in confession or biography, 
 but where he flourished 
 growing sly and hairy 
 — Leonard Cohen (‘The Spice Box of Earth’)

AN ELEVATOR man with hairy hands grumbles “shit,” as he takes me up. It is a massive mid-town hotel, in steep decline. The corridors are long and lit occasionally, like a cardboard coal mine. Humid ladies in black lace seem to peer from every transom, and old men with their backs turned lurk in every shadowy corner. There is a smell of stale cigars, or is it piss? I knock politely on a wafer-thin door, and wait.

Finally it opens, and Leonard Cohen, Canada’s most acclaimed young poet and novelist, offers a seat and some coffee. He has been listening to a tape of the half-completed album on which he will soon make his debut as a pop star (a year ago that would have given even me pause, but not today, when Leonard Bernstein picks the hits and the Partisan Review talks about “Learning from the Beatles”). His verse—collected in slim volumes perfect for pressing roses—so unabashedly romantic that it sits among my New Directions paperbacks like some later day Ossian from the North.

With Annie gone 
 whose eyes to compare 
 with the morning sun.
 Not that I did compare, 
but I do 
 now that she’s gone. 
— ‘For Annie’

No wonder Allen Ginsberg huffed out of a meeting with Leonard Cohen muttering, “This place looks like a ballet set.” There is a sinewy quality to those muscular images as they stretch across a page. There is a shameless agility to those leaps and conceits, which seems ethereal next to the boog-a-loo of modern verse.

But Leonard Cohen is a Visceral Romantic and he can hit you unawares because his emotions are recollected with anything but tranquility. He suffers gloriously in every couplet. Even his moments of ecstasy seem predicated on hours of refined despair. Leonard does not rant: he whispers hell and you must strain to hear his agony.

The fact is, I’m turning to gold, turning to gold. 
It’s a long process, they say it happens in stages. 
 This is to inform you that I’ve already turned to clay.
 — ‘The Cuckold’s Song’

Today, he faces me across a hotel room with the sun shining second hand in the windows down the block. The drapes are as florid as his verse. In fact, the room could be the set for most of his poems. The bedspread is faded, and you can hear the toilet. Atop the bureau is a seashell ashtray, embossed with Miami palm trees. To this pasteboard Chappaqua, Leonard Cohen has added only a Madonna decal for the mirror, and a terrible cold.

His front pockets bulge with tissues and Sucrets. The cold seems appropriate; his nose aches to be filled anyway. It is a huge nose, etched by some melancholy woodcarver into the hollows of his cheeks. He wipes it and wheezes gently as we hear a tape of his song, ‘Teachers’.

Though he claims he has always written with a typewriter for a guitar (“I sometimes see myself in the Court of Ferdinand, singing my songs to girls over a lute”), Leonard Cohen has been spending this past year or so creating lyrics with real melodies. He made his pop debut recently as Judy Collins’ beautiful person. Her choice was inspired; Leonard Cohen has written her best material—songs of love and torment powerful enough to be fairy tales.

And just when you mean to tell her
 That you have no love to give her
 Then she gets you on her wave length
 And she lets the river answer
 That you’ve always been her lover.
 And you want to travel with her
 And you want to travel blind 
And you know that she will trust you 
For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind.
 — ‘Suzanne’

“I think my album is going to be very spotty and undistinguished,” he says in greeting. His eyes sag like two worn breasts. “I blame this on my total unfamiliarity with the recording studio. They tried to make my songs into music. I got put down all the time.” He sits back on his bed, folds his hands in his lap, and lets his voice fade into an echo of itself: “It was a continual struggle… continual… they wanted to put me in bags. I thought I was going to… crack up.”

He is modestly addicted to cracking up. References to breakdowns past and future dot his conversation. He seems to judge periods in his life by his failure to cope with them. His favorite words—or those he uses most frequently—are “wiped out” and “bewildered.”

“When you get wiped out—and it does happen in one’s life—that’s the moment… the REAL moment. Around 30 or 35 is the traditional age for the suicide of the poet, did you know that?” (You look around for razors, pills, sharp edges, or easy plunges.) “That’s the age when you finally understand that the universe does not succumb to your command.”

That moment magnified into theme, is the chief concern of his major novel, Beautiful Losers. It is a multisexual love story, ecstatically, lyric like his poems, but deeply committed as prose to expressing its theme through an accumulation of detail. Its protagonist, a petty researcher, is victimized by the love of his wife and of his best friend. They control his life: soothe him, fuck him, teach him, cuckold him, and ultimately destroy him. Their triangle, joined on all sides, is further complicated by Catherine Tekakwitha, an Indian saint who fixes herself in the protagonist’s consciousness as an extension of his wife (also an Indian) and his own suffering. Martyred by the suicides of both his lover-tormentors, our hero is left to ponder the moral of Catherine’s life: suffering is madness, but it is also the sacred ground where Man encounters God. Somehow, we are all fated to walk that ground, is Leonard Cohen’s message. To embrace that agony of communion is to live with grace.

It begins with your family But soon it comes round to your soul.
 Well, I’ve been where you’re hanging 
I think I can see where you’re pinned
 When you’re not feeling holy
 Your loneliness says that you’ve sinned.
 — ‘Sisters of Mercy’

He was born in Montreal, to a wealthy Jewish family. “I had a very Messianic childhood,” he recalls. “I was told I was a descendent of Aaron, the high priest. My parents actually thought we were Cohenim—the real thing. I was expected to grow into manhood leading other men.”

He led himself through McGill, where he studied literature with Oxonian aplomb. A professor published a volume of his poetry on the University press, and Leonard Cohen became a writer. It was, he insists, “as accidental as that.” Because if he had had a choice, he would have become a revolutionary. But he approached radicalism with a bad cold, and a thorough knowledge of the Tonette. Though the Montreal Communists fascinated him with their paranoia and their certainty, he was less than embraced by his chosen confreres. “They saw me as a symbol of the decline of the enemy,” he recalls. “I never had that heroic revolutionary look. There was a certain openshirted quality I could never duplicate, I always looked different, maybe because my folks owned a clothing factory.”

Today, he wears poet’s gray, and a soft worker’s hat hangs on his closet door. He is getting old; the trousers of his cuffs are automatically rolled. He watches you jot that down in the middle of a point about politics and you wonder if he knows you plan to use it.

“I’m not a writer coming to music in the twilight of his youth,” he says suddenly. You look up. He begins to discuss the rock scene, then and now. Once, he thought Elvis Presley the first American singer of genius. Once, he played a Ray Charles record till it warped in the sun. Once, he thought of himself as Bob Dylan’s ancestor. “It wasn’t his originality which first impressed me, but his familiarity. He was like a person out of my books, singing to the real guitar. Dylan was what I’d always meant by the poet—someone about whom the word was never used.”

Until a short time ago, Leonard Cohen had never heard Dylan. He has spent much of the past seven years in a cottage on Hydra, Greece. He still returns there regularly for replenishment, the way F. Scott Fitzgerald’s heroes should have gone back to the Midwest. It keeps him from making too many scenes outside himself; that seems to be the scene he can make best.

Anyhow, you fed her five MacKewan Ales 
 took her to your room, put the right records on, 
 and in an hour or two it was done. 
 I know all about passion and honor 
but unfortunately, this had really nothing to do with either: 
 Oh, there was passion I’m only too sure 
 And even a little honor 
but the important thing was to cuckold Leonard Cohen 
I like that line because it’s got my name in it.
 — ‘The Cuckold’s Song’

“I wrote ‘Beautiful Losers’ on Hydra, when I’d thought of myself as a loser, financially, morally, as a lover, and a man. I was wiped out; I didn’t like my life. I vowed I would just fill the pages with black or kill myself. After the book was over, I fasted for ten days and flipped out completely. It was my wildest trip. I hallucinated for a week. They took me to a hospital in Hydra. One afternoon, the whole sky was black with storks. They alighted on all the churches and left in the morning… and I was better. Then, I decided to go to Nashville and become a song writer.”

He came to New York instead, thanks to a lady who is now his manager. And here he is—slaving over the songs he calls “Eastern Country laments,” trying to make them sound the way they read. Things are happening for Leonard Cohen. ‘Suzanne’, his best known lyric, made the charts on a vacuous cover version by Noel Harrison. Two recent compositions appear on the latest Judy Collins album. And Buffy Sainte Marie will include selections from Beautiful Losers on her next LP. Sometimes the two visit Saint Patrick’s, where there is a bas relief of St. Catherine on one of the Cathedral doors. Buffy puts daisies in the statue’s hair. “She sees the suffering in Catherine,” he explains. “She feels the thumping on the sky.”

If his forthcoming album is a good one, Leonard Cohen may well become one of history’s odder choices for pop stardom. But the men we deem to worship are never ordinary; that is the one passion they must guard against. If the time is ripe for a guru with a cold in the ego, Leonard Cohen’s modest agony will stand him in good stead.

“My songs are strangely romantic,” he admits, “but so are the kids. I somehow feel that I have always waited for this generation.” He pulls out a letter from a young girl who wonders over his unremitting despair. He frightens her because she senses that he has achieved an understanding of life, but he is sad despite it. She prays that the comprehension she seeks will not bring her such misery. She prays for him, and for herself, that he is really blind. And she ends by calling Leonard Cohen a “beautiful creep.”

Real tears form in the corners of his eyes, but modestly, they do not flow. He sighs for real. “That’s what I am—a beautiful creep.” He excuses himself and you grab for the letter when he is gone. That too is real.

Beautiful creep! You can’t help hearing him in the toilet; he pisses in quick panting spurts. You want to put him to bed with hot milk and butter, turn up the vaporizer, and kiss him good night.

And you want to travel with him 
 And you want to travel blind 
 And you think maybe you’ll trust him 
For he’s touched your perfect body with his mind.
 — ‘Suzanne’

[vanfransebodem]

Vandaag 15 februari is het warme truiendag in Nederland. Lekker een extra dikke trui aan en de thermosstaat een graadje lager zetten. Of dat vandaag echt nodig is gezien het weer weet ik niet, maar ik zit in ieder geval in een Bretonse streepjes-trui achter mijn laptop. Maar hoe zat het ook alweer met de oorsprong van deze trui? En wie heeft er voor gezorgd dat het een hot-item is geworden voor zowel mannen als vrouwen? Ik leg het hieronder uit.

Één van mijn allereerste artikelen die ik schreef op dit blog/site ging over de Bretonse streepjes trui. De trui die gedragen werd door de plaatselijke vissers in de Bretagne, vandaar ook de naam Bretons streepje en die wereldberoemd werd door Coco Chanel die het Bretonse streepje op nam in haar collectie.

Zeemansuniform

De Bretonse streepjes trui vindt zijn oorsprong in het ondergoed. Zeelieden hadden vroeger gestreept ondergoed aan dat lang genoeg was, dat als je voorover boog je rug nog bedekte. De snit van het ondergoed was strak en slank, een soort tweede huid. Dit was met name ook vanwege de bewegingsvrijheid die de zeemannen moesten hebben.

Zo zijn de mouwen van het gestreepte ondergoed korter dan de tuniek die erover gedragen werd. Er werd gekozen voor een wit shirt met een aantal blauwe strepen van indigo, een verf/kleurstof die erg veel verkrijgbaar was. Daarnaast stak het gestreepte shirt goed af tegen het water waardoor zeelieden die overboord geslagen waren goed zichtbaar waren. Het Bretonse streepjes shirt werd in 1858 officieel toegevoegd aan het Franse zeemansuniform.

Het traditionele Bretonse streepjes shirt stamt uit de tijd van Napoleon. Deze bestaat namelijk uit 21 blauwe en witte strepen. Er wordt gezegd dat deze strepen verwijzen naar de overwinningen van Napoleon.

In 1917 zal alles veranderen voor het Bretonse streepjes shirt, want dan gaat Gabrielle Chanel het shirt dragen als tuniek in plaats van ondergoed. Ze maakt hem ook nog eens unisex door hem als vrouw te dragen terwijl het een echt mannen shirt was.

Een icoon

De Bretonse streepjes shirt/trui wordt een icoon, mede ook doordat beroemde acteurs en actrices de trui gaan dragen. Picasso, Brigitte Bardot, Jean Selberg en Charlotte Gainsbourg leveren ook een bijdrage aan de status ervan.

  Het Bretonse streepje is en blijft mateloos populair. Het streepje blijkt nog steeds een inspiratie bron te zijn voor menig (beroemd) ontwerper. De veelvuldig gekopieerde zeemanstrui is qua snit tijdloos en het streepje niet meer weg te denken uit vele (zomer) collecties. Ook jonge Franse ontwerpers grijpen weer terug naar de Bretonse schipperstrui en geven daar hun eigen draai en creatie aan.  Ze brengen de zeemanstrui van toen, naar de tijd van nu. Vaak deels of geheel geproduceerd in La Douce France.

Zo worden onder andere de labels en knopen van de truien van La Touche Française vervaardigd in de Somme en wordt de van 100% zuiver scheerwol gemaakte trui gebreid en afgewerkt in Morbihan (Frankrijk). Leuk detail aan deze truien is de boord van de mouw, de driekleur van Frankrijk. Dit komt terug in het koord van de verpakking van de truien. Hun logo bestaat uit 2 gekruisde baguettes (verwijzing naar Frankrijk) en een schelp (verwijzing naar Bretagne).

De Bretonse streepjestrui Vandaag 15 februari is het warme truiendag in Nederland. Lekker een extra dikke trui aan en de thermosstaat een graadje lager zetten.

[esnoopyy]

4, 5, 28, 39??

4.) Do you like your name? Why?

I’ve grown to like my full name, Katherine, a lot. Everyone I’ve grown up with calls me Katie, which I don’t mind.

5.) What is your relationship status?

I’m in a relationship with my favorite person, Jonathan.

28.) How many friends do you have?

I could count them on two hands, and they’re all friends I’ve had for years. I just don’t get close to anyone new at this point. I had a lot of friends in high school but most of them became kind of mean and vindictive so, admittedly, I’m reluctant to get to know people at this point.

39.) Do you have a nickname? What is it?

I don’t think so! My dad calls me Boogs, and my name is occasionally shortened to KT.

Good luck on the beginning of your semester, Gabrielle ❤️❤️❤️❤️ thanks for the asks!!!!

[rivertoriver1818]

So, Breitbart recently ran an article with the title “34% of American Voters Think Second Civil War Is ‘Likely’”. (https://www.breitbart.com/politics/2020/06/16/poll-34-of-american-voters-think-second-civil-war-is-likely/)

Lets be clear folks, there will be no Second Civil War. 

Sorry buddy. The Boog was canceled long before it began. 

There will be: Nothing. 

Just an achingly slow decline of the nation and a culture that you won’t even recognize in a few years. Everything we feared years ago is happening today, just as we predicted.

What you can expect to see is a constant retreat on everything and every issue that you hold dear; from our history to religion to our culture to our rights. A dystopian future that looks more and more like a shitty made-in-china version of 1984, than any imagined Civil War 2.0 dreamed up by overweight dudes in plate carriers.

Oh, I’m sure that some will read this and say “Screw you man! We will fight! Patriots! 3%!” Sure you will Bubba. But it wont be in a civil war, friend. 

You’ll fight to keep food on the table. To keep your job and your property when someone finds your Tweets a little... too far outside the mainstream. It’s gotten bad, it will only get worse. With red flag laws you might even be fighting to keep that cheapo rifle you built. Once you’re good and doxed for expressing those opinions a bit too right-wing and your employer ushers you out the door. Screaming NAZI! Racist! The BOO-GA-LOO Movement! MILITIA! and the rest, like a modern version of WITCH! or UNCLEAN!. All the discount polymer mags on earth wont bring the world running to your cause.  The first Amendment covers your rights in regards to the Government, but lets be honest: it wont keep you from getting canned or rehired. Or “Made an example of” by the world at large. 

There will be no new Civil War.

Not here. 

Not in the US. 

All of the bargain basement PSA AR’s and Hawaiian shirts in the world wont save us now. The tide has turned and ... we’ve lost.  

The American Civil War began for many (many) complicated reasons, but at least one was, well money: King Cotton vs the Northern Industrialists. 

Always. Follow. The. Money.

Millions of dollars were at stake in the whole operation, with some figures saying up to 90% of the South’s finances/lifestyle were tied to the evil institution of slavery. Northern factory owners who despised that they had to pay for labor got their wish and the South was made dependent on those Northern factories. War made rich men vastly richer, as it always does.  

Rich people start wars, they don’t fight in them. They convince poor people that its in our best interests to go out and fight in those conflicts (see Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan...) because we believe in something. They don’t, but can convince us otherwise. We do the fighting, dying and of course the killing.

So ask yourselves- who is in control or with power that would benefit from a second American Civil War?

Governors? 

Senators? 

Congressmen? 

CEOs and business leaders? 

Military commanders? 

Media personalities?

Nope. 

There are no leaders and no leadership-- there are no giants like Lee or Jackson or Davis or Washington or Jefferson characters in your modern rebellion story. So some of you can really get this point: There is no Princess Leah to raise your rebellion, friend. No Harry Potter. No Dumbledore either. 

Not a single one is “on your side” as a traditional conservative American. No one gives a shit about you or your issues deeply enough to risk themselves to fund your operation. Name one CEO who would be willing to risk their money on CW 2.0. Conservative media outlets? Non-existent, the left owns them all- Yes, even FOX. What about a politician? Nope. All the politicians are part of this, left right and center. They are all bought and paid for. A deeply embedded part of the system. What other job can you have that pays so little and yet you become a millionaire when you’re done? States? Which states? Its not a geographic fight any longer (North vs South) so there are no lines to be drawn. 

Hollywood elites and others with a vested interest in the system (no matter how much they cry out in faux outrage and attend funerals for people a month ago they wouldn’t spit on) are paying the legal fees of violent left wing protesters. 

Can the same be said for those who pay lip service to the right? There are a few conservative folks in Hollywood... will they cough up that money for your legal defense?? Again, no. Media stars? Zero. All the fire breathing media talking heads that make millions talking shit about the left? Nada.

Remember that whole “We must all hang together, or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately." attributed to Ben Franklin in the Revolutionary war-- exactly which General, CEO or celebrity will be there with you when you hang? Maybe I missed it- but I see zero hands raised on that.

How much money will be raised on your behalf if you and your pals go out to some rally over some statue and hurt someone? If you survive the media scrutiny and smear campaign untarnished-- Which strong, right leaning patron will swoop in and give you lawyers, guns or money? Who in fact “has your back”?  Feel free to let me know because I don’t see anyone.   

Might as well sell all that cheap tactical gear on ebay boys.

There will be no American Civil War 2.0

[chwrpg]

Oh, oh, oh, Miranda!

A NOTE FROM ADMIN R: My wig is currently the tenth member of TWICE. It’s just no longer. Not you picking up bisexual icon Gordon Wallace though. Now I speak for both Farah and Erin when I say this, about time henny !!!! And you did not disappoint though. Like at all. Like that para sample read like exactly what we all want from Gordon and I am so ready for his antics on our dash.

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE: Sasha VelBore, she/her, I think I can proudly say I’m the youngest OG (ur old cassidy) :’)))) DESIRED CHARACTER: Gordon Wallace HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE? I’m a flop. Don’t ask me this. DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:  

Remember that ugly ducking story, or Cady Heron or Laney Boogs? yeah, Gordon Wallace same thing; like any cliche high school story, Gordon was the ugly duckling that turned into the hottest of the hot. One day he was getting wedgies and the next he was treated as if he was a celebrity. No one knew how — could it be puberty or meeting a godsend — it happened. It wasn’t long when people started flocking the new and improve Gordon Wallace, it was as if his record was a clean slate. And finally, his loser reputation was over — to an extent— all thanks to Lark Mumford. The blonde dime saw something in him despite his loser status. She was a gift from the man above, in everywhere possible. The fact that he was in her debt was never an issue, he was going to soak in the spotlight of his new life, the one he’d always wanted. 

SAMPLE WRITING: 

Although, Gordon had feelings for the blonde more than anything. He knew Wyatt did as well and was that something he wanted to mess up for his friend? But what made it even more confusing was that Gordon had a soft spot for his other best friend too. It wasn’t clear to him before but after the night they had — from what he remembered — it was proven that he didn’t just have platonic feelings for Wyatt. There was definitely something there for him. And although those feelings were new to Gordon, he wasn’t scared. He was just confused on the current love triangle they would all be in when they finally confronted the situation. But there was one thing he was certain about though and it  was that this wasn’t going to break them apart. It was only going to make them stronger. 

If anyone was going to break the ice, it was Gordon Wallace. He didn’t know how the other two felt, but he was smug as hell that he just had a threesome. Not just with any two people, but with his best friends, which by the way included Lark Mumford (just in case anyone forgot). It was like a dream come true. This would make them the talk of the town if it came out.  Three Best Friends Have Threesome.’ He could already imagine the glory he would receive, Gordon was always searching for the next scheme to be the center of attention. This was the perfect situation for him, It was like the man above wanted him to be popular and who was he to turn down his destiny? So he was going to strike the iron while it was hot. He was going to be the Kris Jenner and boost his, Lark, and Wyatt’s popularity even more. They were going to be known as legends.  

Gordon spent most of his day avoiding his friends in order to kill three birds with one stone; confessing his feelings for not only Lark but also Wyatt and figuring out the perfect plan for them to be on the Hot list. But in the middle of all this planning, he remembered that this wasn’t just some random girl he could expose and get bragging rights from. These were his best friends that he genuinely had feelings for. People he wanted to protect. So was being popular that important to him that he would expose what happened to the whole town?

ANYTHING ELSE? 666. 1985