#T. Cathcart

[cleverwordsandotherstuffilike]

Most of these are from the collection of Leland Hilligoss of the St. Louis Public Library, via Paul Dickson, A Collector’s Compendium of Rare and Unusual, Bold and Beautiful, Odd and Whimsical Names (1986).

Magdalena Babblejack

Phoebe B. Peabody Beebe

Sibyl Bibble

Christian Bible

Hiawatha Cathcart

Tensil Cheesebrew

Adeline Dingledine

W. French Dingler

Ed Ek

JoAnn Floozbonger

E. Vercel Fuglestad

Cashmere Funkhouser

L.E. Vontilzer Gleaves

Felty Goosehead

Icy Macy Hoober

Zola G. Hooberry

Square Horn Jr.

Birdie T. Hospital

Elizabeth Hogg Ironmonger

Mingtoy Johnson

Epluribus Kitchen

Varnard P. Longhibler

Channing Manning

Duel Maroon

Luch V. Moga

Otis Muckenfuss

Lester Ouchmoody

Loveless Pelt

Grace Pinkapank

Evangelist Polite

Curt Puke

Burger Rocket

Melon Roof

Goolsby Scroggins

Norval Sleed

Craven Tart

Eloise Tittlekitty

Kong Vang

Gwendolyne Winklepleck

Clifteen Wooters

Futility Closet

I choose Magdalena Babblejack or Eloise Tittlekitty

[vminews]

Class of 2024 Graduates

May 16, 2024—Nearly 350 cadets graduated today in Cameron Hall. Virginia Townsend ’24 gave the valedictorian address, and class president Cole Cathcart ’24 introduced the guest speaker, Ryan McCarthy, the 24th Secretary of the U.S. Army. Maj. Gen. Cedric T. Wins ’85, superintendent, noted that the Class of 2024 matriculated and endured the entire Rat Line at the height of the coronavirus pandemic.—VMI Photos by H. Lockwood McLaughlin.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Lord Bessborough rend honneur aux Victoria Rifles," La Presse. June 19, 1933. Page 13. ---- Le gouverneur général pose la première pierre de leur nouvel arsenal.

Belle cérémonie --- En présence d'une fort belle assistance militaire et civile, S. E. le comte de Bessborough, gouverneur général du Canada, a scellé samedi après-midi la pierre angulaire du nouvel arsenal des Victoria Rifles rue Cathcart, près de la rue Université, arsenal qui va doter ce grand régiment d'un établissement digne de ses fastes car jusqu'ici il ne possédait qu'un arsenal fort rudimentaire.

D’ailleurs le lieutenant-colonel Stuart-A. Rolland, commandant du régiment, en souhaitant la bienvenue au représentant de Sa Majesté, souligna cet état de choses et indiqua comment les Vics ont dû se contenter jusqu'à maintenant d'un arsenal tout à fait insuffisant et ce depuis nombre d'années.

Malgré la pluie qui commença de tomber peu après l'arrivée du gouverneur général revenu en train special de Shawbridge où il s’était rendu le cérémonie se déroula en présence d'une grande foule.

Le scellage de la pierre Une garde d'honneur de cent hommes, en grand uniforme, cet élégant uniforme vert, avec le bonnet de police en astrakan, que portent les Victoria Rifles, sous le commandement du major I.-H. Eakin, assisté du lieutenant M.-M. Allan et du second lieutenant C.-P. Decary, massée dans la rue Cathcart, face à l'édifice en construction, ajoutait au pittoresque de la manifestation que le cinéma et la photographie prirent sous tous les angles.

Le gouverneur général passa en revue la garde d'honneur et après avoir serre in main au lieutenant-colonel Rolland, se rangea à la tête des invités d'honneur au nombre de plus d'une centaine.

Après les quelques mots de présentation du lieutenant-colonel Rolland, qui remercia aussi le ministère de la défense nationale, le gouverneur général procéda au scellage de la pierre angulaire.

Le passé et l'avenir des Victoria Rifles Le gouverneur général, avant deprendre la truelle d'argent que lui présentait le lieutenant-colonel Rolland, prononça une courte allocution au cours de laquelle il rappela surtout les services rendus par les Victoria Rifles à l'empire britannique et affirma sa conviction que leur nouvel arsenal permettrait des hauts faits encore plus glorieux que jadis.

Immédiatement après le scellage de la pierre, l'évêque J.-C. Farthing la bénit avec tout le cérémonial d'usage.

Parmi l'assistance nombreuse, on connaissait sir Arthur Currie, le major general A.-C.-L. McNaughton, chef d'état-major; le brigadier général W-W-P. Gibsone; le brigadier général E. de B. Panel, le brigadier général T.-L. Tremblay, de Québec; le brigadier général John-A. Gunn, de Toronto; et le lieutenant-colonel Birtwhistle, d'Ottawa.

Le nouvel arsenal est construit sur l'emplacement de l'ancien arsenal érige en 1886 et devrait être terminé en décembre prochain.

Caption: Appelé à sceller la pierre angulaire du nouvel arsenal des Victoria Rifles, rue Cathcart près de la rue Université, S. E. le comte de Bessborough, gouverneur général du Canada, a rendu hommage, samedi dernier, an dévouement et au courage des "Vics", en présence d'une grande assis tance civile et militaire. En haut, l'on voit le gouverneur général passant en revue la tarde d'honneur, sous le commandement du major L.-H. Eakin. En bas, lord Bessborough sourit aux photographes tout en maniant la truelle d'argent avec laquelle il scella la pierre angulaire du nouvel édifice. (Cliches la Presse)

[radioprune]

how lovely that milo gets the dubious honor of being the subject of chapter 22

[batmanonthecover]

Brave And The Bold #70 - February 1967

Cover Art: Carmine Infantino

CANCELLED: 2 SUPER-HEROES

Script:  Bob Haney

Art:  Johnny Craig (Pencils), Chuck Cuidera (Inks), Stan Starkman (Letters)

Characters: Batman [Bruce Wayne]; James Gordon; Hawkgirl; Hawkman [Katar Hol]; Balthazar T. Balthazar; Nick Cathcart; Sailor Sykes; Ike the Iceman; Willie the Finger

Batman story #1,181

[pinkiemeowstic89]

Hey guys, PinkieMeowstic here! A while back I completed Shantae and the Seven Sirens (I would've played the series in chronological order, but it's as hard as people have said, my 3DS internal battery is likely dead, I don't have much storage on said 3DS, it's pretty old, and I found a cute Shantae plush that came with a download code for Seven Sirens on the Switch and I couldn't resist), and it is AMAZING (though hard to 100% if you go mostly blind on a first playthrough)! 99% of the game was SPECTACULAR, but I have a minor difference in opinion about the voices for certain characters. They are not bad at all (every character I'll be talking about had their VA give it their all, and they're talented for sure), but I think that should Shantae get an official series, a few voice changes (or additions in some cases) could definitely work. I'll be listing the examples I have in the order they're listed in the Characters page for the series on TV Tropes (with the exception of Shantae herself, Uncle Mimic, the other Half-Genies, Risky Boots, Nega-Shantae, and the Lobster and Empress Sirens, because their voices as of Seven Sirens are honestly perfect). So without further ado, let's begin!

Sky: Karen Strassman ➡️ Grey Griffin (Kitty Katswell)

Bolo: Ross O'Donovan ➡️ Travis Willingham (Knuckles the Echidna)

Rottytops/Fillin the Blank: Cherami Leigh ➡️ Andrea Libman (Pinkie Pie)

Squid Baron: None ➡️ Tom Kenny (SpongeBob Squarepants)

Ammo Baron: None ➡️ Keith Ferguson (Lord Hater)

Armor Baron: None ➡️ Kevin Michael Richardson (2012!Shredder)

Hypno Baron: None ➡️ Carlos Alazraqui (Mr Denzel Crocker)

Techno Baron: None ➡️ Roger L Jackson (Mojo Jojo)

Water Lily Siren: None ➡️ Christa Miller (Cleopatra)

Coral Siren: None ➡️ Kether Donohue (Lily)

Tubeworm Siren: None ➡️ Michele Knotz (Jessie)

Anglerfish Siren: None ➡️ Jill Bartlett (Maddie Flour)

Octo Siren: None ➡️ Kira Buckland (Hiyoko Saionji)

Twitch: None ➡️ Liliana Mumy (Leni Loud)

Vinegar: None ➡️ Shelby Rabara (Peridot)

Holly Lingerbean: None ➡️ Kathleen Barr (Trixie Lulamoon)

The Pirate Master: None ➡️ Mark Acheson (G4!Tirek)

Mayor Scuttlebutt: None ➡️ Tom Kenny (Mayor of Townsville)

Abner Cadaver: None ➡️ Fred Tatasciore (Magnus)

Poe: None ➡️ James Carter Cathcart (James)

Barracuda Joe: None ➡️ DC Douglas (Barst (Go to 6:57 on the video to hear it))

Sky's Mother: None ➡️ Veronica Taylor (Delia Ketchum from "Pokémon - I Choose You!" to "The Right Place and the Right Mime")

Sky's Father: None ➡️ William T Sopp (Ramsey Murdoch)

"Manly guy in the village of Lost Souls": None ➡️ Jon Bailey (Torch Man)

Brandon/Bran-Son: None ➡️ Kyle Hebert (Kaito Momota)

Wow. Even excluding 10 characters, that took a while (and some listening to those that I haven't decided on prior to today and one who I changed my mind on, IE Poe). But I hope you all enjoy this list, and until next time… Stay fresh! 😉

[queenofbaws]

UD: Who ya gonna call? - 13

Chapter: 13/? Chapter title: An invisible (wo)man Fic rating: T - Language, blood, general spookiness, discussions of car accidents/wrecks, discussions of death Summary: Sam makes an admission. Previous | Next ---

Having done all of her (pointless, boring, downright shitty) core classes back at her old school, Sam had never actually set foot in the psych building before. She hadn’t had a reason to. So when she pushed open the main doors and walked into the first floor hallway, she found herself immediately lost; instead of just a straight shot as she’d expected, the floor branched and trailed off into a bunch of little side-corridors, making her think humorlessly of a maze.

Ugh.

Psychologist jokes.

Feeling wildly out of place in the quiet building, she slowly began wandering. Whenever she came to a fork in the path, she’d casually pop her head into the adjoining hall, glancing around before pulling back. Lecture hall, lecture hall, vending machine, classroom, office with a copy machine, classroom, classroom, classroom…

When one of her exploratory checks brought her to a group of softly chattering students, she quickly brought her phone up to her face, acting as though she’d gotten an important text so she could retreat before anyone really noticed her. What she was actually doing was pulling up the department’s webpage again, scrolling madly as she looked for the clinic’s room number.

‘Psychological Health Clinic,’ the site proclaimed in large, bold letters, ‘Located on the 1st floor of the Cathcart (Psychology) building.’ It had a photo too, though it was of the interior of the office, not the exterior, which…didn’t really help her. At all.

Of course.

Why would it, right? Why?

Still, she kept her phone in her hand as she walked, anxiously tapping it with her thumb whenever the screen began to dim.

A class let out, a torrent of students appearing from around a bend, talking to one another in low voices, shoes squeaking on the tile. For a second, she considered getting someone’s attention, asking one of them instead of aimlessly walking around…but when she lifted her eyes from her phone, she was startled to see a sign hanging just before the next turn in the hall: Clinic ->

Well that solved one problem.

The door was surprisingly heavy when she pulled it open, catching her off guard almost to the point of stumbling back. The reason for it was clear the second it fell shut behind her—the interior office was all but perfectly soundproof, the stillness pressing down on her eardrums as though she’d plunged herself into the deep end of a pool.

Yuck. The place had serious doctor’s office vibes. Everything was white (except for the things that were grey), a low table in the middle of the room loaded with a handful of some campus newsletter instead of magazines, and sweet Jesus above, it smelled like they washed the walls in Clorox every morning. Some tiny part of her brain regressed to that childhood association of white walls and booster shots and she shuddered.

At the front desk, a young woman with her hair tied back in a severe bun was scribbling something into a notebook, chin resting in her hand. When the door clicked shut, her eyes flicked to Sam briefly…and then went back to whatever she was writing. Whether that was rudeness or some concerted effort to lessen people’s anxiety about being there, she didn’t know, and quite frankly, didn’t really care. Sam approached the desk and cleared her throat softly, asking, “Hi, um, do you guys take walk-ins? The site didn’t say…”

The girl finished writing with a flourish, gaze moving to the computer next to her. She typed something with a few quick pecks of her fingers, and then, finally, she met Sam’s eyes with a perfunctory little smile. “We do—can you give me your name and student ID number to get you registered?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” She ratted through the information, having to pull her ID out of her pocket to get the last three digits right. This wasn’t something she’d done before, but she thought she knew what to expect: there’d be some paperwork, maybe her ID card would need to be scanned, she’d have to come back in an hour or two to get seen…

“Oh! Look at that, you’re right on time. You can go on back.”

…wait.

What?

Blinking, she looked to the girl behind the desk, figuring she must’ve misheard her. “Right on time?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, clicking something as she spoke. “He’s expecting you, so—”

“That can’t…” Sam narrowed her eyes as though it would help her make sense of it. It did not. “Sorry, I just…I don’t have an appointment. I’m…a walk-in? Like I said?” Her voice took a hard turn upwards, forming a question where she hadn’t intended one. The girl just stared at her. “You might have me mixed up with someone e—”

“You said ‘Samantha Giddings,’ right? G-I-D-D-I-N-G-S?”

“Yeah…?”

“And this is you?” She turned the monitor of the computer enough for her to see…herself.

On the screen was a form. A form with all of her information already filled out. Her student photo. Her class schedule. Her GPA, transfer status, bursar status…and there, at the bottom, the words a dark, underlined hyperlink, ‘11:30am – AJ HILL.’

Her ears popped, and suddenly the office didn’t seem so quiet. She could hear the hum of a heater, a water cooler burbling out of view, the electronic buzz of the monitor, her own breathing, everything.

“Hill?” she asked, the name creating a small cataclysm in her gut. Hill, as in Alan? Alan Hill, the husband of Edgar the spooky libraria…library curator? Alan Hill, Josh’s therapist?

The girl shrugged. “Yeah, guess so. Which is weird, cuz normally Dr. Hill only takes referrals, but…” she sniffed, flapping a hand in the universal sign for ‘What can you do?’, “There you are. You can go on back, like I said. His name’s on the door, you can’t miss it.” And just like that, she was dismissed, the girl going back to her notebook.

Sam watched her for a second longer…and then slowly, hesitantly, turned to find the right office door. She passed a few of them, most closed but some ajar, soft voices murmuring soothingly from inside the walls.

Hill’s door was, unsurprisingly, the last. While the others had been to either side of her, lining the narrow corridor, his was situated at the very end, punctuating the hall with a gleaming brass nameplate.

‘Alan J. Hill, PhD, MD – Clinical Advisor, Therapist’

She glanced over her shoulder. Then she knocked, rapping her knuckles against the door with barely enough force to make a sound. Some part of her kind of hoped he wouldn’t answer. If he didn’t, she wouldn’t knock again. No, she’d turn around without so much as looking at the front desk, and she’d hustle her ass back to the dorm to pretend like this never happened.

But the door opened.

Because why wouldn’t it.

What she had expected was another version of Edgar—some broad, strangely solid man with a pocket watch chain leading from his breast pocket to some mysterious hidden slit in his waistcoat, eyes full of some ancient, horrific knowledge of life and death and every mistake she’d ever made, all coalescing into a superhuman sense of omniscient judgment.

The man she found herself face-to-face with was none of those things.

Alan was…grey. It was hard for her to get over that initial impression, try as she might; so much of him was simply grey. His sweater vest, his pants, his eyes. Even his hair, mostly brown, had begun to show telltale streaks of grey creeping up as his hairline made the inevitable creep back. His face was round in a doughy way, suggesting the very real possibility of future jowls if ever his weight fluctuated too greatly. The dress shirt under his sweater hung a bit loose, the sleeves rumpled almost (but not quite) to the point of wrinkles. And though there was, she saw, a deep sense of knowing in his gaze, it was a warm, grandfatherly sort of sensation.

Just as she had with Edgar, Sam felt herself frozen to the spot. He had a hell of a lot of presence, Dr. Alan J. Hill, that much was for damn sure.

“Samantha?”

“Sam.” The response was automatic. “I, um, I’m not sure I should be here. The girl up front said I had an appointment, but I didn’t, and I’d hate to take up someone else’s time if there’s been a mistake.”

Alan looked at her for a beat—but no, it was more than that. He was, what, reading her? The verb didn’t make sense despite feeling right, and man oh man, she could absolutely see Josh talking with this guy. Sure his edge wasn’t as obvious as his other half’s had been, but woof. Dude was throwing out some serious Hannibal Lecter vibes with that look.

And then the expression was gone and the smile took its place once more. “Not at all! Please come in.”

It was only after she walked into his office that her brain processed the odd shape of his words. Well, he definitely wasn’t British…but neither was he anything she could immediately recognize. She didn’t think she’d ever heard an accent like his before.

“So…what brings you to our little corner of the building today, Sam?” Alan lazily made his way behind a large mahogany desk. He didn’t sit immediately, instead resting his palms on the tabletop, leaning his weight against it. Over his head hung one of the most ghastly, awful paintings Sam had ever had the misfortune of seeing. Did people actually…feel comfortable looking at that thing? It seemed a poor choice for a goddamn psychologist’s office.

She turned away from the heat of his eyes, pretending the terrible scene framed behind him had nothing to do with it. Josh had mentioned something about his gruesome art collection, so…at least it checked out. She was definitely talking to the Dr. Hill. “Uh…it’s…a long story.”

Chuckling, Alan settled himself into his chair. He spread his hands wide, “Well, I can assure you, I am more than accustomed to long stories.” One of his hands waved her towards the rest of the office, presumably encouraging her to sit.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to, though. Her lips tightened in a nervous smile while she tried to decide between her options. “I’m sorry, I really haven’t…done this before.” There was a couch against one wall, seemingly made of some dark leather. Did people really use those in therapy? Did they throw themselves over them dramatically, maybe with one arm slung across their faces? Eh…not for her.

“Are you referring to visiting the clinic?” Alan asked, his eyes tracking her slow progress through the dimly lit office. “Or talking to someone like me?”

What she wanted to say was that she’d definitely never even met anyone quote-unquote like him, but that felt more like something Josh would say. She wouldn’t have been able to deliver it without sounding rude. “Both,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest as she came to the beanbag. That also felt wrong, though for decidedly different reasons. She wasn’t five, and this wasn’t a slumber party. No-go on that one.

“Hmm…allow me to put your uncertainties to rest—there’s no wrong way to go about it! Save for not talking at all, of course.” The last part was spoken under his breath, riding on the air of a sigh, as though he was saying it more to himself. “Is there something in particular that’s been troubling you, Sam? Or is it a more general concern you have? We see plenty of students for anxiety and depression…even homesickness!” He did the same thing Josh did, she realized—repeating her name while he spoke to her. At least now she knew where he got that particular tic.

The chair in front of the desk was the only choice that seemed right. Her fingers brushed the arm of it. No sign of the gross, waxy buildup so much of the wooden furniture on campus had…she was struck by the suspicion that Alan was something of a stickler when it came to the upkeep of his…lair? Did this count as a lair? It sure felt like a lair. Sam sat herself in front of the desk, crossing her ankles, hugging her phone against the crook of her arm.

Alan waited. He didn’t say a word. He just sat before her, watching curiously while she acclimated herself to the office. That much made sense, too…most people he saw in a day were probably fairly nervous to be there.

“I’m…having a problem. And I don’t know what to do about it.” The words were thick on her tongue. “It’s weird, and it’s complicated, and honestly, I-I don’t even know where to start.” She laughed but the sound that came out of her didn’t sound very much like any laugh she’d ever heard.

“Usually,” there was a creak from the chair as Alan leaned forward, “I find it helps to start at the beginning.” His smile seemed to suggest the two of them had just shared a secret joke.

The beginning, huh? The beginning.

“I’ll probably end up going back and forth,” she warned him. “Sometimes it gets messy…”

“Life, Sam, is always messy. It would be terribly uninteresting, otherwise.”

Something about the calmness with which he said it startled her. Again, she fought against the impossible notion that he already knew her story, her worries, her life, maybe even better than she did. “About…a year ago, give or take, um…I was going to another school, and I…” she swallowed hard against a gelatinous lump that had begun to grow in her throat, “I lost two friends in an accident.”

There was a low sound on Alan’s part, striking her as somehow simultaneously sympathetic…and maybe just a little performative. She was probably reading way too deeply into it, trying to find faults where there weren’t any—all at once, she was awash with every iota of that old dread and guilt and agony, sending her bobbing in the icy waters of regret.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this! Why had she thought she could dredge any of this back up to the surface after spending the past year tamping it further and further down? She’d left a school for this. She’d stopped talking to old friends for this. She’d run and run and run from this, and for what? So she could barf it out on this weird old guy who, not for nothing, already probably knew the story beat by beat?

Maybe it would’ve been different if it hadn’t been Alan. If it hadn’t been him, then sure, maybe she could’ve told her sad tale without the added terror of recognition. It could’ve been anonymous (mostly). There could’ve been distance between the memories and the present.

But there she was, sitting across from Dr. Alan J. Hill, just another living, breathing link connecting her to those ghosts of her past, to the Washingtons, to Josh, and God, she was getting tired of the bizarre twists and turns that kept wrenching them closer and closer together…

“Sam?”

How had she thought the tone of his voice performative before? The concern of it, the sheer sympathy, was so strong that it shook her out of her own head. “Um…” she mumbled, trying to fill her self-imposed silence. “Sorry.”

Alan’s forehead wrinkled as he frowned, two deep lines that almost resembled a flickering wi-fi signal. “No apologies necessary. I’m the one who’s sorry—that must’ve been quite a loss. The death of a loved one is always a painful thing…but to lose two, especially at your age? Hardly seems fair.”

Her lips tightened into something masquerading as a smile. What did a person say to that? She shrugged.

“Would you like to talk about that loss, Sam?”

No.

Yes.

“It’s…only part of my problem.” That wasn’t an answer, not really, but it was what she had. “I guess, um…I guess I kind of…have to, though, for the rest to…make sense.” Already she found herself uncomfortably aware of the box of tissues on the desk. How long before she was reaching for those, she wondered?

Probably not too long.

She took another long breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and tightened her clammy grip on her phone. “I had these friends back at my old school. We met freshman year at one of those big orientation things, y’know? Where they show you around campus and tell you how to use your meal plan. They were sisters—twins, actually, but they didn’t really look too much like each other, so you didn’t know that unless they told you…”

Was that recognition in Alan’s face? Or was she just seeing shadows? Sam forced herself to look away from him, turning her gaze instead to the terrible painting over his head. She didn’t really want to look at the awful, hellish scene it depicted, yet she knew if she didn’t, she’d constantly be searching Alan’s expression for…well, whatever she was expecting to find there.

“We just got along right away. Lots of stuff in common I guess. So we hung out. All the time. My family’s from out of state though, so it was really only during the school year. We…we talked online and texted, all that,” she added quickly, unsure whether words would—could—be enough for her to explain how close she and the twins had been. It all sounded so shallow and childish coming out of her mouth. “Which I only even bring up because, like…” Deep breath. “I never met their family or anything. I knew the basic stuff about them, parents still together, older brother, that kinda crap, but I mean…that’s not what we talked about. Their parents never visited, mine never visited, it wasn’t…it wasn’t a thing, if that makes sense? It wasn’t important. Not then.”

There was something nauseating about trying to sum up two years of friendship in a few sentences. It felt distasteful, like hand-waving the events of a major war, or filling the gaps of a love story with ‘blah blah blah.’ How could she ever capture the feeling of stifling laughter in the library’s computer lab when waiting for the printer, or running out in the snow at three in the morning to get a breakfast sandwich during finals, or sharing a locker at the campus gym so they only had to buy one combination lock, or, or, or…?

Now that it was out of her mouth, though, now that she was actually saying it to another living, breathing human person, she couldn’t help feeling like an idiot. The twins had made it abundantly clear that there had been some, uh, tension between them and their parents—something about their mom being way too absorbed with her clients and their dad working impossible hours—so she’d just never pried. And yeah, they’d talked about having a brother, but it never went too far past eye rolls and embarrassing stories from when they were kids…had it?

Had she just not been paying enough attention? Had she not cared enough? She could remember about a hundred thousand late-night talks, but all of those memories seemed to involve the guy Hannah had been crushing on, or the weird TA she and Beth had to deal with in their Enviro Lab (the one who always wore bolo ties and drank out of a mug that read ‘Foxy Uncle’ in lime green Comic Sans), or what had happened on the most recent episode of Grey’s Anatomy, or if anyone else had noticed the weirdo that seemed to always hang around the exercise bikes in the gym. In all those conversations, had they ever said anything about their dad being famous? Probably not, right? That probably would’ve stuck out in her mind.

She was zoning out again. Sam cleared her throat, still painfully aware of Alan watching her. “But.” And here was where it got really, really sticky. “Right before winter break last year, um…” The air in her lungs turned into taffy, coating her throat with a goopy layer of grief, threatening to choke her before she could force the words out. “It was…” Her hand gripped her phone harder. “It was bad.”

He nodded but didn’t press her. He simply sat there, hands patiently folded in front of him.

“They had this…whole plan. They were going to spend some time at this lodge their family owned—owns.” Oh, Blackwood Pines was absolutely still the Washingtons’ property. Ashley had told her that much. “They invited me, but my dad was coming to pick me up for break a couple days after they were supposed to leave, so…I…didn’t.” She swallowed hard against the gelatinous blockage in her windpipe. “It was a really long drive, like, hours and hours away, so it wouldn’t have made sense for me to go.

Had the twins said anything about who else was going to be at the lodge? Had they? She wracked her brain for any flimsy memory of the invite. If she had gone with them, if things had turned out differently, what were the chances the three of them would’ve arrived only to have the door opened by Chris? Or Ash? Or way more likely, Josh? Would she have spent her winter break rolling her eyes at their camera setups? Would she and the twins have clamped their hands over their ears to avoid the endless screaming of the spirit box?

How close had she come to meeting the CREEPs last year?

The building’s heating system must’ve kicked on just then, because a draft of air slid its way past her, ruffling her hair and sending a shiver across her skin. It brought a fingertip of dread with it, skating gently down her spine—it also brought a brutal follow-up question.

How close had she come to being one of the CREEPs’ ghost stories last year?

“I guess the road gets, um, rough near the lodge. It’s on a mountain, so there are…I dunno, twists, and stuff. And they’d been driving for a long time by then, so they were probably tired, and, uh…” She just kept shrugging. It wasn’t an intentional thing, and probably that was enough body language to tell Alan something about her, but her shoulders kept reflexively moving in and up, in and up, almost as if that would be enough of a shield to protect her from how the story inevitably ended. 

“They hit a patch of ice or something. Beth, uh…she died on impact.” Which was a ‘nice’ way of phrasing it, really. There was more that she knew, of course, nasty little details about how she hadn’t been wearing her seatbelt, details about what had happened because of that, but Alan didn’t need her to say all that. Not when she suspected he already knew.

Still…and fair enough, it could’ve been her imagination…but Sam thought she saw him wince.

“Hannah…didn’t.” She had to stop then, if only for a second. She rubbed at her face in some vain attempt at getting her sinuses to stop prickling so badly. They didn’t. They wouldn’t. But she kept trying. Those details she wouldn’t let herself think about, not even for a second. Couldn’t do it. “She was really, really hurt, and probably really, really confused, and…”

That much had to be true, right? It had to be. After everything that came out afterwards, it must’ve been. She must’ve hit her head or something, because her first move should’ve been to call for help. It should’ve been a call to emergency services. It should’ve been something—anything—other than what she’d actually done.

“She called me.” Her voice broke and she knew she was done for. “She called me. I don’t know why me—maybe I was the last number she had on her call list, maybe she had out text up when it happened, I don’t know, but she called me.” Sam tried to swallow it back and couldn’t. She grabbed for a tissue before Alan could hand her one, her movements jerky and rough with…what? Agitation? Embarrassment? Anger? Maybe. “I had just gotten to the gym, so…” There was the bitterness she’d tried to avoid, loud and clear. “So. My phone was in a locker. And I was just…climbing. Or running. I’m not even sure, and like…who forgets that? Who forgets what they were doing when their best friends died?” It was punctuated by a harsh cough of a laugh as she mopped at her face with the tissue. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know she was calling—”

“You couldn’t have.” It was Alan’s first interruption, spoken in a low, commiserative tone.

“That doesn’t make it better.” She hadn’t exactly snapped it, but it had been close enough that some rational part of her cringed and bristled, knowing she’d replay that moment of rudeness over and over again while trying to fall asleep that night. “By the time I was done working out and saw her calls, it…maybe it was too late, maybe it wasn’t, I don’t know. I just don’t know. She’d called twice. And I had two messages. I thought it…I thought probably she just…” Her breath hitched and she had to stop, covering her face with her hand. Her eyes stung with runny mascara. Why had she fucking put makeup on today?!

The truth of the matter was she’d thought the twins had been playing with her. It was probably some kind of joke. A bad one, obviously, but a joke. Or something like a joke.

The first message had only lasted a few seconds, and the sounds had been so distant, so muffled and distorted, that even after plugging her other ear and focusing as hard as she was able, Sam had figured it was a butt-dial. She’d listened to it thousands of times since, and that was all she’d ever gotten: twenty-one seconds of rustling noises and some higher sound that might’ve been liquid dripping, might’ve been pieces of shattered windshield dropping down like gruesome confetti. Then click! Nothing.

Nothing.

Alan’s silence had its own presence in the room, solid as the heat coming off a grated fireplace; it was almost as though some third person sat on the desk between them, a sentient wall of emotion. It seemed to waver when he leaned forward…though it didn’t dissipate. “Did she say anything to you, Sam?”

She started to speak…until her voice caught in her throat and she let out a mortifying little sound, some horrendously childish mix of a yelp and a sob. That time, Alan beat her to the punch—she grabbed the tissue he offered. Her phone pressed into the palm of her other hand until she felt an imprint forming under the home button.

The first message had sounded like a butt-dial.

The second message had not.

Alan waited. She thought he’d wait for hours, if need be. After all, she’d reached a part of the story he hadn’t heard yet. Who could resist?

The second message had started the same as the first, the noises cottony and nonsensical. Her brain had done the dirty work of filling in the gaps, turning a click into a desperate breath, a rustle into the settling of a body in a seat…but then, right around the sixteen-second mark, a voice could be heard, familiar though strained, soft and slurred and fading.

“‘Where are you?’” Sam said through a painful hiccup. “She just kept asking me ‘Where are you?’ And then the line went dead.” She hung her head, chest clenched like a fist. “I tried calling back. A few times. But her phone said she was out of the service area. So I figured they were just…too deep in the mountains to get the call.”

He gave her time enough to collect herself, just sitting there with his hands folded on his desk, lips slowly and silently grinding against his teeth as he ostensibly pieced everything together. “Well, that certainly is a lot for one person to live with, isn’t it?”

If he was looking for a response, he was SOL; Sam sniffled hard and cast her eyes down to her phone, turning it over between her fingers endlessly, no doubt smudging the screen to hell and back in the process.

“Let me…let me ask you this, Sam.” Alan leaned a bit more of his weight onto his elbows, the base of his chair creaking as if to object. “What is it that you think you could’ve done, had you been able to answer your phone?” His face remained almost entirely impassive, but she had the strangest sense of knowing that this was a conversation he’d had before. Maybe not exactly the same, maybe the finer points had been switched around a little, but whether it was her imagination or something she was actually hearing, the question sounded too well practiced. “Clearly you think you could’ve done something—” he gestured vaguely towards the hand clutching her phone, “—what would that’ve been?”

That time she did have an answer at the ready. “I could’ve called 9-1-1. I could’ve gotten some kind of help out there.” How many times had she played that scenario out in her head? Too many. Way too many to count. The phone would ring just as she was about to shut her gym locker, she’d see it was Hannah calling, she’d answer, hear something was wrong, and then hurriedly call emergency services before trying to get Hannah back on the line and keep her company, keep her talking, keep her from being alone and scared and—

“And where were they when the accident happened?”

She frowned, looking up towards him through the clumpy mess her mascara had made of her eyelashes. “On the road to their family’s lodge.”

He nodded slowly, “Which road would that be?”

“It—” Sam felt the lines of her face go lax with confusion as she realized…she didn’t know. “It was, um…it was in Alberta.” But even as it came out of her mouth, she saw what he was getting at: she didn’t actually know. It probably hadn’t been a highway or a main thoroughfare because no one had noticed until it was way, way too late to help, but…had it been a side street? Were they going east or west? She didn’t…she didn’t know. “Oh,” she said after a long moment, hating how very small her voice sounded in her own ears, “Oh.”

“When we experience loss, Sam, or trauma, we have a tendency to hold ourselves responsible for each little thing—all those terrible shoulds, coulds, and woulds, you know—when in reality…” He opened his hands up on his desk, “We forget that in that moment, in that space of time we were living in, we had done everything we could with the information we had. Yes, perhaps if you hadn’t missed the call, you might have been able to call 9-1-1 and tell them your friends had been in an accident somewhere on the way to their family lodge in Alberta, but…perhaps you wouldn’t have been able to understand or hear what Hannah was saying to you. Perhaps you would’ve thought you had a bad connection because they were too deep into the mountains and so you hung up. We can’t dwell on ‘perhaps,’ Sam—you can’t dwell on it. The thing about the past is that it’s precisely that…the past. And it’s beyond our control, whether we like it or not.”

“I think they’re haunting me.”

It had been a nice monologue on his part, sure, but the words bubbled out of her before she could bite them back, spilling out into the room like water bursting out of a dam. That seemed to take both of them by surprise, Sam sitting up straighter in the chair in front of the desk, Alan’s eyebrows shooting upwards quickly enough that she thought they might fly off into the stratosphere.

There was that sense of familiarity again, a look settling into his eyes that made her wonder whether once upon a time someone else had sat in this very chair and sputtered out those very words in this very office after telling him that very story. Sam was hardly a mind-reader, but she had a feeling that if she had been, the only thought bouncing around Alan’s head at that moment was something along the lines of: Ah, yes, you are one of Josh’s friends, aren’t you? I had my doubts at first, and yet, here we are.

“Guilt can feel like that.” Credit where credit was due, he bounced back from the shock remarkably fast, his calm demeanor firmly in place once more. “It can make us feel as though we’re being followed by—”

“Um…I…kind of meant it in a more…literal sense.” Sam swallowed hard, every word making her feel like a bigger fool than the last; she had to keep reminding herself that this was Josh’s therapist, and he’d probably heard much, much stranger due to that simple fact. “I know how that sounds,” she added, “Really, I do, and if I heard myself say that even a few months ago, I think I’d lock myself up in a padded room, but uh…” Her mind flashed to the welts left across her chest, the perfect impression of a seatbelt; the handful of coins landing on their sides; the stupid application page freezing up until she hit submit; the horrible, accusatory message written in the fog of the bathroom mirror. ‘where are you,’ it had asked, the same question she’d heard in all of her worst nightmares, ‘where are you?’ “That’s…that a big part of my problem, too. The, um…the haunting.”

She’d taken a lot of English classes in her time, and she’d had to read a lot of novels for said classes, so she wasn’t exactly a stranger to the concept of someone eying someone else warily. This was, however, the first time she’d ever seen that particular expression in action, and oh boy, it was not a great feeling. Alan regarded her carefully, as one might regard the tin of biscuit dough they were opening, trying to anticipate when it might pop so the resulting explosion didn’t startle the everloving shit out of them. “You think they’re haunting you because you didn’t help them?” he asked, taking it all in stride. “You think they’re angry you didn’t answer their call for help?”

“I mean…there’s that.” She steeled herself as she added, “And uh…probably also because I kissed their brother.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed. Only a little. Only a bit. But she noticed, all right. Oh…she noticed.

“We might kind of be dating? I’m not…I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think they’re too psyched about…that.”

When she looked up to him that time, Alan was rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, brow furrowed in what was either deep thought or abject confusion. “All right,” he said slowly, “Let’s…” He glanced to his watch briefly, “Let’s unpack that, shall we?”

[flowersforzoe11]

Catch-22 MiniSeries Review

I just finished the miniseries and i have lots of thöughts™️ that i want to yell into the void:

((spoilers))

Not in order, because i have the emotional capacity of a piece of burnt toast.

First— i loved the scenery and the music t/o the episodes. it really gave it the world war 2 energy we all deserved

M I L O!!!😍 Milo’s story was best translated from the book to the show, imo. The actor playing him had the perfect boyish aloofness and almost wonder that book Milo had. I enjoyed the squadron-bombing scene, but i do wish we were able to see more of dark!evil!capitalist!Milo. And they cut out chocolate covered cotton kek

Orr was so fucking cute and just a little bean🤩 he was perfect.

what in the HECK was with the chaplain??? the actor did a beautiful job with him for his like 7 minutes of screen time, but so much was cut from the book. imo, there were four or five main characters in the book: Yossarian, Milo, Cathcart, The Chaplain, and maybe Nately. Of the five, Milo and Cathcart were probably portrayed the best, with so much being cut from the others. i really wish we got the chaplains struggles, because his only scenes were comforting Yossarian, and giving sermons, which was a fairly low percentage of book-chaplain.

everyone? died wrong? with the exceptions of McWatt and Kid Sampson, the rest of Yossarian’s friends died completely the wrong way.

Dunbar😭😭 I wish we got more than 5 minutes of him. The time we did get was great, but i missed his and Yossarian’s general shenanigans and then him being ‘disappeared’ because he was so, so out of character. he was one of my favorite characters in the book and i was disappointed in his storyline, tbh

lots of missing characters:/ i get they only had so much time, but we missed so many iconic things, Hungry Joe, Moodus, and Halfoat and the officer’s club come to mind.

half? of the last episode was about Yossarian’s balls, which was literally 4 pages and a leg injury in the book.

Aarfy creeped me the fuck out and the actor played him really well. You got creepy, rape-y vibes from the beginning, and though i hate his character, the acting was on-point.

did i cry during the kid sampson/mcwatt scene? yes. was mcwatt’s acting beautiful? yes.

didn’t love yossarian being called yo-yo. the only one allowed to do this imo, is Orr, but it was really excessive t/o the series.

Nately’s whore’s storyline was all wrong. however, i loved yossarian and the kid sister’s relationship. Yossarian has BDE: Big Dad Energy.

snowden scene was really good, and i love how they started the show with it. however, i wish that they interweaved it t/o the rest of the episodes, as the event was so influential on yossarian.

yossarian had great character development, though he lost some of his anti-hero charm from the book. he was portrayed as overly-good in the miniseries, where in the book he feels a lot more realistic and like a worse person, if that makes sense

the order of events was weird. the snowden and medal-ceremony ended the miniseries, but took place before the novel:thonk: also also also the chronological doesn’t work with the message Heller is trying to portray—war is fucking absurd. the chronology of it all kind of ruined Heller’s message and charm.

felt weird to see yossarian in human form. the actor did an amazing job, but i’ve always found it hard to picture yossarian as any more than words on a page.

i was pretty annoyed with the ending, ngl. they should have stocked to the book on this one, and that’s all i’m saying.

Yes this was meticulous. Yes I’m a very by-the-book person.

Wow I just complained a lot. I honestly liked the series a lot, but I feel like in trying to tell the story of catch-22, they didn’t tell the story. part of the book’s charm was it’s general absurdism, and seemingly nonsensical scenes and details which i feel were cut out for the sake of the story, which is probably my least favorite part about the tv adaptation.

Also, I have ideas for the like 6.3 of us that are active in this fandom. Details to come, and thanks for reading 💕

[havocmadden]

i was tagged by @benlos and @klmposslble to spell my url with song titles !! ty lovelies

more than a band — bridgit mendler, hayley kiyoko, naomi scott, adam hicks

almost there — anika noni rose

like me — maia mitchell, grace phipps, ross lynch, spencer lee, cast

i see the light — mandy moore, zachary levi

cruisin for a bruisin — ross lynch, grace phipps, jason evigan

evil like me — kristen chenoweth

break this down — dove cameron, cameron boyce, sofia carson, booboo stewart, china anne mcclain, zachary gibson, sarah jeffery, thomas doherty, dylan playfair, anna cathcart, jadah marie, mitchell hope, brenna d’amico

eyes wide open — sabrina carpenter

rotten to the core — cast of descendants

thumbs — sabrina carpenter

history — olivia holt

as long as i have you — dove cameron

tbh i’m not going to tag anyone because i think everyone i would tag has already been tagged or already done it, so if you’re seeing this and you haven’t, consider yourself tagged !! <3

[cctinsleybaxter]

I had to take the Myers-Briggs test and I was supremely disappointed that no one from Catch-22 was used as examples. Where do you think these guys would fall in that system

The Myers & Briggs Foundation - The 16 MBTI® Types

I really hate the Myers-Briggs test; I remember someone describing it as ‘astrology for white businessmen’ and I wholeheartedly agree with that. But like any other method of sorting you can apply it to fictional characters a bit more easily than you can to people, and I like your thinking!To refresh people’s memories as to how this worksE/I (Extroverted/Introverted) ‘gets energy from being social and outgoing’ vs ‘gets energy from being alone and introspective’S/N (Sensing/INtuitive) ‘focuses on concrete facts and things they can experience directly’ vs ‘focuses on theory and the big picture’ T/F (Thinking/Feeling) what it says on the tinJ/P (Judging/Perceiving) ‘structured and tends to follow rules’ vs ‘flexible’-  this also plays into thinking/feeling with judging being ‘logic’ and perceiving being ‘gut instinct’

So based on all that I think we have:

ISTJ- Major DanbyISFJ- The Chaplain INFJ- Major Major INTJ- Wintergreen ISTP- DunbarISFP- Doc Daneeka INFP- OrrINTP- Korn 

ESTP- YossarianESFP- McWattENFP- Nately ENTP- Luciana ESTJ- Clevinger ESFJ- Cathcart ENFJ- Nurse DuckettENTJ- Milo

[cleverwordsandotherstuffilike]

 Most of these are from the collection of Leland Hilligoss of the St. Louis Public Library, via Paul Dickson, A Collector’s Compendium of Rare and Unusual, Bold and Beautiful, Odd and Whimsical Names (1986). 

 ·       Magdalena Babblejack

·       Phoebe B. Peabody Beebe

·       Sibyl Bibble

·       Christian Bible

·       Hiawatha Cathcart

·       Tensil Cheesebrew

·       Adeline Dingledine

·       W. French Dingler

·       Ed Ek

·       JoAnn Floozbonger

·       E. Vercel Fuglestad

·       Cashmere Funkhouser

·       L.E. Vontilzer Gleaves

·       Felty Goosehead

·       Icy Macy Hoober

·       Zola G. Hooberry

·       Square Horn Jr.

·       Birdie T. Hospital

·       Elizabeth Hogg Ironmonger

·       Epluribus Kitchen

·       Varnard P. Longhibler

·       Luch V. Moga

·       Otis Muckenfuss

·       Lester Ouchmoody

·       Loveless Pelt

·       Grace Pinkapank

·       Evangelist Polite

·       Curt Puke

·       Burger Rocket

·       Melon Roof

·       Goolsby Scroggins

·       Norval Sleed

·       Craven Tart

·       Eloise Tittlekitty

·       Kong Vang

·       Gwendolyne Winklepleck

·       Clifteen Wooters

 Futility Closet

[katiedalton97]

1: Is journalism dying in the face of the internet?

The rise of the internet has completely transformed the world of journalism gone are the day of typewrite and newspaper cutting libraries in its place computer and the internet. Powered by the development in technology and the rise of the internet, news has become 24/7 with immediate access from a verity of different source and social platforms (Bakhurst, 2011).

With this transformation of journalism and its move to become more and more online with the Independent becoming the first national newspaper to go comply digital and cease print copy or in their words embrace a global, digital only future (Independent, 2016). But is the independent the first of many to case print. Beth Rigby The Times media editor note the industry is in turmoil and has been for many year and professor Brian Cathcart predicts that all UK national newspaper will go out of print (BBC, 2016). So, does this signal the death of journalism or an industry adapting and evolving to stay alive in a digital world.

The Move to digital platformer as a venue of news has brought with its own new challenges to the world of journalism as developing a business model that compensation for the loss of print t circulation and advertising income that would be loss with the move to digital is proving difficult (Nel & Westlund,2012). how to do you make money from something that is see as largely seen as free by its reader as news origination naively give away everything for free with the belief digital advising would simply replace print lose (Felle, 2016). So, to combat the loss in revenue a number of news companies implemented Pay walls as a way to put value on content and as a way to try and replace the lost in print circulation (Felle, 2016).  In an article published by the magazine Wired they the discuss the how a pay wall worked and the lesson they have learn one year after implementing it. First they note how a pay wall worked as over the year the number of new digital subcalibres increased by nearly 300 percent agented the previous year. Over the year they tested a number of different ways to increase subscription such as send out newsletters, gift and offering subscription to partner brand some work some didn’t but over all they note the most important lesson they learnt was that Subscribers just really want information to be good (Thompsom,2019). Read the link to read the full article by clinking the link. over all this show how journalism is adapting to the change world to stay alive and producing engaging and joyable content for its readers.

Overall journalism is not dying in the face of Internet is evolving with the times to enable the audience to access the news on a daily basis but however due to the evolving nature of journalism it does suggest that in years to come we may the end of print newspapers and see them develop in to  a completely  digital world of news and journalism where news is accessed online rather than in a physical copy.

(527)

Bibliography

Bakhurst, k. (2011, September 9). How has social media changed the way newsrooms work?. The BBC. Retrieved fromhttps://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/theeditors/2011/09/ibc_in_amsterdam.html

Independent. (2016, February 12). The Independent becomes the first national newspaper to embrace a global, digital-only future. The independent. Retrieved from https://www.independent.co.uk/news/media/press/the-independent-becomes-the-first-national-newspaper-to-embrace-a-global-digital-only-future-a6869736.html

The BBC. (2016, February 12). Independent to cease as print edition. The BBC. Retrieved from https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-35561145

Nel, F. & Westlund, O. (2012) THE 4C'S OF MOBILE NEWS: Channels, conversation, content and commerce. Journalism Practice, p.1-10.

Felle, T. (2016, February 22) Are paywalls saving journalism?. The Conversation. Retrieved from https://theconversation.com/are-paywalls-saving-journalism-53585

Thompson, N.  (2019, March 6) We launched a paywall. it worked! Mostly. The Wired. Retrieved fromhttps://www.wired.com/story/wired-paywall-one-year-later/

[emsvehicles]

A Retrospective Content Evaluation Of The Ambulance Emergency Assistant Refresher Course Outcomes As Coated By Free Open Access Medical Education Foamed Resources

It was granted Developmental Credit Status immunity by the National Consumer Regulator . As a Developmental Credit Provider, it isn't subjected to external high quality audits much like that of reputable commercial banks. Taxi house owners are on record making an attempt to negotiate with banks since 2009 as many handed back their vehicles with false promises from banks that they'd look into the matter. As it turned out their “fake taxis” were sold on auctions to different unsuspecting consumers and judgements were recorded against their names. An MDA is designed not solely to guard the patron but the bank as well against unscrupulous and deceiving motor dealers.

Bust the stress out of on a regular basis life and take pleasure in some quality me time as you construct a LEGO model of the converted 1959 Cadillac Miller-Meteor ambulance from the Ghostbusters motion pictures. The ambulance, a converted Nissan Hardbody, is used to switch patients to Frere Hospital in East London from Cathcart, some 135km away, two or 3 times every week. A civilian woman, who was both the owner of the shop or had been staying inside, was critically injured having suffered severe burns to her physique converted ambulance and face. She was rushed by way of to hospital by ambulance for additional emergency care. Rollover safety constructions and Fall over protection buildings (ROPS & FOPS) for personnel transport underground is a security requirement by Department Minerals and Resources . We specialize within the design and manufacture of Rollover safety structures and Fall over protection buildings (ROPS & FOPS) in accordance with SABS and the University of Pretoria requirements.

This will guarantee not solely the protection of the affected person but the crews as well,” he stated. It stated that corporations it represents, including Mercedes-Benz, Nissan, and BMW, were not given a chance to present their case to the public protector, and argued that they want to have a possibility to take action. “As a consequence of the choices taken by the public protector, there are unintended penalties we are beginning to see available in the market,” NAAMSA stated. The scale of those unlawful conversions was first revealed in a Public Protector’s Report published in 2019, with a substantial quantity of the proof being equipped by former banker and whistleblower Hennie De Beer.

The car is general in a poor situation with the front air bags deployed. The group said this was their way of responding to the high crime charges which normally increase the need for the emergency providers in the space. The National Department of Health didn't provide comment by the time of publication. While having advertised the brand new tender the province has additionally bought 110 ambulances, 60 of which have now been delivered. “Whilst we are facing a challenge of COVID-19, our focus should be on how to strengthen well being services generally. As we reply to COVID-19, no matter investments we make must last us a lengthy time,” he stated.

The monies won't reflect on their financial institution accounts as they are saved with family members who has businesses so it reflects as their business proceeds. The Mfezi was developed by Pretoria-based Truck-Makers using mechanical components of the Samil-50 truck, entering service in 1990. The 12.4 tonne car can accommodate 4 stretcher sufferers and 4 more flippantly wounded sufferers who can sit upright, and offers protection against converted ambulance small-arms fireplace and against two anti-tank mines underneath any wheel or three under the hull. The new vehicles goal to ensure that the province finally meets the national EMS norms relating to a response time of 15 minutes in city areas and 40 minutes in rural areas. Faster and extra efficient entry to well being services is now a reality for communities in Limpopo following the handover of ambulances to hospitals in the province.

“The province has made an assurance in the course of the departmental finances speech earlier this year to prioritise the procurement of ambulances so that the folks of Limpopo profit from these providers and their high quality of health is improved,” Mathabatha advised OurHealth. It is towards the law for banks to finance “fake” Quantum panel van conversions to taxis as they aren't designed for the aim they are intended i.e. as a passenger carrier/taxi. Toyota sellers converted ambulance went ahead and invoiced these panel vans prior to the second registration as a taxi. Magen David Adom was founded in Tel Aviv in June 1930 as a response to the riots of 1929 which made folks realise that they lacked first assist providers to guard themselves within the face of emergencies. To fill this pressing want, seven public spirited males arrange a First Aid Society known as Magen David Adom — The Red Shield of David.

[ael59]

Les enquêtes de Lady Rose T.1 : Meurtre et séduction

Les enquêtes de Lady Rose T.1 : Meurtre et séduction

Belle et rebelle, telle est Lady Rose. Après s’être compromise avec les suffragettes, au grand désespoir de ses parents, la jeune fille de bonne famille fait une entrée désastreuse dans la haute société londonienne… Ce qui ne dissuade pas un Sir aux allures distinguées de lui faire les yeux doux. Très louche, selon le père de Lady Rose, qui charge le capitaine Harry Cathcart, aristocrate…

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Wolf Bounty Frauds,” Toronto Globe. March 26, 1910. Page 04. ---- FINKELSTEIN AND LEVISON COMMITTED FOR TRIAL ---- George Westcott’s Store of His Dealings With Winnipeg Men - Nine Prisoners Who Had Pleaded Guilty Sentence. ---- (C.P.R. Press Despatch.) Fort Frances, March 25. - Interest in the wolf bounty frauds continued to-day when Moses Finkelstein and Bejamin Levison, fur dealers of Winnipeg, were arraigned in the Police Court here charged with complicity in the conspiracy to defraud the Ontario Government. In order to prove the alleged complicity the Crown called George Westcott, now under sentence, who is, in an apparently straightforward story, told the whole circumstances. According to Westcott, he visited the accused fur dealers, and seeing a pile of wolf skins, was told that he could make easy money in this district under certain conditions. Mr. Westcott said he, therefore, arranged to take a number of wolf skins, those with good ears only, on the understanding that he got his money back less $1 for rental. The witness said he had obtained probably one hundred skins from Leviston in this way, on which the bounty had been paid.

The Magistrate committed both Finkelstein and Leviston for trial at the next Court of General Session on June 7th next. A cash bail of $2,000 each was accepted in their own recognizances.

At the conclusion of the Police Court proceedings, the prisoners who had pleaded guilty last week and were in jail awaiting sentence, were brought before Judge Fitch, who sentenced them as follows; - George Westcott, two years in the Kingston Penitentiary; M. T. Cathcart, two and a half years in the same institution; Thos. Godin, Joseph Maxim, Robert Horrocks and Thos. Killpatrick, three months each in the district jail, and a fine of $150 or a further term of nine months. The three Indians were left off more lightly, McGinnis and Blackbird getting three months each and Baptiste four months.