#ai writer for sanitary

[aiwriterforsanitary]

Free Online AI Writer for Sanitary: Simplify Your Writing Process

In the realm of sanitary products and hygiene-related content, effective communication is paramount for both businesses and consumers. From product descriptions and usage instructions to promotional materials and educational resources, clear and concise writing plays a crucial role in conveying information and influencing consumer behavior. However, the process of crafting compelling sanitary content can often be time-consuming and resource-intensive, especially for businesses with limited resources or expertise in writing. To streamline the writing process and enhance efficiency, many businesses are turning to free online AI writers as invaluable tools for creating high-quality content with ease.

One of the primary advantages of using a free online AI writer for sanitary writing is the ability to generate content quickly and effortlessly. Whether it's developing product descriptions, drafting hygiene protocols, or crafting blog articles, AI-powered platforms can produce content efficiently based on predefined parameters and keywords. By inputting relevant information such as product specifications, industry standards, and target audience preferences, businesses can create engaging content that resonates with consumers, saving time and resources in the process.

Moreover, free online AI writers offer versatility, enabling businesses to create a wide range of content types across various platforms and channels. Whether it's social media posts, website content, or email newsletters, AI-powered platforms can adapt to different formats and styles with ease. This flexibility empowers businesses to maintain a consistent and engaging online presence, catering to the preferences of diverse audience segments and maximizing reach and engagement.

Another significant benefit of using a free online AI writer for sanitary writing is the enhancement of content quality and relevance. While some may question the authenticity of AI-generated content, modern AI algorithms have made significant advancements in natural language processing and understanding. As a result, AI-generated content often exhibits coherence, relevance, and readability comparable to content produced by human writers. Additionally, AI writers can help identify trending topics, optimize content for search engines, and personalize messages based on user data, ensuring that the content resonates with target audiences and drives desired actions.

Furthermore, free online AI writers can assist businesses in maintaining consistency and brand voice across their sanitary writing efforts. Consistency in tone, style, and messaging is crucial for reinforcing brand identity and building consumer trust. AI writers ensure consistency by adhering to predefined brand guidelines, style preferences, and language conventions established by the business. Additionally, AI algorithms can help detect and correct grammatical errors, ensuring that the final content meets professional standards and reflects the business's commitment to quality and credibility.

Despite the numerous benefits, it's essential for businesses to exercise caution and oversight when utilizing free online AI writers for sanitary writing. While AI-generated content can provide valuable assistance, it should complement rather than replace human creativity and expertise. Businesses should review and customize the generated content to ensure accuracy, relevance, and alignment with their brand identity and objectives. Additionally, businesses should prioritize data privacy and security when inputting sensitive information into AI platforms.

In conclusion, a free online AI writer offers a valuable solution for businesses seeking to simplify their sanitary writing process and enhance efficiency in their marketing endeavors. By harnessing the power of AI, businesses can generate high-quality, versatile, and engaging content that resonates with consumers and drives business results. However, it's crucial for businesses to maintain oversight and ensure that AI-generated content meets professional standards and reflects their brand values and objectives. Ultimately, AI writers empower businesses to streamline content creation processes and focus on delivering exceptional products and services to consumers.

[pangeanews]

“Se il mondo reale diventa uno scenario infernale, replicarlo in prosa è ridondante”. Joyce Carol Oates, la quarantena e il gatto

In questo articolo in forma di confessione, pubblicato sul “TLS” come “My therapy animal and me”, Joyce Carol Oates, grande scrittrice americana – La Nave di Teseo ha appena pubblicato “Ho fatto la spia”; è edita da il Saggiatore, Mondadori, Bompiani –, raduna tre temi, impedendosi – fortuna nostra – di ricadere nell’ennesimo ‘diario in quarantena’, pratica che ha dimostrato, in Italia, per lo meno, che troppi scrittori sono incapaci di interpretare e sentire la ‘realtà’. In superficie la Oates parla di animali ‘da compagnia’ o ‘da terapia’. Il pezzo, quindi, è una variante sul tema topico: i gatti e gli scrittori, che annovera firme nobili (da T.S. Eliot a William Burroughs, da Lewis Carroll a Poe, Bulgakov e la formidabile gatta di Tanizaki). Soprattutto, la Oates ci dice che il contagio, la pestilenza, appesta la creatività: lo scenario distopico e fantastico è lecito finché c’è una realtà ‘normale’ da cui evadere. Quando si vive nell’anormalità, nel pericolo, lo scrittore deve stare lì, tra silenzio e imprevisto. Il rischio, altrimenti, è il patetico. Di più, la scrittrice gioca il paradosso. Se siamo degli animali ‘sociali’, per cui il nostro io è il riflesso di ciò che gli altri pensano di noi, da soli chi siamo?, forse non siamo, esistiamo davvero? Questo – la nostra inesistenza, la dipendenza da chi e da che cosa – è un enigma degno di romanzo. Che un libro, in questa ondivaga incertezza, sia una zattera va da sé.  

***

Auden disse: “Vivete alla giornata”. In una realtà claustrofobica come questa non ci resta che vivere alla giornata. Perché è davvero difficile contemplare un futuro! La mia vita, in genere così prevedibile, definita e (per lo più) piacevole, adesso è instabile, mi sembra di essere su delle montagne russe impazzite. Non sono in grado di lavorare, neanche di trovare la concentrazione per prepararmi al lavoro, mi ritrovo in balia di incessanti email, messaggi e telefonate; “ultime notizie” che non portano quasi mai un barlume di speranza, ma solo crescente paura, 76000 morti per coronavirus negli Stati Uniti, e in continuo aumento.

E in tutto ciò, non c’è niente di minimamente romanzato, non c’è nessuna allegoria o metafora (regni dell’essere in cui gli scrittori si sentono più a proprio agio); niente di tutto questo potrebbe essere seccamente sintetizzato in “rivelazioni” o “epifanie”. Gli scrittori sono condannati a immaginare di poter carpire il senso anche dalle più terribili circostanze e che spetti a loro esprimerlo.

Invocando distopie e scenari infernali, i narratori hanno ampiamente dato per scontato la relativa normalità del “mondo reale”; se il mondo reale diventa uno scenario infernale, replicarlo in prosa è ridondante. Ci sarà anche una cupa soddisfazione nel profetizzare il vigente disfacimento della democrazia liberale negli Stati Uniti, ma si tratta senz’altro di una soddisfazione amara – la tendenza è pensare che l’aver immaginato un disastro possa bastare. È in dubbio il destino non solo dei prossimi progetti creativi, ma anche quello del possibile pubblico.

*

In mezzo a tutte queste distrazioni, ecco il mio “animale da terapia” Zanche che fa le fusa, sinuosa, mi si struscia contro le gambe e salta, con pesantezza e un grugnito ansante, sul mio grembo. (Ho scritto “animale da terapia” per gioco, Zanche non fa parte di questa categoria, ma di recente, nel periodo di lockdown, sembra stia qualificandosi per questo ruolo). Mi colpisce il fatto che il Felis catus sia straordinariamente portato all’autoisolamento, e, quando sterilizzato e nutrito bene, sia più che lieto di starsene in solitudine, mentre l’Homo sapiens è ovviamente mal equipaggiato a stare solo, persino nelle condizioni migliori. Non stupisce che attualmente negli Stati Uniti, stando ai dati, ci siano 500.000 cani di servizio e 200.000 animali di “supporto emotivo” legalmente registrati presso le autorità sanitarie. A cui va sommata una vasta schiera composta da un numero indefinito di “animali da terapia” non ufficiali, come Zanche, una splendida gatta Maine Coon bianca e nera che ho adottato l’anno scorso dal canile. Infatti tra i nevrastenici, molto probabilmente in rapido aumento in quarantena, le fusa sono diventate il “rumore bianco” associato al conforto, a rimpiazzare persino la commiserazione umana. (Il paradosso è che le fusa non sarebbero naturali per i gatti, ma una tattica messa a punto dai loro antenati selvatici per sedurre, disarmare e addomesticare l’Homo sapiens, l’unico altro mammifero a poter essere soggiogato a loro vantaggio).

*

Incapace di rimanere seduta da una parte per più di qualche minuto, guardo indietro con sconcertata nostalgia a quando, non troppo tempo fa, riuscivo a perdermi felicemente nel lavoro per dieci, dodici ore al giorno. Ora invece, vengo presa d’assalto da versi casuali di prosa profetica o da poesie che vagano nel cervello come matasse di alghe, mentre cammino avanti e indietro per la casa a ogni ora del giorno e della notte, perché il tempo si è sciolto, come in un quadro di Dalí e la vita è diventata una sequenza di frasi sconnesse senza interruzione né principio – “Tutta l’infelicità degli uomini deriva da una sola causa, dal non sapere starsene in pace, in una camera” (Pascal, Pensieri #139). “Niente che sia d’oro resta” (Robert Frost). Henry David Thoreau, che ammiro sin dall’adolescenza, adesso mi sibila superbo, arrogante: “Volevo vivere profondamente, succhiare tutto il midollo della vita, volevo vivere da gagliardo spartano, per sbaragliare ciò che vita non era, falciare ampio e raso terra e riporre la vita lì, in un angolo, ridotta ai suoi termini più semplici”.

Che ingenuità! Nell’isolamento forzato è legittimo chiedersi perché mai qualcuno dovrebbe desiderare di ridurre la ricchezza e la varietà della vita “ai suoi termini più semplici”, un lusso che ci si può permettere solo se c’è un mondo stabile da ripudiare. (Sappiamo che a Walden Pond, Thoreau viveva a due passi dalla propria famiglia amorevole, a Concord, e che andava da loro ogni volta che si sentiva solo, voleva un piatto caldo o dei panni puliti).

*

L’uomo non è un animale molto razionale, ma è di certo un animale sociale. Apprendiamo i segnali sociali dai nostri simili umani: sorrisi, bronci, lamenti, risate. Persino il silenzio, quando siamo tra gli altri ha un significato che non può avere quando siamo soli. Come osservò William James, ogni individuo ha tanti sé sociali quante sono le persone che lo conoscono e interagiscono con lui: viceversa, se i nostri “sé sociali” non vengono costantemente stabiliti dalle interazioni con gli altri, noi esistiamo? A metà marzo, quando il mondo esterno è diventato una piastra di Petri brulicante di contagiati e il numero di decessi cresceva di ora in ora, il New Jersey ha stabilito che la popolazione dovesse rimanere a casa, prescrivendo il nostro fondamentale estraniamento dagli altri, per fare fronte alla possibilità (probabilità!) di infettarci l’un l’altro. Spettatori disorientati, siamo stati catapultati dallo stupore a un intorpidito orrore. Un’aura di irrealtà strisciava tra le nostre vite, portandoci a dubitare della nostra stessa identità; e se invece di entità durevoli le nostre, da sempre, non fossero altro che costrutti sociali? Siamo “reali” in tale estraniamento? È come se i nostri stessi corpi siano sul punto di fondersi in ectoplasma, come in quelle assurde, ma perturbanti “fotografie spiritiche” dei primi anni del ventesimo secolo.

Perché, dopotutto, cos’è l’identità, e cos’è la sanità, quando da troppo tempo siamo soli, nascondendoci da una dirompente, ma invisibile forma non vitale chiamata virus? E qual è il tono giusto da usare in un clima di terribili sofferenze?

*

C’è il tono da videolezione che si acquisisce per necessità se si è insegnanti e la scuola chiude da un giorno all’altro, costringendo ogni forma di istruzione online. Forma scomoda, all’inizio, socialmente inadeguata, ma poco a poco navigabile e persino, in assenza di altri rimedi, piacevole. (Il tradizionale insegnamento face-to-face è già datato). C’è il tono richiesto dalla società: quando chi è sconfortato, cosa frequente in questi giorni, può facilmente sentirsi offeso se altri usano un tono “leggero”; quando chi cerca di reagire con un tono “leggero” alla propria demoralizzazione, rischia di offendere qualcun altro. Perché mai come in un periodo di crisi collettiva è chiaro che le condizioni di ognuno sono del tutto relative: c’è chi sta (colpevolmente) meglio di chi ha sofferto per vere disgrazie, oltre all’inconveniente della quarantena, mentre c’è chi sta (anche) peggio di chi è recluso con amorevoli compagni umani. Sapremo di essere tornati a qualcosa di simile alla normalità quando, invece di far di tutto per avere i nostri animali da terapia addosso a farci le fusa, con un gesto distratto li cacceremo dalla tastiera del computer, mentre cerchiamo di scrivere – “Zanche, vai via!”.

Intanto, nell’attesa di questa liberazione, continua a rincuorarci il contatto con un corpo caldo che fa le fusa e impasta con le zampe, ci consola l’aver accanto un altro essere vivente con cui parlare, anche se a senso unico. E per noi insonni, con la crisi che non fa che peggiorare il problema, c’è anche la profonda consolazione della lettura, preferibilmente con un animale da compagnia che sonnecchia al nostro fianco.

*

Un’amata categoria di libri, il libro sul comodino, in genere letto sporadicamente, finito raramente, e se anche finito, riposto con riluttanza sullo scaffale, è la lettura ideale durante la quarantena. Sul mio ingombro tavolo di fianco al letto, ho molti libri del genere, molti dei quali lì da anni. Tra cui Weatherland: Writers and artists under English skies di Alexadra Harris, uno splendidamente eccentrico compendio di prosa e opere d’arte sul tempo atmosferico, attraverso i secoli. Troviamo cieli, nuvole, paesaggi, “stati d’animo” nelle opere di Shakespeare, Milton, Spenser, degli autori romantici, delle sorelle Brontë, di Virgininia Woolf, John Constable, William Turner, John Everett Millais, Ted Hughes: “Negli anni a venire, che potrebbero essere gli ultimi con un clima inglese, la nostra esperienza sarà determinata dalla memoria e dall’associazione, dalle cose che abbiamo letto e osservato, dai posti in cui siamo stati o che abbiamo immaginato”. Similmente, The Making of Poetry: Coleridge, the Wordsworths and their year of marvels di Adam Nicolson, è una cronaca delle giornate dei giovani poeti attraverso gli idilliaci paesaggi inglesi che attraversavano durante le loro passeggiate insieme, gli itinerari ripercorsi a più di duecento anni di distanza dall’intrepido autore. Poi ho il massiccio A Little Book on Form: An exploration into the formal imagination of poetry e l’ancor più pesante The Poem di Don Paterson, insieme al meraviglioso forziere che è The Work of the Dead: A cultural history of mortal remains; ci si potrebbe impiegare anni per scrutare attentamente le più di seicento pagine tempestate di preziosi dettagli.

*

Non c’è notte insonne priva di speranza, infestata dalla paura per il futuro che non possa essere salvata, trasfigurata, accendendo l’abat-jour e aprendo un libro.

Joyce Carol Oates

*La traduzione è di Valentina Gambino

L'articolo “Se il mondo reale diventa uno scenario infernale, replicarlo in prosa è ridondante”. Joyce Carol Oates, la quarantena e il gatto proviene da Pangea.

from pangea.news https://ift.tt/3d1Q8ju

[coe-lilium]

There’s a post making rounds on my dash in which the 2nd blogger (not counting OP) went “doctors never ever decide not to treat, people just get moved to another hospital ward” in answer to an Italian blogger saying “our doctors will have to chose if things gets bad enough” that had me troubled for a couple days because it implied (unwillingly, I’m sure) that a good chunk of Italian doctors were actively lying about such a topic being considered.

So I went to do some digging. 

And as it turns out, the Italian poster who has now deactivated was at least partly right because these guidelines exist, are real and legit and have been published by the SIAARTI (Italian College of Anesthesia, Analgesia, Resuscitation and Intensive Care), not by a fear mongering nobody nor they are the hallucination of a now-probably-bullied-out-of-tumblr fellow. 

The document is titled (eng translation) Clinical ethics recommedations for the admission to intensive treatments and for their suspension in exceptional conditions of imbalance between needs and available resources, published March 6th 2020.

Some extracts from the introduction (w translation)  

Le  previsioni  sull’epidemia  da  Coronavirus  (Covid-19)  attualmente  in corso in  alcune  regioni  italiane  stimano  per  le  prossime  settimane,  in molti centri,  un  aumento  dei  casi  di  insufficienza  respiratoria  acuta (con necessità di ricovero in Terapia Intensiva) di tale entità da determinare un enorme squilibrio tra le necessità cliniche reali della popolazione e la disponibilità effettiva di risorse intensive.

eng: 

The forecasts for the Coronavirus epidemic (Covid-19) currently underway in some Italian regions estimate for the coming weeks in many centers an increase in cases of acute respiratory insufficiency (with the need for ICU admission) to determine a huge imbalance between the real clinical needs of the population and the effective availability of intensive resources

and more

Come  estensione  del  principio  di  proporzionalità  delle  cure,  l’allocazione  in  un  contesto  di  grave  carenza (shortage) delle risorse sanitarie deve puntare a garantire i trattamenti di carattere intensivo ai pazienti con maggiori possibilità di successo terapeutico: si tratta dunque di privilegiare la “maggior speranza di vita”. Il bisogno di cure intensive deve pertanto essere integrato con altri elementi di “idoneità clinica” alle cure intensive, comprendendo quindi: il tipo e la gravità della malattia, la presenza di comorbidità, la compromissione di altri organi e apparati e la loro reversibilità. Questo comporta di non dover necessariamente seguire un criterio di accesso alle cure intensive di tipo “first come, first served”

eng:

As an extension of the principle of proportionality of care, the allocation in a context of serious shortage (shortage) of health resources must aim to guarantee intensive treatments for patients with greater chances of therapeutic success: it is therefore a matter of privileging the "greatest life expectancy ". The need for intensive care must therefore be integrated with other elements of "clinical suitability" for intensive care, thus including: the type and severity of the disease, the presence of comorbidity, the compromise of other organs and systems and their reversibility. This means not necessarily having to follow a criterion of access to intensive care of the "first come, first served" type

The actual guidelines follows, but you get the hint (and as I’m not translator I’m not even attempting to go through all 15 of them). 

In short: NO, older people in Italy aren’t about to be dumped like they’re nothing and everything will be attempted but yes, it is THAT bad already and as horrific as it is selection for treatment IS being considered and NO, sometimes you cannot “just move them to another ward”.   

Sources: 

The SIAARTI site

The press release on the guidelines, talking about “every doctor may find himself having to make lacerating decisions in a short time from an ethical as well as a clinical point of view: which patients undergo intensive treatments when the resources are not sufficient for all patients who arrive, not all with the same chance of recovery”   

The actual document

An english article (no paywall) I was able to find on the subject

A twitter 3D translating some of the document guidelines (written by the writer of the above article) 

The unroll of the above twitter 3D, easier to read

[emperorsfoot]

Had writer’s block. 

So, instead of furthering the plot, here’s 5000 words of flashbacks to Hordak’s early life among the Horde. 

Enjoy! 

..

Scorpia didn’t know what she would find upon her return to the Fright Zone. She really only went back because the ships in Redwater Bay already had the coordinates and course for Beast Island programed into their navigation. Etherian ships didn’t even have navigation softwear. Scorpia had no idea how to pilot a boat on her own. …Did one ‘pilot’ a boat? Or did they ‘sail’ it? ‘Row’? Hm. It might depend on the type of boat, she supposed.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Scorpia had no idea how to pilot an Etherian boat on her own, and she similarly wasn’t too sure about the prospect of hiring an Etherian boat captain to pilot it for her. It was best to stick with what was familiar with. What she knew. Rescuing Entrapta would be problematic enough without getting unfamiliar craft or stranger boat captains involved.

She was still –technically- a Force Captain. Scorpia walked right back into the Fright Zone.

She was stopped within the sector.

“Halt!” A pair of guards stopped her. “State your business in the Fright Zone.”

Turning around, Scorpia lifted a pincer as if to wave, and offered a friendly smile. “Hey. You might not recognize me if you weren’t in my division, but I’m a Force Captain. I’m just on my way to the Bay to get a ship.”

The guards did not lower their weapons. “There are no more Force Captains.”

Scorpia blinked at the pair, confused. “What? But that can’t be right. I’m a Force Captain. Catra is a Force Captain. Octavia and Grizzlor-“

“Grizzlor deserted, and Octavia’s been captured.” They informed her. “You and Catra have been missing since the Princess’ attack! How do we know you aren’t in league with the Princesses?” A pause. “In fact, aren’t you supposed to be a Princess yourself!?”

“Oh, jee, I mean… technically that’s true. I am a Princess.” Scorpia admitted. “But I’ve never been with the Alliance. And I’m not spying for them right now, or anything. I just need to borrow a ship from Redwater Bay to get to Beast Island.” Scorpia held out her claws in a pleading gesture.

“Keep your hands up!” Both guards barked. “We’re taking you to the Commander.”

“The Commander?” Scorpia blinked as she fell into step following them. “Not Lord Hordak? Who’s the Commander?”

“Silence, prisoner!” One of them snarled. “I’m still not convinced you’re not a spy.”

They lead Scorpia through the Fright Zone. Most of the damage from the Princess’ attack was limited to Central Command and Hordak’s Sanctum. Any damage to other buildings outside of Commander was sustained during those chaotic few hours when the deserters started looting anything that wasn’t bolted down.

The segments of buildings that were damaged looked to already be in the early stages of repair. Scaffolding being erected up their walls, or around their perimeters. Whoever this ‘Commander’ was worked fast. They must be a very practical and capable leader. But if it wasn’t Grizzlor, Octavia, Catra, or herself, who them had appeared out of nowhere to take over the Horde? There weren’t any other Force Captains that Scorpia new of.

Who would have been in a position to seize power?

Scorpia was brought into Horde Command. Not to Hordak’s throne room. The entire Sanctum was still in shambles. They passed the lab on their way through Commander. The blast doors still broken and hanging open. Through the gap, Scorpia saw that there were still piles of rubble strewn through out the chamber. The remnants of the portal machine, fallen scaffolding collapsed monitor screens, the legs of a Horde bot sticking up at vertical angles. A Horde bot with pink and fuchsia trim. Not a Horde bot, Entrapta’s bot! Emily!

Ignoring her guards, Scorpia dashed through the broken doors into the lab. “Emily!”

“Halt!” The guards called after her. “Stop!”

Throwing debris off the bot, not caring what it was or what else she was throwing it on, Scorpia unburied the bot as best she could. Indeed, it was Emily, the Horde bot Entrapta found, reprogramed and repurposed as a companion for herself while she was in residence in the Fright Zone.

Emily gave a subdued little wirring. The bot –she- was still active.

“Hang on, Emily, I’ll get you out!” Scorpia promised.

The bot gave a weak little trill of appreciation.

But the guards seized Scorpia by both her arms. They hadn’t cuffed or bound her before, out of respect that she used to be a Force Captain and came along peacefully. Now, the two of them together forced her pincered hands into a pair of bindercuffs.

“Let me go!” She ordered, as if she still held any kind of authority in this new and unfamiliar Horde. “That’s Emily! I have to get her out! Don’t you know who Emily is? That’s Entrapta’s bot! That’s Emily!”

They did not let her go. They did not help her dig out Emily. Instead, Scorpia was brought to a briefing room.

Projected on the screen, was a map of the Fright Zone. Places where active construction or repairs were going on, were marked in yellow. Places where construction or repairs still needed to begin, were marked in red. There were also columns to one side of the screen detailing their inventory of weapons, ammunition, fuel, food rations, vehicles, clean water, uniforms, blankets, sanitary supplies, cleaning supplies, all the necessary items for people to live, not just serve in a military police state.

The moment those already gathered in the briefing noted the guards had interrupted with a prisoner in tow, they shut off the briefing screen.

Then blinked when they recognized who the prisoner actually was.

“Force Captain Scorpia!” Kyle gasped.

Rogelio was close at his side, looking equally as shocked.

“We thought you were dead!” Lonnie announced.

“Hey, what are you guys doing?” To spite her concern for Emily and anxiety over not being allowed to help the bot out of the destroyed lab, Scorpia couldn’t help but smile at them. They were part of her team. “I thought I was being brought to meet some kind of Commander.”

“They brought you to see me. I’m the Commander.” Lonnie informed her.

Scopia’s eyes went wide, disbelieving. When she left the Fright Zone, Lonnie was just a simple foot soldier. She wasn’t even a squad leader –technically- now here she was all of a sudden claiming to be the Commander in charge of the entire Horde. Scorpia looked to Kyle and Rogelio, thinking one of them might give away the ruse that this had to be.

But they just raised their chins, as if they weren’t afraid of being rude in front of a Force Cpatain anymore. They felt safe. They worked directly under the Commander. Scorpia and Catra weren’t their superperior officers anymore. Scorpia couldn’t punish them for a perceived insult. (Not that Scorpia would, she always felt it was important for subordinates to be able to express opinions. But that was just the kind of Force Captain she was.)

She looked back at Lonnie, genuinely impressed by the other woman’s ingenuity. “Wow!” She said. “That’s just amazing! I always knew you had it in ya, Lonnie! Commander of the Horde. That’s great!”

Lonnie just raised an eyebrow. Coming from literally anyone besides Scorpia, that would have been a completely over-the-top and unnecessary reaction. In short, it would have read as fake. But Force Captain Scorpia had always been energetic, optimistic, cheerful, and, yes, over-the-top. From their first mission together when they were ‘on a boat with Catra’ Lonnie knew that any interaction with Scorpia was going to be energetic and loud.

She waited until the other woman seemed to have calmed down enough for an actual conversation to start. “What I really wanna know is, why’d you come back to the Fright Zone after you’ve been missing this long? Where were you when we needed leadership? What was so much more important that you couldn’t come back until now?”

Scorpia’s expression fell, her happy mood at sharing in the other woman’s success deflating. She was sober, almost subdued, when she answered. “I’m not really back. I’m just passing through. There’s something I need to do, and I need a ship to get to Beast Island to do it.”

Lonnie raised the other eyebrow. “You want me to give you a ship?” She concluded. Then sighed. “Captain, did you not see all the work going on outside when they brought you here? We are trying to rebuild our Zone. Our numbers aren’t what they used to be. Half our forces have deserted, and they took more than half our supplies with them. I have food shortages, fuel shortages, and staffing shortages all over the Horde, and you want me to just up and give you one of my boats? A craft I could, instead, be using to ship in some grain, or rice, or clean water from one of our territories.”

Scorpia cringed. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Heaving another sigh, Lonnie called up the debriefing screen again. This time, instead of a map of the Fight Zone and statistics on supply stockpiles versus speed of expenditure, it was a map of the surrounding area. The Fright Zone, all the way down to the coast. From Redwater Bay, to Seaworthy.

Lonnie pointed to Seaworthy on the map. “You can find a ship and a captain to sail it here.” She informed the other woman. “Your Force Captain badge it gold. Offer it as payment and you might actually get a competent sea captain.”

Scorpia looked crestfallen. “So, you’re not gonna help me?”

“This is me helping.” She informed the other woman. “I’m not going to give away resources that I need to keep my Horde fed while we try and rebuild something resembling infrastructure. I don’t know what you, and Catra, and Hordak were doing this whole time. But whatever it was, you left us in pieces when you all just up and disappeared.”

“What about Emily, then?” Scorpia asked. She promised the bot she’d get her out of the rubble. The moment the AI realized that it was her creator Scorpia was leaving to rescue, Emily would probably want to come along too.

“Who’s Emily?” Lonnie blinked. She didn’t know of any soldier named ‘Emily’.

“Entrapta’s bot.” Scorpia explained. “She’s buried under some junk in the Sanctum. You don’t even have to spare any people to help me dig her out. I can do that on my own. Just let me take her.”

“Fine. Done.” Lonnie nodded. They had no use for a single broken weapons bot.

“Hordak really is gone too?” Scorpia asked, still kinda disbelieving. She always assumed Hordak was some version immortal. Like a vampire. He had the right look to him. All sharp fangs and glowing eyes... like Little Dak, but nowhere near as cute and loveable. (Gosh! How did Entrapta ever catch feelings for that… guy?)

“Nobody’s seen him since the Sanctum blew.” Lonnie informed her. “For all we know, Lord Hordak is dead.”

…

After days of fiddling, Hordak finally managed to get the service panel open.

After trying every tool both he and Catra could find in the crashed First Ones’ ship –every tool that hadn’t already been looted by desert dwellers that is, and prying or twisting from every conceivable angle. After pushing random buttons on the console in case one of them was the panel release. After shouting at it, snarling menacingly, after threatening the panel’s life and the lives of its panel-wife and panel-children. Hordak finally managed to get the service panel open.

Completely by accident.

He was laying on his back on the floor, trying to get a better angle to try prying with a tool they’d already tried earlier with no success. The First Ones crystal on the collar of his exo-suit inched close to the panel. The crystal glowed a neon-pink for half a second, and a previously unseen crystal –no larger than a finger nail- glowed in response. There was a soft ‘click’ sound, and the panel fell open.

Actually, it fell on Hordak’s face.

The curses he uttered were so profane, they would have made even the malevolent Host blush.

But when his heart rate jumped from being smacked in the face, and his blood pressure increased from his rage and frustration, it was just a little too fast for his implants or the exo-suit to compensate for and the prosthetics suffered a little ‘tizzy’. The shoulders visibly sparking as the exo-suit locked up. Preventing him from being able to move.

Hordak laid on the floor, unable to get up for several moments until his heartrate lowered and the exo-suit unlocked.

The first thing he did after he had motion in his arms again was touch the First Ones crystal on his collar. A gem placed there by Entrapta.

It was the crystal that opened the panel finally, not anything he did. First Ones tech recognizing First Ones tech. First Ones tech he would not even be wearing were it not for Entrapta. In a way, Entrapta had opened the panel for him. She was still helping him, even from beyond her absence.

And then the panel hit him in the face and his exo-suit locked up, because she was also still betraying him from wherever on this Host forsaken mudball she was.

Hordak let out a growl of frustration and lowered his hand.

Somehow, she managed to trick him into defeating himself.

Entrapta didn’t even have to do anything. Not really. She let her allies in. She wasn’t even present when She-Ra destroyed his portal and one way home. Entrapta did not wield the sword of his destruction. All she did was open a metaphorical door and let situations unfold. She let him destroy himself. She didn’t even have to do anything at all!

‘If you do things right, Zero-Zero-Three, you won’t have to do anything at all.’

Somehow, Entrapta managed to master one of Hode’s more difficult lessons without having ever met the man at all.

Hordak laid next to the open panel under the console. His armor was no longer locked up, he could push himself off the floor at any time. But, for some reason, he just didn’t seem to have the will to in that exact moment. He laid there, staring up at the dim ceiling, and recalled lessons he never took the time to fully learn on his climb from Horde Soldier to Imperial cabinet.

…

Zero-Zero-Three stood nervously at parade rest. He was all the more aware of how tight the high collar of his uniform was. He wanted to reach up a talon to unclasp one of the clasps and allow himself some breathing room, but he refrained. He was a Force Captain under the direct command of a cabinet Lord. One did not allow themselves to look disheveled within the presence of a cabinet Lord.

The climate control system within Lord Hode’s chamber clicked on, blowing cool air through the air conditioner vents. It ruffled the tails of Zero-Zero-Three’s robe, allowing a refreshing breeze to caress the exposed skin of his thighs. It offered a little relief and Zero-Zero-Three, but not nearly enough to relax the tension in his spine.

“You seem nervous, Zero-Zero-Three.” Observed Lord Hode, looking over the frame of the datapad he was reading. A datapad that was currently projecting the conclusions of data that Zero-Zero-Three had spent months compiling.

Perched on the back of Hode’s chair, the Lord’s loyal deamon opened its mouth an echoed the accusation at him. ‘Nervous, nervous, nervous.’

Zero-Zero-Three opened his mouth to reply, but only a croaking sound came out. One did not admit weakness to a cabinet Lord, and nervous was considered a weakness. Instead, he said, “The information on that pad is very… provocative, my Lord.”

“Provocative.” Hode snorted. “It’s downright damning, Zero-Zero-Three.” A pause in which he just grinned a malicious grin. “It’s wonderful.”

The younger clone swallowed. Was his uniform collar always this tight? “My Lord, with that information, I am basically accusing a cabinet Lord of treason.”

‘Lord of treason.’ Hode’s deamon repeated.

Did a little of his fear show through? Zero-Zero-Three was afraid some of his fear showed through. One did not accuse a cabinet Lord of anything. Not if they wanted to remain happy, healthy, and alive.

Hode fixed him with a critical stare. The red glow of his eyes tracing Zero-Zero-Three’s form. Studying him from the disciplined and controlled neutral expression on his face, to the slight droop of his ears that betrayed his nerves. The perfectly starched collar of his uniform, the Force Captain badge pinned to his breast, the perfectly pressed hem of his robe, the pale skin of his exposed thighs, and his thigh-high perfectly polished boots.

Zero-Zero-Three was a model soldier.

Hode leaned back in his seat, tossing the datapad down on his desk. Unlike the other cabinet Lords, Hode did not dictate to his subordinates from a throne. He dispatched his staff from a work desk. He did not believe in posturing or pageantries of power. Hode believed in getting things done.

He steepled his talons, allowing Zero-Zero-Three to stew in his own nerves for a moment longer. “Did you falsify this information, Zero-Zeor-Three?”

“No, my Lord!” The mere question launched him into a panic. Zero-Zero-Three laid his palms flat on the desk, leaning forward, almost pleading with his superior. “I just followed the data. That’s the conclusion it led me to! Lord Horrin has been secretly syphoning funds out of the Imperial Treasury and into the pockets of rebel factions all over the Empire.”

Hode smiled again. “Then why are you so uneasy, Zero-Zero-Three?”

The younger clone straightened. He adjusted the collar of his uniform, even though it didn’t need to be straightened. “He’s a cabinet Lord.”

“He’s a traitor to the Empire.” Hode corrected. “And he’s not even a smart one. You did well to bring this to my attention. You don’t have to do anything more, Zero-Zero-Three. I’ll take care of the rest. Horrin doesn’t know this yet, but by his own actions, he’ll destroyed himself.”

‘Destroy himself!’ The deamon chanted in Hode’s voice. ‘Destroy himself, destroy himself.’

…

Hordak didn’t hear anything about Lord Horrin’s betrayal for several standard Imperial months.

Not until Horde Prime convened the court –the whole court. Not just the cabinet Lords, but all their Force Captains, Wing Captains, sub-Commanders, and Lieutenants. Any Horde clone in the Empire who held any version of what could be called ‘authority’ was commanded to attend.

…

Zero-Zero-Three stood in an alcove behind Lord Hode.

Large court gatherings were rarely held, and so Zero-Zero-Three rarely got to see the Grand Throne Room.

A wide expanse of obsidian floor. Black glass kilned in the fires of volcanos. It reflected the starlights and planetary glows streaming in from the windows. Large, tall cathedral-stye windows. The walls of the chamber were more transparasteel than they were hull plating. It gave one the illusion of not being inside a ship at all, but standing out in the void of infinity.

On the opposite end from where Zero-Zero-Three stood with the court, a narrow column of steps rose up out of the obsidian floor. As black as night, but unlike the volcanic glass, these did not reflect the starlight. All light seemed to die on their surface. A lightless, lightless, matte black, so dark one might call it ebony. The narrow stairs lead up to a throne. Utilitarian and dull compared to the rest of the splendor around it. The figure that sat upon it wreathed in shadow. The only part of their form that was visible through the veil of dark were the greaves of their armor, and just the tail corner of their cape.

Zero-Zero-Three stared at that small triangle of green fabric, as if studying the cape were the same as studying the man. He’d never actually seen Horde Prime before. The Emperor of the Known Universe. His genetic template.

Everyone called him ‘Older Brother’. But few had ever actually even seen him up close.

Seeing him now, it still was not up close.

“Lord Horrin.” Prime’s voice rang out over the wide chamber. Sounding louder than Zero-Zero-Three felt it should. And echoing oddly, though the space should have been too large for sound echoes to occur. The acoustics did not seem to fit the room.

Horrin stepped forward, out of line from the rest of the cabinet Lords. A self-satisfied smirk on his face. He probably thought he was about to receive honors and rewards from the Emperor. It was true that Horrid had just returned from a successful destruction of a rebel base. However, while the base was destroyed, the rebel faction’s leadership managed to get away. Former-King Randor, his brother Keldor, and Randor’s Man-at-Arms, Duncan. All three of the rebellion’s leaders escaping with a level of incompetence that bordered on treason-by-proxy.

Horrin went to one knee, humbling himself in front of Prime. Still smiling like a loyal Vulpimancer expecting a biscuit.

“You stand accused of embezzling, spying, and consorting with the enemies of the Empire.” Prime announced, the list of crimes continuing to echo through the chamber long after the Emperor stopped talking. “How do you answer to these charges?”

Mouth hanging slightly open, Horrin just stared up at the shadowy throne. No words came from his mouth. Only a hollow croaking sound.

A murmur rustled through the gathered court. Force Captains, Wings Captains, and sub-Commanders all whispering to one another. Asking if the accusations could be true. What was the evidence of these crimes? Horrin was a cabinet Lord. Surly he was innocent and this was just baseless slander! What reason would a cabinet Lord have to betray his brothers, his Empire, and Horde Prime whom was Brother to all.

But Horrin didn’t offer any words to his defense. He didn’t deny the charges. Neither did he offer any context for them. Or even try to shift the blame to a lower ranking member of his staff.

Instead, Horrin turned around, his glowing eyes fixing on Hode.

It was rumored that Lord Hode and Lord Horrin were bitter rivals. But surely that couldn’t be true. The cabinet was a single unified force, with a single unifying purpose: to serve the Emperor and carry out his will. Surly there could be no rivalries within such a close-knit fraternity.

Horrin’s crimson eyes blazed with hate. “I don’t know how, but I know you did this, you Old Ghoul!”

That was the only warning anyone got before Horrin was throwing his cape open and pulling out his weapons.

Horrin preferred weapon of choice was a short curved sickle on a weighted chain. He jumped in the air, lashing out with the blade, using the chain to extend his reach. Meaning to kill Hode. Right there in front of the court. Right there in front of Horde Prime.

Zero-Zero-Three didn’t think. He just reacted. Someone had threatened his Lord. Nobody threatened his Lord!

Before he was even aware that he was moving, Zero-Zero-Three found himself between the two Lords. His own weapon of choice, a force-pike, in his hands. He blocked Horrin’s initial attack, knocking the sickle out of the way and coiling the chain around the shaft of his pike. He meant to yank on the chain to try and pull the weapon out of his opponent’s hands, but froze, as the realization of what he’d just done sank in.

Everyone in the chamber was staring at him. Zero-Zero-Three could even feel Prime’s eyes on him. Glowing a low crimson smolder in the darkness he was shrouded in. His ears drooped.

Horrin smirked a humorless smile, sharp red teeth seeming somehow sharper than the average clone’s in that moment. “Are you so feeble you need your underlings to fight your battle for you? You’re old and weak, Hode. It’s you who should be on trial here, not me!”

Zero-Zero-Three felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. That was the only warning he got before he was pulled off his feet and thrown back into the crowd. He stumbled and fell on another Force Captain, one from Horrin’s own division.

Zero-Zero-Three didn’t know his batch number, but he recognized the variation on the uniform –a short jacket instead of a cape, and long pants instead of robes. Force Captains were allowed some liberties with their uniforms. They could augment the base design for personal preference or practicality of fighting style. (It was one of the reasons why Zero-Zero-Three no longer included pants on his. He preferred the freedom of movement mostly bare legs offered him.) This one was Force Captain Four-Zero-Eight.

“Keep being dumb like that and you won’t last long.” Four-Zero-Eight informed him.

Zero-Zero-Three did not need to be told. He realized only after it happened that he just called his Lord weak by presuming to defend him. Cabinet Lords did not need their subordinates to protect them. He lowered his head in shame. Lord Hode might be older than average for a Horde clone, but that just meant he was more experienced. Seasoned. Formidable.

“Now get your head out of your cloaca and you might learn something.” Four-Zero-Eight informed him.

Raising his eyes again, Zero-Zero-Three watched the two Lords circle each other.

Horrin had his cape thrown back. Over his shoulders and out of his way. He was spinning the weighted end of the chain, building up its momentum so that it could hit with deadlier force.

Hode, on the hand, kept his cape draped over him. He wore it longer than the other cabinet Lords, all the way down to the floor, and with a hood pulled over his head. When he moved, it gave the illusion that he was not so much taking steps as he was gliding across the black glass floor. A living shadow moving over darkness.

It made it hard to see his movements or predict his attacks.

Horrin lashed out with the weighted end of his sickle, the heavy projectile sailing through the air with enough force to break bone.

But it hit nothing but empty air. The chain pulling taught and the weight slamming into the glass floor hard enough to crack the obsidian shine.

Hode had jumped –jumped!- several meters in the air to dodge the attack. One arm lanced out to throw something at Horrin’s feet. A small and innocuous looking marble. It burst on impact with the dark floor, releasing a cloud of noxious smoke into Horrin’s face.

The other clone coughed, covering his nose and mouth with on hand. Blinking his nictitatingeyelid to try and clear the irritation from his eyes. He staged too close to the crowd of spectators and Four-Zero-Eight kicked him back into the center of the room. His own Lord!

When Hode came down from his jump, he landed behind Horrin, a tiny blade in his hand. No larger than his own middle digit. But sharp, and multi-pointed like the wings on their banners. Hode carried many of them to use as throwing weapons. But he only needed one for this, and he wasn’t going to throw it.

Hode grabbed Horrin by his tuft of blue hair, pulling his head back, and dragged the blade across his throat.

The arterial spray made it all the way to the first row of court spectators watching the display. Dark purple blood spattering other the floor, their feet, and their uniforms. Zero-Zero-Three raised an arm to block the words of it. Blood sure could get some distance when there was a strong heart pumping it.

Next to him, Four-Zero-Eight reached a hand up to wipe at his face, unconcerned.

Horrin fell to the floor, bleeding out. He was dead in moments.

Hode stood over him. Hooded and cloaked. All anyone could see of his face were his scarlet eyes glowing from under the shadow of his hood. Like a wraith from Olde Revena mythology. Darkness given physical form.

From up on his throne, Prime clapped his hands once. A deafening ‘smack’ of a sound.

It made Zero-Zero-Three jump. He hadn’t realized just how quiet it had gotten in the Grand Throne Room.

Hode immediately lowered his hood, displaying his face. He was older than most Horde clones. Most clones did not live more than six to eight years outside the tanks. Battle field deaths mostly. It was said that if they survived eight years of service on the front lines, they were Force Captain material. If they made it to twelve years, they were destined for a seat on the cabinet and a name. Lorde Hode was twenty-three years out of the tank. Practically ancient!

He dropped to one knee. Humbling himself before the Emperor. Cape splayed over the floor like a dark halo around him. Next to him, Horrin’s body continued to leak all over the floor.

“You have killed one of your fellow cabinet members.” Prime informed him.

Hode did not look up. He kept his head down. Even so, one could hear the mocking contempt in his voice. “A misunderstanding. I was under the impression he was a traitor to you… my Brother.”

There was the heartbeat of a pause, and Zero-Zero-Three feared Prime might order his Lord’s execution as well. After all, one did not threaten cabinet Lords if they wanted to remain among the living.

Then a short bark of a laugh issued from the throne. “Bah. He was weak. Killed by an old man. If you didn’t do it, I would have.”

Zero-Zero-Three let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“Still,” Prime was still talking, “I’m now short a member of my cabinet.”

This statement was followed by another tense silence. Was Prime going to punish Hode after all?

Then, “Force Captain Four-Zero-Eight, you served your Lord well and preformed your duties admirably.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Four-Zero-Eight replied, having to raise his voice for the sound to carry across the wide space. Funny how that unnatural echo only seemed to work if one was speaking from the throne. He stepped out from the crowd, stopping just two steps behind where Hode still knelt, and took a knee of his own.

“Will you serve me as diligently and loyally?” Prime pressed.

Still on his knees, not raising his eyes, Four-Zero-Eight placed a fist to his heart. “Even more, Your Grace.”

“Then I elevate you to the vacant position in my cabinet.” Prime announced. “By what name would you like to be called?”

Zero-Zero-Three thought that was absurd. No clone could just think of a name that would be their identity for the rest of their lives so quickly. On the spur of the moment. Not when all their lives their only identity had been a number.

“Red Hord.” Four-Zero-Eight answered without pause. Without time for thought.

From the throne, Prime’s glowing eyes nodded. “Then I name you Red Hord, Lord of the Second Division.”

The example made, the display over with, the court was dismissed.

With Lord Hode exiting first as he held the highest seniority of all the cabinet Lords. Then Lord Hordren falling into step behind him. Lord Hordwing third in line. Finally, the newly named and elevated Lord Red Hord got up off the floor and exited, taking up the tail position of the Lords’ procession out of the chamber.

Once the Lords were gone, all the rest of the Force Captains, Wing Captains, and sub-Commanders moved to follow. There was far less order. They were all of equal rank and all though their divisions were better than all the others.

Zero-Zero-Three caught up to his Lord in the corridor outside.

“I wasn’t expecting you to become part of the show, Zero-Zero-Three.” Hode informed him.

Zero-Zero-Three instantly demurred. “Forgive me, My Lord, I was not thinking. I was only-“ a pause as he tried to think of the correct words to describe that split second moment when all thought left his head and his body acted of its own accord “-acting on instinct.”

He risked a glance up at his Lord.

Hode was staring at him oddly. “How strange. A Horde clone with instincts for protection.” He mused aloud. Then immediately dropped the subject. “In any event did you enjoy the show?”

“Show?” Echoed the younger clone.

“That’s all it was.” Hode informed him. “A show. A show of power. A show of intimidation. A show of loyalty. Take your pick. But all still just a show. There was never going to be any trial here. Horrin already defeated himself the moment he became careless enough for a Force Captain who wasn’t even part of his division to learn of his treason.”

“Did you take my data directly to Prime, then?” Asked Zero-Zero-Three, genuinely wanting to know. What did his Lord do with the datapad be brought to him so many months ago?

“Our Older Brother, in his wisdom, would not even entertain such direct accusations. He knows perfectly well that his cabinet is always vying for his personal favor. He does not take kindly to those who fling accusations at their equals.” Hode informed him. Then smiled a cunning smile. “But if he were to stumble across something incriminating on his own… now that is a different animal entirely. Measure your steps carefully, and know your allies as well as you know your enemies. If you do things right, Zero-Zero-Three, you won’t have to do anything at all.”

…

Entrapta had done things right. If Catra hadn’t informed him of her betrayal, he wouldn’t have thought she did anything at all.

Hordak was reluctant to admit it, but Entrapta made a better Horde soldier than he did.

…

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[ggdbonlineshop-blog]

Golden Goose Superstar Uomo Outlet Business copy Writer charm Theappropriato sull'altra mano!

Scoprire le scommesse di abilità in opposizione ad un particolare risultato, ad esempio piuttosto se confrontate con le scommesse per lavorare con esso. Questo è ciò che è raggiungibile con gli scambi di scommesse, significa che gli acquirenti stanno aumentando davvero le possibilità legate alla vittoria. Per quanto riguarda l'esempio, sedersi in una squadra di golf significa che una persona sarà una coppia che certamente non vincerebbe o avrebbe portato. In parole simili, qualsiasi altra cosa rispetto a un woo. Hai subito una sola, molto poche possibilità in più di fare un buon ritorno. Il tuo rischio, tuttavia, è che potresti perdere denaro con un aumento di denaro, determinato dalle probabilità, il che significa che la stesura non è per gioco con cui giocare. Mi sembra di non parlare qui in qualcuno con un numero limitato di normali dubbi su se stessi, ma anche in questo caso 1) questo potrebbe essere un modo semi-permanente, molto laborioso per spostare la mentalità. Ti preoccupi così tanto di questi presunti negativi che lui o lei non dorme volte. Il novanta per cento delle femmine mangerà per sorvegliare il loro denaro disponibile in alcuni aspetti della vita personale (la media invecchiando è di 56 anni - io stavo davvero invecchiando 45). Ti piacerebbe avere una comprensione di Moolah quando sei stato addolorato e meno preparato alla vendita con esso anche o quando si sceglie di? Impostare il risveglio dell'attività commerciale opposta o peggio, facendo bundle nel nome di una persona individuale - sì, un eccellente società tira i dadi quando è disponibile per questo tipo di argomento, ma piuttosto se ti piace assistervi scommettere, viaggiare a Las Vegas. Non rischi affatto di perdere spesso ogni singola cosa perché sei troppo orgoglioso forse pigro, che farà un nuovo piccolo sguardo (non è una scienza missilistica) per capire quale entità collaborativa funziona in modo eccellente per gli acquirenti e i migliori obiettivi di investimento e obiettivi. Non c'è sicuramente una 'bacchetta magica' e solo che probabilmente riuscirai ad avere successo anche durante la notte. Mi trascorri tutti abbastanza a lungo quando potrei essere un 'principiante' a cominciare e sono saltato 'preso' parecchie volte nella mia ricerca di trovare alcune sfuggenti scarpe ggdb. Quindi non fare in alcun modo i suoi stessi difetti! Cerca di prestare attenzione localmente a un tavolo da ping pong. Non accedere alla TV, non zone quando gli acquirenti foldano preflop (specialmente finché Golden Goose Superstar Donna Outlet iocano dal vivo), e non dovrebbero essere multitable. Questo è un must quando la maggior parte delle persone sta imparando il gioco per la prima volta, la realtà se non si sta prestando molta attenzione a quello che sta succedendo, allora nessuno probabilmente pensa per metà alle cose che sicuramente dovrebbero essere. Di sicuro un grave errore, inoltre, uno è veramente rimediato. Tutti quelli che si occupano di farmaci per la gotta, che i medici prescritti hanno a disposizione per te, devono prima essere costretti a seguire gli operatori sanitari dopo gli operatori di vendita. Di eleganza questi farmaci sono molti 'testati' in aggiunta a quelli approvati quando la FDA, quando sarà in grado di essere in grado di vendere a ciascuno dei nostri mercati. Che sia incontestabile che i farmaci associati possano in qualche modo liberarsi dal dolore e rimuovere temporaneamente un particolare dolore a causa dei piedi infiammati. Eppure sfortunatamente un articolo è sicuramente lo stesso pellet high-tech in grado di indicare che la radice ha a che fare con il tuo attacco di un problema di gotta perché in realtà non sono le cose su cui sono state inventate. Questi farmaci dannosi sono scritti per problemi di manutenzione oltre alla gestione dei sintomi per. Golden Goose Scarpe Outlet fortunatamente in merito a questa economia, le persone stanno forse cercando buoni affari mentre contrari che possono pagare un aumento per soluzione. Può essere particolarmente qualitativo svolgere il compito in ogni settore che gli esperti sostengono è noto per la progettazione di prodotti di alta qualità eccellente. Conosciuto il prezzo di vendita normalmente più elevato Golden Goose Superstar Uomo Outlet egato ai prodotti 4Life Studying, il gioco è pulito perché, come si vede, la qualità si mantiene meglio rispetto a quella relativa ai prodotti individuati nei negozi di alimenti naturali.