#call your reps for issues you care about&they may surprise you by doing the right thing(very rarely happens in my case but sometimes it does

[a-kinda-nerdy-girl]

I didn't vote for the president elect (tr*mp) in the slightest but i sure as HELL did not vote for Elon musk.

[venii-vidii-vicii]

Good morning to these fuckers who live in my head rent free

Woke up feeling like I want to gush about them which I always do on twitter. I think I tortured my twitter enough so I'm sorry, Tumblr. It's your turn.

First of all, look at them. They're dumb fuckin himbos. Ugh my heart 😔

Second, I think a lot of people forget that you play as a cop, representing a force that has left Martinaise to die. Was I ever mad they were assholes to me? No because fuck cops. They deserve it. Yes, including Harry and Kim.

Third... They're just losers, okay? They're all a bunch of stupid losers trying to make a name for themselves. Titus obv is an overachiever not only because it makes him look cool but probably because that's how he measures his self worth

Imposter syndrome, am I right, fellas?

He's gotta be like that to lead them, his words not mine.

And all this fragile ego, huh? Man, toxic masculinity sure is a bitch.

Being gay? Nah bro. Too manly for that, said Glen, as if dominating another dude isn't the ultimate fucking power move. But God had to nerf Glen somehow. I mean, who wants a freaking chaotic gay feral gremlin walking around stealing men? (Me. I do. Glen, please call me)

But you know who's alright with LGBTQs? Also the Hardie Boys. Yes, folks! If the Hardies are the law in Martinaise and Titus Hardie himself said gay is okay then bitch you better believe it!

You guys want a bunch of burly dudes to punch this homophobe for you? Say no more. Call the Hardie Boys today to bully your homophobic bully!

There are 7 colors in a rainbow and you got 7 Hardie Boys. That's all I'm saying 😏😌 🌈

Also when their head isn't in their ass and they're actually sober, they care about their home more than anyone else. They didn't just stand by and let their home die slowly. They did something about it! No cops? No problem. The Hardie boys are for the people and by the people.

And they got the power of TOGETHERNESS! Friendship is magic! You talk shit about one of them? Get rekt by the other 6. I love my therapy support group where we don't actually talk about our problems because we're too macho manly for problems, but everyone is super supportive 💜💜

Has it already been (almost) 2 years of me SIMPING for them? Woah. Where's my Hardie badge? (I mean I have a Hardie boys jacket but a badge would be cool)

Sometimes my cat loves to sleep on it

And I'm hoping one day I can afford to have all their displates but for now I only have a shrine dedicated to Glen and Titus, may their bromance live on

Wait....

What was I talking about?

Oh yeah! The boys.

I love them 💜 they're great and they represent a lot of issues I would have loved to see be talked about more often in media. But THATS WHY IM HERE! Yours truly. Yep. Talking about a bunch of himbos doing their best.

Are they assholes? For sure, man.

Are they misogynistic? Uh... Yeah.

But toxic masculinity be like that. This is how we were raised to be because our self worth is measured by how many chicks we sleep with and how successful we are and then society normalized this even more by saying it's just "boys being boys"

You think IDLES would be out here with songs like Samaritans if we didn't have a problem with toxic masculinity? (Great song btw. One of my favorite songs for Glen)

Media made being gay seem like it's all about being feminine men who wanna dress in drag and put make up on, of COURSE Glen would be like "I'm not gay cuz I'm not girly. Ew wtf?" instead of media normalizing that gays are, surprise, just regular people.

WE NEED GAY ATHLETE REP, GLEN. YOU'RE SO VALID.

To be honest, sports are pretty gay anyway. Rugby?? Really, Glen? A game where you smash bodies with other burly dudes? And fight over balls? Idk man sounds pretty gay.

TLDR; yeah those guys are far from perfect but I fell in love with them for their imperfections. It's what made me relate to them. They're just trying to live their best life, helping people... But who helps them with their demons? 😔

They need therapy like every other characters in this damn game. I will simp for them till the day I die!

Enough of my ramblings though. Sorry, Tumblr. Had to do it to you. 😌

[energyanon]

Surprise reading as I can’t seem to shake off the curiosity. Ok, I’m gonna set them up in relation to this drama. Personally, I don’t believe it. NV would have to have various personality disorders in order for this to be true, among 5000 other reasons why that is not normal, sane human behaviour. But the Instagram.. so many things don’t match up. However, both me and another anon felt fuzzy headed when we were representing her.. maybe it’s not just her overthinking, maybe it’s something more relating to some kind of disorder, but that’s not my place to say. Let’s check it out. Once again I’m gonna type as I go.

I’ve decided for three set ups here: 1. NV, 2. The group chat as a whole as cited on said Instagram, and 3. Henry.

Set up 2. (The GC) first. I picked up NV and got a headache.

First flag: Natalie wanted to be on top of the GC… that’s weird..

Henry is at a distance but he is staring at them both. Starting to feel like I may have been wrong in my judgment here ha.. 😬 I’m really hoping it’s not true cause otherwise that’s fucking sad and NV has genuine issues. But, I’m ok with being wrong.

Alright, let’s start as NV (cause GC, I feel I already know their feelings regardless of if it’s true or not) FYI, I have moved NV to being close but not on top, as one energy on top of - group of energies would be much too hard to decipher.

NV:

Immediate dizziness. I feel very hot and my air con is currently blasting down upon me so it’s not me. The group chat feels very little to NV. like tiny, as in I could step on them. (1. This can mean they’re not even being seen, she barely cares about them, or 2. Can feel more powerful than) as we know in the screenshots the latter was supposedly the case, so I’m not going to cross that out just yet, but it feels more like I’m just not even seeing them. they’re dirt under my feet. They don’t really have her attention and she’s not super bothered by them, but once I brought her attention to it She does want to stamp it out, it’s a complete nuisance. She wants to cover them up. I gave them a little tap, which ended turning into many taps which turned into actually wanting to destroy their rep all together. so she’s angry about it. (At this point I don’t know if she’s angry about This situation being a lie, as in she’s sick of these people doing this to her, or if she’s genuinely angry at the group for exposing her) the tiny dirt now feels a bit bigger but more like a basketball sized nuisance. She still feels bigger than them, it’s just that this is so ANNOYING. Still wants to rip them up into little pieces, she’s annoyed, she’s moving me around a whole bunch, she’s angry, she’s frustrated, she’s tying her hair up, she’s not having it. like it’s fucking annoying. this is all so ANNOYING. She’s stressed, she’s annoyed, she wants this over and done with.

No more energy shifts. Incoming questions.

Q: do you know them?

No I don’t fucking know them

Ok do you think that was a friend who exposed you?

I don’t know I can’t think I- (just a bunch of profanities) [note: it’s like she’s keyboard smashing in my brain right now it’s REALLY annoyed]

Jaw clenched, I’m swaying from side to side my hands are on my hips, hair away from my face I want to move somewhere else but I need to deal with THIS FUCKING THING FIRST ISHDJFKSJXJDSNX.

god it is SO ANNOYING like if you guys were all in front of me right now you’d be heading me yelling and screaming and So irritated I’m so I’m SO Annoyed. I can’t even think of any other questions to ask cause I’m too busy getting keyboard smashed atm.

I’m gonna move to the group to just see if the intentions there are legit. I need a break from NV.

Ok the group:

the group have some anxiety, stomach dropped. They’re not angry they’re just looking at NV. None of them can be sure if It was NV - I think some of them doubt but it was a “get it out just in case” situation. At least one of them feel bad. Nervous jitters from my right leg. You know how you fidget when you’re waiting to get in trouble?

Q: do you believe it was NV?

There are many of them so I’ll just say it as it came up. No (1) I don’t know (majority) one of them is a yeah, feels like the leader of the group but even then the yeah isn’t a solid resounding yeah. But it’s also not like a “yeaahhh?” It’s like I’m just gonna make a decision and it’s yeah.

Q: are you mad that nv is with Henry

I’m not mad (1)

We’re not mad, we just think he could do better. (Majority)

Q: why did you do this

To expose her

Q: why to expose her if you didn’t truly believe it was her

There is a very weak “it was the right thing to do” like.. when I say weak it feels like they don’t even believe that, but they’ve convinced themselves it is..?

Q: at any point did you lie or fabricate the screenshots?

Resounding no, but one solid yes from someone.

Q: Yes?

One of them.

Q: which one

(I was shown one of them, it was one of the purple and black ones, one where there isn’t much purple - I’ll have to check it after)

Ok, my leg isn’t going crazy anymore - there is just an expectant waiting. They’re looking at NV, she’s taller than them but not much taller (not like they’re a basketball being looked down upon, just normal human heights) the feeling is just waiting. Waiting to see if there is a response. That’s it, that’s all I’ve been given I can’t even conjure Up another question. (Sometimes when the energy is done sharing its just done, I can’t force it past that and I’m not in my right to)

Checking Henry:

Henry is tired, he’s disillusioned, he’s just staring into space. The other two are in front of him (facing one another) but he doesn’t see them. Genuinely no thoughts from him it’s complete disassociation. But I did ask if he knew about this situation, he doesn’t seem to know yet.

And yet he’s still disassociating.. the thought “I don’t know what to do” came up, but it was so slow and fractured it was like… you know that video of that kid who’s trying to say have you ever had a dream that you could do anything but he muddles it up for 20 seconds before getting to it? It’s like that (I’ll link it when I’m done)

“I don’t kn- I just I - what do I ev- wh-“ and it keeps going but imagine it taking FOREVER for him to say it.

He’s stuck in the disassociation. Weird choice, but I need to do it. I’m gonna slap him. (Which yes, means slapping myself)

Ok, that didn’t make much difference, he’s still super tired, he still didn’t see the other two but I tried to bring his attention to NV and he was already turning around to leave “I don’t care, I don’t care I’m too tired” and then he turned back and said to NV to clarify “I do care, but I don’t, I’m tired” and I took him out cause he was walking out of there anyway.

Back to NV one last time, and then I’m doing other stuff with my day and then I’ll do CE tonight.

NV

It’s always dizziness with this chick, I swear. Everytime im with her I’m dizzy, I’m losing blood pressure. She’s calmed down at least but fuck I’m dizzy more dizzy than I usually am (can be her, could also be me continuously going into different energies, I don’t tend to feel like this though but don’t rule it out)

Dizzy, Im not tired, but fatigued like I don’t need to sleep, I need to just lay down. I see the GC but they can fuck off I don’t care. She wants to kick them out of the way. As soon as she does she wants to leap out at them and tear them to shreds. She goes from 1- 100 real quick. I don’t want her to destroy my representative for the group, cause I don’t want anything to accidentally manifest in real time for the actual group, so im going to create a little thing that she can destroy instead - just in case there are any energetic consequences of her destroying the representation of the GC. Found a little piece of paper I called it placebo GC and we’re tearing it up.

Ok so, I got her to tear up Placebo GC. She got raveonous with it. I am now coming to believe that NV has some major anger issues. To be fair, im feeling how annoyed she is and I get it honestly it’s the only way to get out this level of emotion. It’s not healthy, therapy is needed for sure, but I’m not gonna sit here like this and say that she’s overreacting cause when you’re feeling like she is, there’s no where else for this to go

She ripped them up, crushed them, tore at them with her teeth, crushed them into a little ball again and chucked them away and then we just screamed “FUCK!” For literally about 3 minutes and she was LIVID. I’ve sat her down now while I write this, she’s still annoyed, she’s not livid.

Interesting to note though, all throughout the screaming there was never a single thought that came up that was like “why can’t they just let US live, why can’t we just BE together” she really doesn’t seem to care about the affect it has on her and Henry’s relationship, she’s just annoyed people are talking shit. Like she just doesn’t care that people won’t accept them.

Oh! I haven’t checked on her vs. HC so lemme do that. I wanna see if she checks up on him too, cause from a normal relationship perspective, this would affect him too. But let’s see.

Yup, ok, nothing from her end, if anything she’s giving him the silent treatment. Like she’s looking at him in the way you do when your partner has said something stupid and you’re too angry to answer. But she doesn’t care that he’s there. I went to him also to see if he would comfort her and he was just a brick wall, kind of more like “here I am I’m showing up but idc. I really idc. Sorry that you’re going through it I guess.” Both of them had the ~aura~ (I don’t know how to explain it on text) of “this did not go as planned” however, they didn’t SAY that, just as an FYI, it was just a bit of a shared feeling translated into words.

That’s it. I’m ending it there. I’ve got life admin to do, be back later for a CE reading as promised. :)

[detroitbydark]

Every Dog Has His Day

Chapter 3

Characters: Hound/OC

Summary: Good boys, fuck boys, and the things between

Warnings: Aggression toward women.

A/N: does anyone feel like I should put Mando’a translations in at the end? Would it be helpful?

——-

“Good morning GAR. It’s 0400. What does “o” stand for? Well I can think of a few things but let’s go with Oh maker, I’m ready to hit the rack. Any boys in white care to join me?”

Hound would. In a heartbeat. In a Coruscant minute.

Hound is in the gym early. Really early. He’s never needed much sleep to function at his peak but 0400 is stupid o’clock even for him. He passes the time until the mess opens lifting while Grizzer snores near his armor across the room. Right now the massiff is using his rolled up kama as a pillow and Hound wonders idly how hard it’s going to be to clean the drool off. He’s alone with his thoughts and the radio.

He falls into the steady rhythm of sets and reps. He wasn’t a small vod by any means. There’s been a joke in his batch that the settings had malfunctioned on his pod. He was only a half an inch taller, but he was thicker than his batchmates, not commando big but enough to be noticeable in a line up. Lifting weights kept his bulk from atrophying. He didn’t mind the small layer of fluff over his muscles but he wanted them strong and ready for whatever the Grand Army called him to do.

The radio plays quietly over the weight room’s audio channel. Nuna’s smokey voice is a highlight too late to save a very bad week. Two bombings and a half dozen threats (most, copy cats) had kept the Guard on edge and high alert. He and Grizzer had worked them all, tracking and searching wreckage for survivors. Hound glances at his partner. One too many dead bodies had left the massiff feeling dejected and down. Not even his favorite tug toy or a big meaty bantha knuckle has been able to cheer him up. Hound isn’t feeling much better.

He’s not sure what was causing the surge but he knows he’d give just about anything for it to be over with. On top of that (and a far better distraction than the chaos and death of terrorist attacks), there was still the matter of Nuna herself that had him spun out of sorts. They’d had fun at the Fete, even if it had only been a short time. She hadn’t been faking that and he certainly hadn’t. Maybe he’d come on too strong with the call but, honestly, he’d thought it was cute. Maybe he’d embarrassed her?

He wasn’t ready to give up just yet. It was how he’d gotten his name. Tenacious like a hound. The trainers on Kamino had joked that once he was on a trail he wasn’t giving up ‘til he completed his prime objective.

His prime objective now was getting Nuna Skii’s commlink. And a date.

It didn’t matter that Rule had teased him after his on-air brush-off or that Ryk had given him a look that said he didn’t believe he'd had lunch with anybody let alone Nuna Skii. Hound knew though, and he knew that she’d had fun. If she hadn't, why had she smiled so brightly when he’d asked her questions? Why had she braced her hand on his arm and dissolved into laughter when he said something that was, admittedly, not as funny as it sounded in his head?

The barbell comes to rest on the rack with a clatter. Grizzer looks up from his nap, his great tongue licking lazily at his maw.

“Do you think I’m being stupid?”

The massiff stares blankly.

“Well, yeah, but she did seem interested.”

Grizzer rises slowly, stretching with a groan before ambling over to his partner and laying his head in Hound’s lap. He manages to roll onto his back without losing contact. Hound reaches down to scratch his leathery belly.

“Yeah, well, there’s something about her I really like. I think I should try again.”

Grizzer whines.

“But how, you ask? I’m not sure, bud.”

“In bigger news, it’s the end of the week and I think we all deserve a bit of a treat, don’t you?”

Grizzer turns toward Nuna’s voice and lets out a happy sound. Hound laughs.

“No treats before breakfast, Grizz. You know the rules.” The massiff offers his handler a sad pair of eyes and Hound shakes his head. “Not gonna fall for that.”

“Tonight ladies and lads we’re having ladies’ night at 79’s. Come find yourself a battle buddy and if one of you lucky listeners can find me I may have a special surprise just for you!”

Hound listens intently. Ryk and Rule were sure to be down for a night out after the week they’d had. The Commander has been busy keeping his assistant working late so he likely wouldn’t be game - not that Hound could blame him - but Thire might be convinced. Since the scuffle with the 501st boys a few weeks back the buddy system has been in play. The more the merrier as far as he was concerned. Now all he had to do was find a way to talk to her.

———

“If you pull on the skirt one more time, I swear to the maker I will end you.”

Nuna rolls her eyes at Tully’s threat. The skirt was too short and the Pantoran was out of her fekking mind if she thought this wouldn’t be the way the rest of the night played out.

“I dressed you pretty for a reason. Stop trying to ruin it.”

“I look like a cased sausage.” She tries - and fails - to keep the whine from her voice. Tully softens and grips her shoulders gently.

“First off, if that's the case, you are the sexiest sausage I’ve ever seen.” Nuna stifles a laugh behind a pout. “Second,” Nuna winces as her friend punches her in the shoulder, “There’s more where that came from if I hear one more second of negative self talk tonight. Got me?”

“Kriff Tull-“ Nuna rubs at her shoulder. “Fine, I’m the sexiest sausage Coruscant has ever seen. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

The Pantoran laughs and leans forward, placing a smacking kiss on the shorter woman’s head. “I love you and your issues,” she mumbles.

“Can we just have a drink now?”

79’s is packed. Shebs to gett’se. There’s the usual mix of clones from various divisions and battalions crowded in small groups of grey and white with pops of color signaling who they were to the world. There’s also a large contingent of women - every species, color and shape known to man. Nuna smiles happily as she brings her drink to her lips only to frown a moment later at the deep plum smear of lipstick on the glass.

“No transfer my ass,” she grumbles as she takes another long pull. Tully bought the first round, and whatever it is is sweet on Nuna’s tongue like star cherry candy with the familiar burn of booze behind it. It’s good but if she fills her night with more of them she’ll be nursing a killer hangover come morning. “I’ve got the next round.”

“As if I was going to let you get away without paying your fair share.”

Nuna rolls her eyes as she finishes the last of her drink. She’s already feeling just a little bit more loose and relaxed. Her hips move in a mindless, lazy figure-eight to the driving thud of the bass. Not her favorite, but Nuna loved to dance nearly as much as she loved music. Well maybe not that much, but certainly a close second.

Back home on Irmenu both had been frowned upon by the Priesthood and if they didn’t approve it was almost heretical to go against them. It hadn’t been ‘til she’d been exiled with her parents that she’d heard her first real music - outside of mindless chanting - and her first experience with really letting go and letting her body take over. It was freeing. Liberating. It was at that moment that she’d known she wanted to work around it, to be part of it somehow, for the rest of her life. It had been the driving force for so long that she had a hard time looking outside of it. Maybe that was how she’d gotten to nearly 25 and had nothing but a paycheck and an empty apartment to keep her company. Tully tries to say something over the noise of the speakers.

She had Tully too. A better best friend no girl has ever had.

“Have you finished yours yet?” The Pantoran holds up her glass, shaking the lone ice cubes around for show. Nuna holds hers up to show hers in the same state of emptiness.

“Ready for another?”

“You have to ask? Pony up girl. It’s your turn.”

There was something nice about the anonymity of her radio persona. As she moves through the crowd she doesn’t need to worry about being recognized or stopped by a fan looking for a picture. The one disappointment was that she still had to wait at the bar like everyone else.

She taps on the bar once to get the tender’s attention. The Twi’lek woman gives her a nod and the finger gesture for ‘one moment’ before quickly changing it to ‘two moments.’ Nuna blows a breath from the corner of her mouth. Ok, maybe a little notoriety wouldn’t be so bad once in a while. She’s waiting patiently, hip pressed against the bar, booted foot tapping along to the beat when someone taps her on the shoulder.

“Nuna?” She cringes at the voice, doing her best to press a convincing smile into place as she turns. “Hey, I thought that was you.” She flinches when a long thin finger flicks at one of the curls she’d managed to cultivate in her short hair. It bounces merrily as she looks into the face of the last man she’d hoped to see.

She only has one to go off of but, as far as exes went, Nuna was fairly certain she had one of the worst. All of the things she’d once found incredibly handsome about Alistar S’uun were now… what did Tully refer to him as?… ah yes, smarmy.

She’d been lonely and wholly too innocent to get involved with him when she’d first arrived in the Triple-Zero, but that hadn’t stopped her from losing her heart - and other things - to the arrogant son of a bantha. He’d been all slicked back hair and clothes that screamed money. He’d taken her to nice places, introduced her to important people. She’d thought it was love until she’d walked in on him and his assistant one day when she’d stopped by to bring him lunch.

To say it ended badly was an understatement, but she’d been lucky. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a standard year. Lucky until tonight.

“Alistar,” she greets, tucking her hair back behind her ears, as if it would stop him from touching it if he wanted to. Alistar did what he wanted when he wanted, and you either dealt with it or got out of the way.

“You look great. Lost a few of those troublesome pounds?”

A wave of annoyance washes over her as she glances back over her shoulder and toward the bartender. She just needed her karking drinks so she could make her escape. The Twi’lek is still occupied further down the bar.

“How have you been?” she asks, ignoring his questions and the undertones it entailed.

“Oh you know, doing a bit of this and that. Father is letting me take some of reins on the new acquisitions-“

“That’s lovely, Alistar. I’m very happy for you,” she lies through her teeth. His father was a shipping magnate and nepotism had been good to Alistar.

Nuna glances toward where she’d left Tully and sees a flash of red and white talking to her. Her heart stutters only to realize that it’s not the now somewhat familiar armor Hound wore. The trooper is somewhat smaller, less broad through the middle. The tell-tale snarl is missing from his helmet.

“I hear that little radio show of yours is still doing well.”

Here it comes, she thinks. This was always how it started. Alistar would make some little undermining comment and she’d get upset. Inevitably she’d be crying and he’d tell her she needed to get a sense of humor. Nuna could see it all unfolding before her eyes, but this time she wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I always knew you had a face for radio-” he smiles widely holding his hands up, “Oops! you know what I meant, right Nunz?”

“Yeah, Al, I got you loud and clear.” Her smile is forced and she grits her teeth with such force she’s surprised one doesn’t crack. “So it’s been lovely catching up but I’m going to go find Tull-“ His hand catches her upper arm as she turns to leave. She regrets wearing the sleeveless top Tully had picked out. She doesn’t like the feel of his skin against her own.

“Still friends with the Pant? Maker, you really are desperate aren’t you? Stay and talk for a while. I’m better company.” She shakes off his grip, his smile now beginning to look just as fake as the one she’d been wearing.

She promised herself wasn’t going to take the bait, really she wasn’t, she was better than that… but he’d brought Tully into it.

“She cares about me more than you ever did.” The smile is gone now and Aliatar’s pale brows arch up in surprise at the venom in her voice.

“So are you laying like a cold fish for her to fuck you too? Low standards-“

She turns to move again, puts one foot in front of the other, before he yanks her back. The heel of her boot slips and her stumble only makes his grip tighten. Her arm twists in a way that sends pain shooting like wildfire from her shoulder to the tips of her fingers.

“Don’t you dare walk-“

Nuna had never hurt so much as a fly in her life, but the blinding rage that rises up from her gut does something to her. Before she can even comprehend what she’s doing her balled up fist is connecting solidly with Alistar’s face. He doubles over while Nuna whines, snapping her hand back to her chest before beginning to shake it roughly. The pain she’d felt in her arm was nothing to what her knuckles were feeling now.

“Kriff, Kriff, Kriff,” she grits out, flexing her fingers.

“Why you dumb little nerf cow-“ She glances up to see Alistar take a step toward her. Something akin to fear prickles at the back of her senses. She’d seen that look before in his eyes. It scared her now like it had back then.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Red and white armor steps into Nunas view. “What seems to be the problem here?” Hound's voice is easy going as his head swings from Nuna to Alistar, who is rubbing his jaw, his other finger jabbing accusingly in Nuna’s direction.

“This little bitch-“

“Alright buddy” Hound holds a hand up calmingly “I’m going to stop you right there. Let me clarify-“ he turns to Nuna fully. Her heart stutters as he pulls the hand she’s cradling close to her chest up for inspection. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?” he asks quietly.

“I was just trying to leave and he grabbed me. It hurt,” she tries to tamp down the tremble in her voice, “I just wanted him to let go.”

Hound gives her an unreadable look. His thumbs stroke gently over her knuckles. Something warm springs to life in her belly that takes the edge off her discomfort.

“Hey, you! Clone,” Alistar’s voice rises up, “I demand this woman be arrested. I’ve been assaulted. You’re in the Guard. Do your job.”

There’s a tic in Hound’s jaw, really the only thing that gives the slightest hint of his annoyance as he turns back to the other man. A small crowd is gathering around them, mostly clones with a few civilians scattered in.

“Ok friend, first it’s Sargeant. Second,” he glances around and Nuna sees familiar colors of clone armor; blues, yellows, and reds surrounding them, “From my vantage point it looked like you were hurting the lady.” The clones around them nod in agreement.

“Oh this is just fracking great!” Alistar laughs, throwing his head back and taking a deep breath before glaring between Hound and Nuna. “You’re fucking her aren’t you?” he spits at Hound before rounding on Nuna, “You’re fucking government property now? That’s low even for you.”

Nuna feels tears welling up. She didn’t want to do anything now but go home and get away from the looks she just knew were coming her way. She glances down at her feet. When she looks up Hound is grabbing Alistar by the shoulders. His movements are quick, efficient, and practiced.

Hound tips Alistar forward just enough to bring an armored knee up into the other man’s unprotected gut. Alistar doubles over with a strangled wheeze, gripping at the bar for support before sinking to his knees. Hound turns his soft eyes to her.

“You’ve never punched someone.” It’s not a question. He takes her hand again, thumb stroking over her tender knuckles. “Wiggle your thumb,” he encourages, offering her a bright smile when she does.

“Ok. Good. It’s not broken,” he announces to himself, “Never wrap your fingers around your thumb. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

Nuna nods mutely.

“So what you want to do is-“ he proceeds to shape her hand into a fist. His big gloved hands completely envelop her smaller one as he tucks her thumb against the outside of her balled fingers. He presses it firmly as if to make the point that this was where it was supposed to be.

From the way he’s acting, she’s more inclined to believe she’s part of one of the ‘girl power’ self defense classes at the community center around the corner from her apartment as opposed to a clone bar. Hound is pleasant- no, he’s nearly perky.

“See how much nicer that looks? Certainly safer for your hand.” Nuna hears a few clones around them hum in agreement. Surreal. “Now, it wasn’t a bad first swing, but you didn’t follow through.”

“Kriffing… seven hells,” Alistar wheezes behind them. Hound makes a sound in his throat to catch her attention from the other man struggling to stand up.

“What you need to do next time is follow through. The target isn’t his jaw. It’s this magic little spot behind his jaw. Do you understand?”

Nuna’s eyes are drawn to Alistar who is rising to full height, murder written in his eyes.

“Hound-“ she tries to warn him but he merrily waves her off.

“Let me show you, ok?” The big man turns without missing a beat and his fist makes its best attempt at going through Alistar’s jaw. Her ex crumples into a heap, platinum hair disheveled, onto the sticky bar floor.

“Kriffing glass jawed pretty boy,” Hound mumbles as he turns back to her just as jovial and happy as he’d been devouring the nerf skewers and talking about Grizzer at the fete.

She hears a small cheer of “Oya!” go through the gathered ranks as a few clones grab the unconscious man by the shoulder and the rest begin to disperse back to their various areas.

“See? Just like that.”

Nuna swallows hard, bites back a nervous smile and finds her voice. “Just like that?”

“Yup.” Hound rocks back on his heels. “So do you wanna come have a drink with me- us?”

He sounds so hopeful, like pulling the whole Jedi Knight in shining armor bit hadn’t won him at least a little favor. She nods and he gestures for her to move ahead of him, leaving the other troopers to see her unconscious ex out the door.

Hound takes up a position behind her, his hand hovering over her hip to guide her toward the table his brothers stood around. Tully is already there with a serious look on her face.

“Are you ok?” She takes Nuna by the shoulders, looks her over.

“I’m good. I promise.”

“Maker I hate that no good piece of bantha spit.” One of the Guard behind her chokes out a laugh. Tully’s eyes fly to Hound, narrowed and assessing. “So this is the guy?”

“I’m the guy? What guy?” He looks at Nuna questioningly. Something mischievous sparkles in his gentle brown eyes.

Nuna feels her cheeks heat up as she bites out her friend's name. Tully ignores her.

“You bought her lunch at the Festival of Life?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you called into the show to ask her on a date?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tully looks to Nuna and then back to Hound. “What’s up with the ma’am?”

Hound rubs at the back of his neck. His brothers snicker in the background. “Courtesy, ma’am?”

“Call me Tully,” she orders shortly, finally relaxing. Hound breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Vod? You gonna introduce us to your little friend?”

[schraubd]

I Have To Talk About Omar and Melton-Meaux, Don't I?

I really don't want to. I really, really don't. But sometimes something falls too close to your wheelhouse to ignore it. And with separate antisemitism controversies hitting both Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-MN) and her main Democratic primary opponent Antone Melton-Meaux within a few days of one another, I -- writer on antisemitism and former resident of Minnesota's 5th congressional district -- probably can't sit this one out. As much as I want to. Which I do. Both candidates are under some fire for things put in campaign communications. Melton-Meaux released an "FAQ" which included the questions "Why do you have so much support from Jewish people/pro-Israel people" and "Will the money you received from the Jewish community influence your policy decisions?" (to the latter of which he replied "no" and noted his opposition to many policies undertaken by Israeli Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu). Omar's allies said that by implying that Jews only care about Israel-related issues and supposedly conflating "Jewish people" and "pro-Israel people", he was invoking in veiled fashion a dual-loyalty trope. Omar sent out a campaign mailer accusing Melton-Meaux of being in the pocket of conservative, big money interests, with all of the named donors being Jewish (plus a "Michael from Scarsdale, New York"). This was alleged by Omar's opponents to be an allusion to his opponent being "bought" by Jews (cf. fellow Minnesota Rep. Tom Emmer (R) sending out a mailer naming three Jewish billionaires who had "bought" control of Congress). What do I think? Most importantly, while I don't think there is no fire behind this smoke, obviously a lot of the high dudgeon on display here from both sides is really just shots-of-opportunity. That's not exactly surprising, given the nature of politics and all, but still disappointing. I also reiterate my point that while people outside of the 5th District only care about this race for Israel/antisemitism/Islamophobia reasons, the dynamics within the district are generally concentrating on other things (including whether Rep. Omar is more concerned with her national profile than with the particular needs of her district). On the specifics: Melton-Meaux's FAQ is clearly styled as responding to "questions" that amount to hostile whisper-campaigns (i.e., that he's a stalking horse for far-right Jewish and/or pro-Israel interests). On one level, this is why I don't really see the first question as conflating "Jewish" and "pro-Israel" -- aside from the fact that they are listed separately, in context it denotes two variants of a similar question he receives (and the questioners probably aren't too fastidious about the distinction). But the problem with such whisper-campaigns is that it can be really hard to respond directly to the allegation without in some way legitimizing or retrenching it. Imagine being asked if a candidate supports "the gay agenda" -- you can't really answer "yes" or "no", because the entire way the question is framed makes answering it a trap. This is why you don't accept your opponents' framing of questions, as any halfway competent campaign should know. Doing otherwise means you suddenly are putting out statements answering questions like, well, "Will the money you received from the Jewish community influence your policy decisions?" There's no good answer to that question, which is a good sign that Melton-Meaux shouldn't be asking it to himself. To the extent that some Jews cringe while reading it, he has no one to blame but himself. As for Omar. While all of the named persons in her mailer are Jewish, none of them are specifically identified as Jewish (the theme of the mailer is that many of his opponents' donors are backing him solely because they hate her, which is probably true).  But on face, this doesn't distinguish her mailer from Emmer's, or Trump's 2016 "closing argument" ad which featured Hillary Clinton and then three Jews associated with money -- George Soros, Janet Yellen, and Lloyd Blankfein (none of whom were explicitly identified as Jewish either). For those in the right circles, Scarsdale is well-known as a very Jewish and very rich town (hence its appearance in the "JAP battle rap", featuring "two hard-as-nails she-brews from SCARSDALE!"). It is fair to say that few people in Minnesota are likely to know this though (had she called out donors from St. Louis Park, by contrast, everyone in her district would know what she meant even as nobody outside the Twin Cities would have a clue). On the whole, my real takeaway is feeling more convinced than ever about the need to think about antisemitism less as a question of motives and more as a question of impact. It strikes me as implausible that Melton-Meaux was intentionally trying to antagonize the Jewish community by loudly disavowing his support; it was an awkward effort by a novice campaign staff to respond to a smear -- but one that nonetheless retrenched the perception that the Jewish community is a force one needs to declare his independence from. Melton-Meaux may be a political newbie, but he has an obligation to be attentive to that dynamic and not blunder into traps quite that obvious. With respect to Omar, I likewise find it highly unlikely that her campaign staff went on a hunt for rich Jewish donors to her opponent in a sly bid to dog-whistle at her opponent being owned by the Jews. Nonetheless, it is probably the case that the Jewish associations of the people cited -- while not likely to be picked up by many if not most of her readers -- likely do help make the attack land more effectively for those who do spot the pattern. I've written elsewhere about how one thing antisemitism does is it greases the wheels of plausibility; when you're trying to tag your opponent as in the bag for big Wall Street money (or Marxism, or "globalism" for that matter) it just feels more right when there's a Jewish hook to go along with it. It's in accord with deep-seated background intuitions, it makes the entire package feel more harmonious. This is one reason why I think someone in the Omar campaign could have reasonably been expected to check and see whether everyone they're talking about is Jewish -- and if not, find some different names (one has to think that there are some non-Jewish rich people who also are pumping money into her opponent's campaign, yes?). But ultimately, I think this is all relatively small fries. The hypocrisy is perhaps more bothersome than anything else. I get the frustration from Omar's allies that they think she's constantly being pelted with small-ball nonsense on the antisemitism front, and so perhaps they think turnabout is fair play when they can accuse Omar's opponent of being the "dual loyalty" trope guy (you can almost feel the catharsis from here!). But either they think stuff at this level is fair game or they don't; they can't have it both ways unless they really do believe that antisemitism can legitimately be treated as instrumental political football. And on the other side, regarding the conservative media ready to stand up and shout about "yet another instance of Ilhan Omar being antisemitic!" -- unless they're willing to concede that the bulk of the Jewish community was absolutely correct in saying that the contemporary GOP, what with its brazen targeting of Soros, Bloomberg, Steyer, etc., is shot through with antisemitism from root to branch, they need to sit the hell down. As always, however strong or weak you think the case for Ilhan Omar being antisemitic is, it's far less strong than the case for the GOP being antisemitic. If I have to listen to one more attempted gotcha from the Republican Jewish Coalition about Jewish Democrats staying out of the 5th District endorsement game, when they're affirmatively trying to put this guy into a Minnesota U.S. Senate seat, I'm going to have an aneurysm. Okay, I've done my duty. As a palate-cleanser, please read this lovely column by a Minnesota Jewish Republican explaining, in touching and heart-felt terms, why he considers Ilhan Omar a dear friend. It really is a nice piece of writing from a man whom I have to assume has decided he never wants to have any role in Republican Party politics again, because any public dictation about Ilhan Omar that's friendlier than "she's a she-devil" is grounds for immediate ex-communication from the party. And, just so nobody thinks I'm endorsing one way or the other (I'm not, and will not), read as well this column from Avi Olitzky explaining why he is such a fan of Melton-Meaux. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2ZUSIUn

[icantbraintoday-tryagainlater]

You are Expendable

You are a hard working individual Pride yourself on your work You show up early and stay late You never miss a meeting or an email “We are lucky to have you, You are such a great asset to the team. With everything you do, to show our gratitude We will fire you without question.” You work hard every day Put your heart and soul into the job You encourage your coworkers, teammates Take that overtime and bust your ass You don’t sleep, you think of what You can do better tomorrow Yet you are expendable. Your job does not need you You will be replaced by the end of the day. Your job does not value you, You are a commodity that can be replaced. Your skill is teachable, Your knowledge is common. The truth is you are expendable And they’ll replace you for their financial gain.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I should have known from the 1st day of training my job as a claim associate for a Big Name National Insurance Company that I would regret my decision to apply.

I should have known when within two days of training I was pulled to the side and written up. For my neighbor talking to me.

I should have known.

So this is all on me, I know, but I thought that this company would treat me right and it was only these two bitter old employees who were about to retire.

I was wrong. I was so wrong.

the first year was amazing! I met new friends, I was great at my job, I had the best manager in the world! I was surprised that I could like working in Insurance. I was being talked to about advancement, different areas of the company I would excel at, and the right path to follow to achieve my goals.

Then She came along. Covid hit, we were all sent home, and a brand new manager took over my team. I didn’t think much of it, because honestly? She seemed fine. She was new to managing, but not new to the job. My biggest critique then had just been how much time she seemed to take off. She was NEVER there. Every other day she was taking a partial day. She took long weekends, took weeks off at a time. It was weird to say the least. 

But then the snippy emails came. The bitchy remarks.

My team suffered GREATLY. We went from being one of the top performing teams to suddenly being at the bottom. And all of these Outliers Reports that we had never heard of started becoming this huge deal.

Literally never heard of these reports, and then one week we were all on them. And it was a BIG DEAL (TM). Then we were getting in trouble for being in the wrong call states (the call states we have been told to be in for specific situations since we were trained were suddenly the wrong call states).

All of this I was willing to just deal with. But then...

Then my mom got sick. I got a call from my father at around 1 or 2PM Thursday, November 19, 2020. My mom was going to the ER because they thought she was having a stroke. I told my boss I couldn’t be at work and left for the day. Found out that it was a tumor, possibly cancer. Within 2 weeks she was in surgery to remove the mass and we found out it was Glioblastoma. The worst brain cancer.

And my friends and family kept asking “Is your work understanding? Being accommodating?” And I couldn’t say they were. They were the complete opposite of understanding.

I fought for a while to make them understand and to just ask for simple accommodations only to be met with “If you can’t do your job then go home.”

Below is a letter I wrote to HR.

“To whom it may concern,

My name is ______, and I work as a claims representative in the Auto Property Claims, Express. I am writing to you today to bring up some issues I have recently run into with the way Express is run, and I would like to discuss these with you and hopefully find a solution so if someone else is ever in my position, they are treated better.

Specifically, I would like to discuss how I was treated when I found out my mother was diagnosed with brain cancer.

I received a call on my first break on Thursday, November 19th, from my father. He told me that my mother was on her way to the ER. I immediately IM’d my manager, *blacked out*, and requested to leave, as my father cannot take care of my mother alone since he is blind. She simply said that she logged me out, and I did not think anything of her short reply.

I came back to work on Monday, November 23rd, because I had no more PTO, despite still waiting for my mother’s MRIs to come back with the official diagnosis. She was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor on her brain.  I could not afford to take time off (and also welcomed a distraction), but knew I would not be much help on phones, so I asked for tasks and waited 40 minutes for a response.  However, She simply stated that it wasn't possible for me to do other tasks - that either I could answer calls and talk to customers while in crisis and crying or miss work and not get paid.

I understand there are rules and managers cannot change our schedules on a whim; however, it felt crass that she would not even discuss an alternative. In the past I know that myself and others have been given courtesy during extreme circumstances, so I had spoken with another team manager about it, and he told me he would speak with Jessica for me.

Right before close, however, I received a very snippy IM from Her stating the following: “Just so you know, I had spoken with my boss, *blocked*, about this. And she said we couldn’t do that. And you were logged out for 40 minutes earlier today so I took the liberty of changing your T2 for that as an Unscheduled PTO.”

Those 40 minutes were while I was waiting for her response and trying to get myself together after learning horribly devastating news. I also felt very attacked and that if I were to do anything that she did not like from now on that she would retaliate against me. I still feel as though she will retaliate against me just because I went to another manager with an issue that she did not appear to care about at all. 

She has also consistently been lacking in manager experience, as well. The most prominent example of this is that she will not (or possibly does not know how to) help with personal development, either within the company nor in my current job position. When she brings up any areas where I could do better, she simply tells me “do better,” and when I ask for advice on how to go about doing so because I feel as though I am doing all I can she simply tells me again “do better." I can provide examples if you would like.

I attempted to speak about this with HR, but they simply asked why I was upset that my manager was asking me to do my job. I felt isolated afterwards, and felt as though Big National Insurance Company in general does not care about their employees in the least. Our motto is Remarkable. But my experience during this tragic time of learning that my mother might not just have brain cancer, but may never regain control or strength of her left side (her dominant side) ever again, coupled with the fact that my father only went blind 3 years ago so I now have 2 disabled parents whom I may need to start taking care of on a regular basis, has been anything but remarkable

I was told to get CIGNA to look into ADA accommodations. However, I needed the accommodation immediately, and CIGNA can take weeks, if not months, to get established. In that moment I needed to know that I could do my job while also helping my family through this horribly difficult time, and I was told to jump through hoops like a circus animal and maybe I would still have a job after, but probably would not be paid for the time off. I could apply for the Employee Grant, but that’s not a guarantee, and I have to apply for it after I’ve already lost the pay. As I’m living paycheck to paycheck right now, that would mean I would probably be facing eviction by the time I would receive any assistance. 

Accommodations were simply thrown out the window and when my friends ask how I’m doing and if my job is being understanding, I cannot say that they are. Between the points system, which punishes you for being ill or having to care for family, and my boss’s cold, indifferent, and unsympathetic attitude towards me, I feel as though I am literally just a number, an expendable employee who is simply there to be a robot. 

As I stated at the beginning of this email, I would love the chance to discuss this with you to find a solution. So if anyone else is ever put in this position, they are treated with dignity, respect, and sympathy, rather than cold, unfeeling retaliation and robotic responses. So future employees do not have to jump through hoops in order to have simple and understandable accommodations made as they work on getting the rest lined up.

You can reach me at this email, my personal email *blocked*, or through text or calls at my cell number *blocked*. 

Thank you for your time and I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

*my name*

We had a lovely conversation with my boss, her boss, and a new HR rep. But did anything change? No. If anything, I started getting micromanaged even more.

There is so much more to the story than this, but I - I just don’t have the time or energy to type it up.

Maybe I will another day.

But in conclusion - I should have known. Shame on me for allowing myself to be fooled.

[pilferingapples]

I can't find the other ask (I read your answer in my email notification from Tumblr), but I meant how they treated Enjolras and Fantine most of all. Also, people in my country are watching it only now because they're showing the miniseries on our national television and they're all praising it and saying either how faithful it is to the book (personally, I think that's up for debate) or how it seems like a telenovela.

whoof yeah the issue of “faithfulness” is always a vexed one!

Agh but the comparison of Les Mis (and Romanticist stories in general imo) to telenovelas is SUCH a potentially intriguing discussion, I really wish someone more expert in telenovelas than me would take it up! Or maybe someone has and there’s an article I should read..?  I for one think that’s a pretty valid comparison in a lot of ways and would love to see it explored more fully!

But as to Fantine and Enjolras in the latest beeb series specifically– oh gosh, one of my biggest disappointments and one of my happiest surprises about the series respectively?

(leaving out almost the whole issue of aesthetics and presentation because this is already gonna be long )

Fantine was maybe the character that I had the biggest hopes for from this series, because promo interviews and so on really played up how she was going to get more focus and exploration and then …she just didn’t. Nothing about her Gavroche-style street kid childhood, her time at the farm, her own dreams when she went to Paris, nothing. Even more disappointing, her Descent was condensed to happen at the same rocket-sled pace so many other English-language adaptations give it, which takes so much from the character!  The show HAD time, it could have let Fantine have her years of courage and struggle before the final irrevocable hair-teeth-prostitution slide. We see nothing of her sewing work , her friendship with Marguerite, her struggle with her creditors, nothing.  Instead we get a whole lot of Tholomyes talking and showing off his naked ass (NONE of which was needed, Tholomyes  ties Bamatabois for the least interesting named character in the whole book  on purpose , he is just That Jackass and we all know him already)  and lots of people get new lines to tell Fantine how stupid she is  for ?? reasons??  and  loving gore focus on her suffering and it really doesn’t amount to any more  exploration or depth than she gets from Lovely Ladies.  I honestly expected a lot more!

And it really does feel like the narrative mocks her–so many characters just pop up to tell her how stupid she is and how foolish she’s being and offer Foreshadowing and I don’t really know what the show thought that would add– did they think we’d see ourselves in those warning voices?  Was it a “hey viewer This Is You, Recognize Your Jerkness” thing? (in which case: piss off, show,I’ve never for a heartbeat thought that about Fantine or people in her situation and the whole “confront the audience with your own jerkness, which you assume is theirs” thing is tiresome at best , and this wasn’t even that ) but I can’t think of any other reason to keep hammering on that point so much?? In the novel she’s not portrayed as foolish, just taken advantage of and without recourse– she’s smart , she just doesn’t have a lot of power or options, and she makes decisions from a place of panic and oppression a lot. Post-show I saw a lot of people blaming her for her situation and I have never  seen that in the fandom before, and while I am fully ready to call those people Wrong, the show does set the character up for that reading!  

Just. Disappointing, and weirdly degrading to the character’s whole concept. 3/10 Fantine, good actress , horrible setup, particularly disappointing given the time and performance power available. 

On the other hand…

I was not expecting really anything at all from this Enjolras, not because of anything I’d heard about this series particularly, but because English-language adaptations in general have a bad track record with the barricades. Like..  really REALLY bad. And we weren’t hearing much pre-show about the barricades or the Amis and I was totally expecting the whole thing to be  a  “blink and you’ll miss it” uprising..

and then it got almost a full hour of screen time?? And actually showed the involvement of Paris at large? and workers as the mainstay of the movement??  Unexpected delight! 

And…yeah, this isn’t a very Enolraic Enjolras. I don’t know whether to blame the actor, director, or what, but this guy just doesn’t have that Archangel Energy. He’s got the seriousness, but not the fire or the passion. It’s sort of an intangible thing, but it’s not there. I couldn’t be talked into a conviction by this Enjolras, and that’s definitely a problem!  But y’know.  He’s a solid guy, he’s got the focus, he cares, he really is dedicated to the cause and no hypocrite. He’s shown to be prepared and ready to go, and is the only one of the student revolutionaries who’s obviously in full trust with the workers and treated as one of them (which I would not be okay with if there were the full complement of Amis generally, but this show made choices about that setup and it may not be my dream presentation but I get what they were doing). I couldn’t be talked into a cause I didn’t already believe in by this guy, but I would  be happy to count him as a comrade in arms, and that’s a whole lot better than Enjolrai usually get. He gets decent character development over the course of the fight, too, which was also good! So like… 7/10 Enjolras Rep?,  not perfect but way way better than I was expecting and an interesting character in his own right! 

[korranguyen]

So, rightfully and expectedly, there’s been some controversy floating around regarding The Dragon Prince on the Queens of Duren and the implications of those characters/LGBT rep/falling into the BYG trope. While Aaron Ehasz himself addressed the issue via Twitter, the explanation (due to the nature of Twitter) was cut rather brief, and thus left open-ended to a wide variety of interpretations.

I came across an interview a couple days ago where Ehasz provided a much more in-depth look into what motivated that narrative decision and the mindset he has in facing the controversy, and I thought it added a lot of important and thoughtful insight. Since very few besides myself are obsessed with TDP content to the point of willingly listening to a 50+ minute podcast, I thought I’d transcribe a bit of that conversation for y’all who may or may not care.

The purpose of this post is not to defend Ehasz or invalidate any frustration with the decision, but rather to provide some much-needed comfort of context to those who are still hurt, angry, or confused. I hope it helps put a couple minds at ease, particularly for those who found themselves asking why the trope was recognized by the staff but played into nonetheless, though I wholeheartedly understand if it doesn’t.

(As for my own perspective, I’ll post that in a reblog)

@dragonprinceofficial

Joe: “There is a trope of LGBT characters dying in media. Sometimes it is exploitative, for cheap, like, ah, gotcha kind of emotions—”

AE: “Some people call it the ‘bury your gays’ trope. And often it is that uh, a character is presented as, like, ‘Heres the rep you wanted; here’s a gay character. There, aren’t you happy,’ and then almost immediately, rather than actually dealing with building out an actual character, they kill the character off, they do something, and… and they, you know, as if that counts. It’s like, ‘Wait, why did you… You acted like you were giving us something, but you gave us nothing! You just pointed to a character who was there for five minutes.’

“So, it’s a trope we are aware of and very sensitive to. It’s a problematic trope. In the case of Season 2, and kind of the story we’re telling, um, we had this character we  were very excited about: this young queen, Queen Aanya. And… we knew she was a young queen because her parents were dead. Her parents had died when she was a baby. And we knew we were going to tell the backstory of how this happened because it involves Harrow and Queen Sarai. And when I was thinking about this character, I was thinking of this very poise, confident young woman, and I thought a lot about my daughter, and I thought a lot about my niece. My sister, who is a lesbian, and is married to a wonderful woman and they have a beautiful family, a beautiful relationship; for me it provided a lot of the inspiration for how I was thinking about Aanya and how we started to think about her family. And we thought well, that’s cool, this makes sense, she’s this really strong young woman; it would make sense if they came from a culture where women are strong and powerful and recognized and uh, and it’s just not even, you know, questioned. And so you know that could be interesting, that could be cool— we actually talked to my sister and she was like, ‘Oh that’s awesome, that’s great!’

“And then as we talked about it in the writer’s room, we kind of… we immediately, we were like, ‘Hang on, though, wait a minute. So we’re saying we’re gonna give her gay parents, but they’re dead.’ And so… So we thought it through; we tried to.. you know, we kind of went back and forth. Part of what we thought was, ok well, we don’t think this is bait, because we’re not saying, ‘Here are some gay characters, and ah, surprise, we’re taking them away from you’. We’re actually saying, ‘Here are some dead characters, and surprise, they’re gay’. So it’s a little bit of the reverse in that sense. So hopefully it doesn’t feel like… like that part of it.

“We also thought through, well, if we make her parents a heterosexual couple, is that better for her character, and is it better for our audience or community cause now we’re not falling into the trope. And so we tried to weigh all this and thought well, we’re not falling into the trope, but she’s less interesting, and there is less representation diversity cause now we have all the kings and queens we’ve ever seen on the show are all heterosexual couples and so, um… so we made the judgment call that even though we knew we were gonna be pushing up against the trope that it was still cooler and more representative to have these awesome powerful queens be a couple. And um, so that’s… that’s what we chose.

“I hope when people see it that they love this character of Queen Aanya and they love that her history is of these two powerful amazing women were her parents and that people love that, even though we understand that, you know, the history or the context of things like this are… is problematic. So I know this was kind of a long-winded answer, but I guess it’s my way of saying, like, we’re really thoughtful about it, we’re really interested to see what the community thinks when they... When they see it, we hope a lot of people are, like, ‘Yeah, this was a good decision,’ and we’re also going to be listening for people who are like, ‘No, you guys messed up, and here’s why’. We’re going to be listening and we’re going to want to be a part of that conversation. Um, we do have a long story that we’re hoping to tell, with this world and these characters, so this is definitely not, like, going to be, well, here’s your rep; there is more rep in the future of Dragon Prince as this story unfolds.”

Joe: “I think uh… I think for me, one of the saving graces was for Queen Aanya, even though she really never really knew her parents, and… and she was a tragic figure in her own right, you could still feel the guidance of, like, the world her parents built for her, through whatever you can assume their leadership style was, you can see that in her confrontation with Viren, and saying, like, ‘You know what? Here are all the points you’ve raised are completely valid, I respect and acknowledge them, but that isn’t the world that I see my parents have built for me’… She says, the same way you helped save 50,000 of my people, I’m not going to condemn a million of my people to death and basically throw the numbers out of whack.”

—(Source)

[yogaadvise]

10 Meditation Tips for Ambitious People

Ambition is a splendid trait to have! Ambitious individuals can spruce up an area with their resolution and also excitement. They are normally the ones who motivate others to remain on job and also see completion objective as a certainty. Here's the important things that go-getters typically neglect though: their individual down time and self-care when it pertains to health and wellness, relaxation, and sleep.

It's easy for goal-driven individuals to get swallowed up in the project at hand. This is easy to understand and much of the factor they so usually do well. There is a specific loosen up time that is not just great for you, however likewise good for your objectives: meditation.

You might be assuming you do not have time to sit around as well as meditate or you can't turn off your ideas. The truth is, you do have time-- if you select to make the moment. A reflection technique doesn't need to take a lot of time. Actually, there are some easy means for you to include it right into your active life, no zen room needed.

1. Desk Time

More than likely, you spend a considerable quantity of time at a workdesk. Whether researching, emailing, or invoicing, today's world of work calls for a great deal of tech time. Resting for extended periods can be harsh on your body-- all the tabs as well as jobs can bewilder the mind. Taking a psychological break for five to 10 minutes for a brief reflection can really be productive to the present goal. You will reboot with a more kicked back mind, less tension in the body, and potentially a surprise toward the mission.

Here's how to do it:

Put your computer on rest mode.

Set a timer for five to 10 minutes.

Find your most comfortable placement in the chair.

Allow your arms to loosen up and revolve your neck down as well as about, rolling the anxiety away.

Think quietly to yourself affirmations such as "I achieve success", "I am effective", "I am healthy", "I am a leader." Choose any kind of sentence you would certainly such as and repeat it gradually. After each rep, boost the moment prior to starting the sentence again. If another thought enters your mind, simply observe it, and begin your picked affirmation again.

As you duplicate the affirmations, spend some time to extend in or out of your chair. You can see some chair yoga positions here. Do not concentrate on a complete chair yoga exercise routine, simply a pair suggestions each day.

2. Road Warrior

You're called a warrior for a factor. You have actually combated web traffic, roadway rage, weather condition, lengthy hrs, punctures, and also break downs. The concern is: Were you educated for this? Possibly not. You were educated the fundamentals of driving, yet there is a whole lot more to deal with that how well you handle the wheel. Meditation can be a tremendous aid in battling everything:

Pull off the road.

Turn off the radio.

Hear that? That's your breath that you may not have heard for a few hours now.

Take a couple of mins to breath in and also out your mouth gradually, with objective of filling your lungs. Listen to the sounds of your personal life force.

Before taking off once more, remind yourself that no issue the situation, you are secure. Frequently you end up being quick-tempered with the length of time it can require to obtain from factor A to B. Relax and also remember the amount of more goals can be met when you're unhurt.

3. Team Time

Introducing as well as urging your coworkers to practice meditation as well is effective for every person. Reflection is crucial to the manifestation procedure. If you are all meditating, think of just how much faster and also smoother it will be to reach each objective marker. Your team will certainly be much more patient with themselves, each various other, as well as clients. They will certainly construct an user-friendly process that can aid lower mistakes, rise efficiency, and also provide a much deeper understanding to challenges. This is certainly a win-win for each individual and the team.

Provide them with this write-up, show to them how it is affecting your life, and be a "pointer system" once in a while too. If a coworker states, "hey, did you meditate yesterday?" it aids maintain each other on track.

4.  Visualizing

What is the end goal? Can you see it? Many ambitious people have fantastic vision. Take that into your meditation method. This will certainly aid you manifest the result while you do something fantastic for your health and wellness. This action is extremely simple:

Sit in silence or with songs on a reduced volume.

Close your eyes.

Build the vision in your mind like an art piece, one item at a time.

Enjoy the sight for a couple of minutes. If arbitrary thoughts develop, you may repeat among the affirmations covered above.

If you like to draw, take this step to one more degree as well as draw your vision, which is additionally a form of meditation.

5.  Lunch on the Lawn

Any possibility that you have on your lunch break to obtain outside, take it! Did you know you can practice meditation with your eyes open? After your meal, rest for five mins-- this benefits the digestive tract as well as your mind:

Set your eyes on something in sight: a bird, a tree, or a couple delighting in a date.

Look with intent, making use of the exact same precision you utilize when reading each word thoroughly on a crucial email or spreadsheet. Other than currently, you are in the moment-- your mind is really where you are instead of back at the workplace or running via the manuscript of the next conference. What is occurring right in front of you?

Notice your breath and also the peace of your body as you appreciate this real-life, present moment.

6.  Indoor Elements

All humans enjoy the components. Fire, water, planet, space, and wind just make your soul pleased. Which one is your fave? Beginning there and also bring it right into the office! Do you love fire? You don't need to wait to enjoy it until you most likely to your friend's bonfire evening. There are several, low-cost methods to have a fire, flowing water, or visions of room in your office.

Choose your favorite element to produce inside.

Stop for five to 10 minutes a few times a week to just observe your production. Enjoy each flicker of light or stream of water.

Use different affirmations for each component as you see. Fire may be an improvement declaration as water may be nurturing or cleansing.

7.  Chakra Power

Goals call for greater than just difficult job. Energy behind the work can be more crucial than the quantity of hrs. Our intents and daily techniques of maintaining a greater resonance is the real work. Once this becomes a day-to-day routine, you will certainly observe objectives showing up with even more efficiency.

If you are not accustomed to what a chakra is, read about it here. When overcoming all chakras, begin near the bottom and also function your method up. You might likewise target specific chakras if you're aiming to obtain the take advantage of that area or increase its activity. There are numerous aspects to chakras, but this short article will certainly remain focused on using them for objectives:

Root (Muladhara) Chakra lies at the base of the spine. This chakra is your foundation. You can not construct an empire without a solid structure? This power facility is in charge of your sense of sensation secure, grounded, and stable. When out of balance, you might attempt to manifest from a survival setting subconsciously. A reflection for this area can be done by regarding to the very lower of your spinal column with eyes closed. Picture the shade red as well as imagine your spine connecting to the earth like tree origins. A concept for this location can be, "I am a survivor" or "I am secure."

Sacral (Svadhisthana) Chakra lies 2 inches below your stubborn belly switch. Below is where your creativity comes from, an essential facet while aiming for destination. Maybe you need some innovative brand-new advertising ideas-- this would be your go-to chakra. Shade right here is orange. You will do the exact same meditation technique just like the origin, but utilize the concept of affirmation of something like, "My suggestions are special as well as acquire the interest that is required."

Solar Plexus (Manipura) Chakra lies two inches above the stubborn belly switch. Right here is where your personal power, confidence and real sense of self-respect emerges. If this chakra runs out balance, you tend to second-guess yourself, hold your head a little less high, as well as overthink the small points. The shade is yellow as well as a great rule would certainly be, "I am powerful by the divine method" "Nerve is my nature" or "Toughness concerns me easily."

Heart (Anahata) Chakra is located in the facility of the breast and the color is environment-friendly. Normally, this chakra is in fee of love, feelings, as well as feelings-- something that is usually rejected as well as castaway in the organisation world. As previous generations were told, it's weak to show feeling. The world may be transforming, yet the programming can still exist. You may feel it is much better to have a "more challenging" exterior at work. This can take its toll on your mind, body, spirit, goal outcomes, physical health and wellness, and also connection to other humans as a whole. Remember, you can be solid, yet caring, reasonable, yet mild. Utilize this mantra: "Real love is constantly the ideal path."

Throat (Vishuddha) Chakra is located in the throat with the shade blue. As an individual with an enthusiastic drive, communication of what you require, desire, and also picture are important aspects of that you are. It's essential to keep in mind that everyone refines words as well as life from their very own perspective. Your sentence may indicate one thing to you, but something totally various to an employee. Focusing in this field will assist with communication to make sure that all recognize plainly, allowing the world to talk via you. A great mantra for below is something like, "All ears hear me with comprehension."

Third Eye (Ajna) Chakra is situated in between the eyebrows with a color of indigo. This chakra is your intuition-- that suspicion is first processed in this field of the mind. If you do not give this location interest on a regular basis, you may begin to permit your questions as well as subconscious to move in, thinking they recognize far better. The intuition is constantly appropriate. This is your personal GPS system to any kind of and also all indications, security, as well as alignment. An excellent rule for the ajna is "I obtain messages clearly, with a reasonable difference of my thoughts versus the presents of my higher self."

Crown (Manipura) Chakra is located above the head with a color purple, often additionally shown as just intense light. This chakra is not only a link to your greater self, but likewise the feeling as well as awareness that you are linked to all things. When you procedure from this location, you aim to develop a globe better for all things on this planet. From people, plants, animals, water, air, and also area, you understand that what you do to one, you do to all. Your objectives and also passions, regardless of how excellent or little, automatically supply a greater vibration for every single creature now as well as to come. In some cases it may really feel as though your dedication to whatever it is you do goes unappreciated. Via regarding to this chakra, you can feel that those around you do not require to see or recognize your initiatives because you can notice numerous that do.

8. Becoming a Vessel

You may have listened to the claiming, "you can not pour from an empty vessel." Numerous enthusiastic people focus so extremely on the goal before them they neglect to refill. This can be dealt with a basic reflection. Whatever it is you feel you need even more of, allow deep space to supply:

Close your eyes and also envision the top of your head like a battery and also a battery charger. Use an aesthetic overview of when you plug in your phone and see the juice begin climbing to the top.

The universe is your power, healing, and also resource of "juice" for all you need.

Repeat a rule right here like "I am ______" (whatever you are wanting to get).

9. Phone Games

Phone games can give a kind of meditation. They need your attention, the rating is unimportant, and also fear or stress and anxiety appear to escape with all the fun. Allow on your own to play a game in times of long term waiting-- at a medical professional's consultation, waiting on the bus, or while children go to soccer practice. Bear in mind having enjoyable is being efficient, too.

10. Guided Meditation

Guided meditations are enjoyable, unique as well as provide endless opportunities. Examine your area for real-time directed meditation occasions or utilize the many possibilities on the internet with apps, YouTube, and also SoundCloud. Several wonderful reflection instructors are available to assist be your voice to make sure that you can simply pay attention and also choose the flow.

As you begin this journey, remember to take your time, experiment with each technique, and see what you like one of the most. Maintain your fave for your basic method as well as miss around when various locations need your focus and also objective. This is all regarding what you desire, there are no regulations to the number of variations you can develop. The top idea is do a minimum of one meditation each day. If you intend to enhance to more times each day later on, that's wonderful, too.

As a person that aspires, it is essential to maintain your focus as well as health intact. If you feel you don't have time, ask yourself: Would certainly I rather take a couple of mins a day to meditate or take weeks dealing with a mistake or recovering from a disease? Meditation has actually been proven time after time to give so much of what we want. Beginning the trip today and also gain the benefits.

Learn how to allow go of battle and also locate minutes of peace within your active life at I am Infinite Possibilities, our unique event led by Deepak Chopra. Learn More.

[paulhudd]

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt. Four: Ha! Ha! Said the Clown

Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow; Sunday, May 2nd 1991

Malky gave the big chauffeur a sideways look, crossed his arms, casually leant on the door post and refused to shake the extended hand.

Gorringe wasn’t offended, just mildly surprised. He looked at his unshaken hand and frowned. He ummed & ahhed, looked left and right and spoke hesitantly, rubbing his neck as if about to ask a contention question, “Erm... see, the boss sent me ‘ere wiv a proposition... ‘E instructed me to... that is...” he paused, stepped up so that they were face-to-face and pleaded for relief with beseeching eyes, “Lissen mate, can I use your lavvy? I’ve been on the road fer ovah-an-hour ‘n that last cuppa I ‘ad before I left the ‘ahse is abaht to bust me bladdah!”

It was an old salesman’s ploy and Malky knew it, and the chauffeur knew he knew it, nevertheless he cringed and gritted his teeth, “No messin’ guv - I’m this close to pissin’ me strides!” He seemed genuinely stricken, so after a second or two’s deliberation, Malky decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and stood aside, issuing a caution as he dashed by, “Straight in-and-out, mind. And don’t use the urinals – they’re not plumbed-in yet – use one of the stalls! OK?”

Gorringe already halfway there, “I don’t care if it’s a bucket -- I gotta go!”

Just as the door to the gents closed, Zindy walked through from the kitchen, “Who is it? Sales rep? Reporter?” she asked, wiping her oil-blackened hands with a rag, her elfin face smeared with black smuts. Malky was still at the door, looking out at the darkened windows of the Rolls, “... no, he’s somebody’s chauffeur. You should see the car he’s driving.”

Zindy lifted the waiter hatch and struggled through, “Ooow, I’ve been bent over too long, I’m all stiffened-up!” she groaned, clutching the small of her back with both hands so that her swollen tummy popped out of her denim shirt revealing an oily palm-print on the ivory-white skin of her bump. Malky closed the door, “There’s quite a draught – you can look out through the window.”

“For God’s sake a bit of sea air will do me good!”

Malky tapped her butt, “Aye, because you’re doin’ bloody auto-repairs on the kitchen table and the place stinks to high-heaven of gloss, varnish, engine oil and Swarfega! That child o’ mine must be gettin’ high on the fumes!”

Zindy made yakety-yak signs with her hand and said “I’m trying to save us some money, it’d cost us a bomb to take that van to a mechanic.”

“... because you’ve fallen out with all the local mechanics, haven’t you?” he chided ironically, “There isn’t a garage within a 30-mile-radius who’ll touch it, is there? Anyway, it’s a false economy. It’ll breakdown in the middle of nowhere and you’ll have to ring one of the garages for a tow-truck and the whole shebang will cost us three times as much as it would if we’d gone to a garage in the first place -– that’s not factoring-in the chance of an accident - or you gettin’ stranded high and dry – then whoosh – your waters break!”

“Jeezus Christ! You’re startin’ to scare me!” she cried.

“It’s a possibility -- like what if you breakdown and you fall getting out of the van -- or somebody comes round the corner too fast and hits you or something leaks in the engine and it goes up in a ball of flames...?”

“Why dontcha just swaddle me in bubble-wrap, pack me in polystyrene, stick me in an air-conditioned coffin and feed me through a tube til September! Oh I say, tally-ho, chaps,” she’d seen the stranger’s car, “a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, no less,” she said, appreciatively, looking out of the window, “who comes to a place like this in a car like that?”

Meanwhile, Brooster was listening at the parlour door, “What’s goin’ on?” a voice whispered behind him, making him jump and almost fall over. It was Sammy, the silver-bearded, blood-spattered ghost of the inn’s elderly barman, crouching behind him with his hands on his knees. Brooster looked him in the eye and asked him with a thought: Why are you creeping about and whispering when only I can see and hear you?

Sammy stood up, stroked his beard and mused aloud, “Aye, I s’pose that’s true... Well then – I’ll just do this!” He walked through the wall, into the occupied cubicle, looked the urinator up-and-down and shouted to the old dog, “It’s a chauffeur. Big bloke. Ex-army – British army – he has a regimental pin. Big dick, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

Broo wasn't at all impressed by the resident phantom’s crude behaviour – one of these days the stupid old fool will walk in on a Sensitive and scare the life out of them (actually, that eventuality would be fortuitous – because escape from This Life and Ascent into The Next requires a death within the parameters of the haunting and in the three years since Sammy had been shot and killed by Barry McKee, the only candidate so far had been an elderly deep-sea fisherman suffering with angina and a bad case of hay-fever who died two days later after a particularly violent sneeze –- at home in his own bed. Sammy whined as he opined: “Why couldn't the auld eejit have snuffed-it here?! Some people have no manners at all! At this rate, I’ll have to wait for Malky to croak - and he’s got another ten years in him at least!”).

The chauffeur exited the gents and convened with Zindy and Malky. Zindy was friendly and bright and offered him a cup of tea; Malky was cagey and glum. But that’s Malky. Sammy, reclining on the couch to watch the movie, actually made an insightful comment, “He’s an Englishman and Zindy misses the company of Englishmen. She’ll bend his ear for an hour and then he’ll be off back to whoever he drives for: probably some auld oul’ banker or one of those rich pop stars who've been buying houses over here lately.” He pointed at the remote, “C’mon, turn the sound on. I love the old black and white fillums!”

The old dog was paying him no heed. He was enjoying familiar feelings of excitement and trepidation, that tingle in his pelt that told him the visitor was significant and he should prepare himself for important news. And sure enough, the chauffeur didn’t thank his hosts for the use of the amenities and return to his vehicle, he was taken to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a chat!

Sammy was still harping on, “Dog?! D’ya hear me? Hit the button that turns the sound back on!”

Oblivious, Brooster snuck down the hall, took-up position at the kitchen door and listened.

Sammy shouted from the parlour, “Ach, c’mon, you know I can’t press the buttons...?” Broo ignored him and harkened to the conversation around the kitchen table.

Once Gorringe had completed his ablutions and emerged from the gents refreshed, Zindy introduced herself and took him into the kitchen for a cuppa. They hadn't had much company lately and this was the first Englishman she’d met in ages so she was chatty and vivacious. Malky was characteristically sniffy and suspicious. He wouldn't sit down and slowly paced the floor by the backdoor and let Zindy do all the talking. She began by apologising for the engine parts on the kitchen table, told him to park his arse and have a Mikado. He took a biscuit, but kept well back from the table lest oil, paint or any other petroleum-based-product come into contact with his immaculate whistle, “Is that a Lancashire accent I ‘ear?” he asked, with a wry smile.

Zindy grinned, “Aye - Salford! ‘Ow can you tell?” she said, ironically.

“Heh-heh, two of me best mates is from Salford! Salts of the erf, they is, diamonds to a man. We ‘ad a couple of tours in Cyprus in the late fifties and then they was sent to... umm,” he suddenly stopped talking. He realised he was in the Republic of Ireland talking to a pair of total strangers about old friends serving in an occupying force and quickly changed the subject. He beheld her swollen belly and asked, sheepishly, “Ahem, ‘ow many mumphs ‘ave you got before the big day then, sweet’eart?”

“I’m due in late July or early August,” she replied, she replied, “Just wait til I’m at full-term, I’ll look like a two-legged Space Hopper in a pink-wig!”

Malky lost patience, coughed theatrically, walked forward and put an end to the sparkling repartee, “So, Mr Gorringe, what can we do for you?”

The chauffeur put up a hand and waived the formalities, “Oh, call me ‘Erbie, please, Mr Calvert. Nobody calls me Gorringe ‘cept the boss when ‘e’s in a bad mood. Everybody else calls me ‘Erbie.”

Malky sighed, “Then, what can we do for your boss, H-erbie?”

“Malky! - don’t be so rude!” Zindy snapped.

Herbie shook his head, “Nah, ‘e’s got every right to be wary, sweet’eart. I’m beatin’ arahnd the bush, as it were, I really should explain meself,” his face took on a pained expression of someone who knew that what he was going to say next would either elicit gales of laughter or get him forcibly ejected from the premises forthwith; he carefully set down his teacup, laced his fingers on his lap and spoke without looking at his hosts, “Well, y’see, my boss, see... ‘e’s not a superstitious man by nay-cha but, ‘e’s got it into ‘is ‘ead...” he sighed heavily, looked up at Malky and bit the bullet, “Look – ‘e thinks the ahse ‘as been invaded by ‘a poltergeist’ and ‘e wants a consultation. Y’know, whether you can confirm or deny, that sort of thing.”

Malky’s heart sank. He threw up his hands and whined, “Fer cryin’ out loud! Another crank! A rich crank, but a crank nonetheless!”

[In the aftermath of the Barry McKee case, there had been numerous requests for newspaper interviews, TV documentaries and even a book deal with movie-options that would have set them up for the rest of their lives, but Malky had rejected them all out-of-hand. Zindy was slightly exasperated but mostly impressed by his innate integrity and refusal to exploit his adventures - then sometimes she wished he had his price, just enough to afford a decent refit. But he doggedly kept to his Code and slowly-but-surely, the phone stopped ringing, people stopped arriving at the door and they settled into what was, in Malky’s case, blissful isolation in a place he loved as a child; for Zindy, it represented normality and domesticity, something she needed after years of living in the fast lane.]

She was too taken with their visitor to dismiss the offer out of hand, “Wait til you ‘ear what Herbie ‘as to say before you go on a rant, Mr Sour-Balls!”

Malky leaned against the fridge and crossed his arms, “He can say what he likes but it won’t make a ha’penny’s worth o’ difference. We live by a Code remember?”

“’Code?’” Herbie looked from one to the other.

Zindy harrumphed and rhymed-off Malky’s charter to their bemused visitor, “Malky’s Code: he won’t have anything to do with the supernatural stuff... he won’t have anything to do with the media... he won’t write a book even though he’s been offered a lotta money...”

Malky: “-- and with good reason! Once you make contact -– you let them in! They’ll be writing begging letters, making pilgrimages to our door!”

Herbie, slightly embarrassed that he’d caused trouble in paradise, assured them, “You come very ‘ighly recommended, y’know – by the Gardai commissioner ‘isself, no less...”

Malky’s jaw dropped, “What?!” he gasped.

“Oh gawd, I knew this would be a nightmare...” Herbie muttered under his breath, grimacing like a man tiptoeing through a minefield wearing a blindfold; he elaborated in an apologetic tone, “... a couple o’ weeks ago, the boss was at one of them grand-banquet dos they ‘ave in Dublin City where the top-nobs can ‘obnob -- y’know the sort o’ fing, VIPs, the politicians an’-all-that-lot. Well, the commissioner was seated next to the boss and they got talkin’ about strange cases and your name came up, an’ when ‘e mentioned that Barry McKee business a few years ago, the boss wuz all ears 'n ‘e got the commissioner to get your address...?”

Malky was furious, “The Barry McKee case was as weird as they come, but it wasn't anythin’ to do with the supernatural -- it was to do with the fact that he’s a schizo who liked to kill little girls.”

Herbie raised his eyebrows, “So all that tawk abaht ‘im bein’ possessed is just bollocks?”

“Well, he thought he was possessed, he heard voices...” Zindy was about to elaborate when Malky shot her a what-the-hell-look.  She took umbrage, “So what did happen, Malcolm? Why don’t you explain it?”

“You should know -- you were there -– we nearly died!” Malky snapped back.

“Yeah -- but who ‘elped us?! ‘Ow did the dog find them bodies in the woods? Who told 'im where to go?!”

Sensing trouble in paradise, Herbie reached into his inside-pocket and took out a large brown leather wallet, “Look, I tell you wot, if it makes it any easier,” he pulled out a folded slip of paper and set it on the table so that it stood like a little greetings-card, “the boss gimme this blank cheque ‘n awforised me to offer ya 7 grand to come up to the ‘ahse and ‘ave-a-butcher’s. If you can get rid of the spook, he’ll give you anovver free grand. That’s 10 grand! More, if ‘e’s really pleased! ‘Is pockets are deep, believe me.”

“Something strange in your neighbourhood? Who you gonna call...?” Malky sang.  

“I don’t think even the Ghostbusters would get 10 grand for one night’s work?!” gasped Zindy, £-signs in her eyes.

Heartened that the hostess seemed keen, Herbie went for the hard-sell, “7 grand just to ‘ave a shufti, 10 grand if you get rid of it. What would money like that mean to you two?” he said, looking at Zindy’s bump.

Malky saw his better-half look around the kitchen, read her mind and reminded her with a wagging finger, “Don’t start...!”

Zindy wagged straight back, “The Code of Silence made sense in the beginnin’ when we wuz inundated with whackos, weirdoes ‘n’ wankers of every stripe – before we ‘ad money trouble and baby on t’way!”

Malky pointed and laughed sardonically, “Did you just say that? Who the hell are you?!”

The chauffeur turned to Malky and spoke softly, “Lissen Mr C -- I fink the old man’s barkin’ up the wrong tree too, but ‘e’s at his wit’s end – ‘e finks there’s an ‘evil spirit’ out to get ‘im! Now, I ain't seen anythin’ myself, just the aftermaff - but ‘e says fings fly across the room, y’know, ornaments ‘itting the wall, books falling from shelves, that sort of fing. E’s afraid to go rahnd the ‘ouse on ‘is own. If it goes on for much longer, ‘e’s likely to ‘ave a stroke or ‘eart attack, the poor old git.”

“Who is 'e?” Zindy and Malky asked, in perfect harmony.

Herbie paused for a second then said: “Oliver Laphen.”

“Ollie Laphen?! ‘The Quare Geg’?!” cried Malky; amazed and delighted, he duly eschewed his standoffishness, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“The old movie star? The hellraiser?” asked Zindy, only slightly impressed.

“Yip, that Ollie Laphen,” said Herbie, sheepishly, as if confessing a cardinal sin.

“My God. Ollie Laphen! That takes me back a-ways...” Malky enthused, whimsically, looking up, as if viewing the memory in a thought balloon hovering just above his head, “...in Belfast in the late 50s when me ‘n me younger brother Dessie were kids, we used to see his films at the Roy Rogers’ Movie Club at the Curzon on Saturday mornings and we loved the ‘Laffin Boy’ shorts he made in the early 30s when he was still called ‘Ollie Laffin’. Jeez, we must’ve seen them all at least 10 times each...!”

Zindy left Malky to wander down Memory Lane and got down to business, “And ‘’e’s willing to pay Malky 7 grand just to look round ‘is ‘aunted ‘ouse?!”

Herbie smiled and nodded.

Although mightily tempted, Malky still wasn't moved, “Nah – it smacks of exploitation. I’m not goin’ to take advantage of an old man who’s probably in the primary stages of senility... Oh, sorry, Herbie...”

The chauffeur shrugged and nodded, “You’re singin’ to the choir guv.  That’s what us lot reckoned, too - but in every ovver respect he’s fine. ‘E’s cantankerous and narky like ‘e always is, but ‘is memory’s fine - e’s workin’ on a one-man-show and ‘e don’t even ‘ave to look at the book. ‘E reads all ‘is contracts – even the small print - ‘e writes ‘is memoirs... If it is senility, then this poltergeist fing is the only symptom.” He winked, “Tell-you-wot -- why dontcha meet ‘im ‘n’ see for y’self.”

Malky had to smile. It was like being coerced by an aging Artful Dodger. He now knew how the big chauffeur had kept a job for so many years: Herbert Gorringe has made a career out of getting the boss exactly what he wants, by hook or by crook.

“Lissen, if you fink it’s all a loada ol’ cobblahs, you can tell ‘im so - take the money - and I’ll drive you ‘ome. No ‘assle. No one will ever know. Mr Laphen certainly won’t be tellin’. You know ‘ow much ‘e ‘ates the press.”

Zindy looked at Malky and batted her eyelids, “No one will ever know and you’ll have a great story to tell our kids.”

“Oh – you’re not coming?” said Malky, with a raised eyebrow.

Zindy indicated the engine parts on the table, “No time, lover –- we need the van back on the road by mornin’ cos I ‘ave to go to Arklow and pick-up the grocery order and fetch more paint from the DIY store. Incidentally, I’ll be ‘using’ t’credit card - you know the one I mean -– the one we owe £3,400 on?”

“My God woman, have you no shame?!” said Malky, semi-seriously, shaking his head with exasperation.

Herbie held up the cheque and flicked it with a finger, “A lotta lolly for a few hours’ work, my friends.”

“C’mon, Malk. Like ‘Erbie says, the ol' boy’s loaded and it’s only one night...?”

Malky stared at his paint-spattered hands and had a rethink: you’ll to get away from the smell of varnish and gloss, meet the great Ollie Laphen and have a look round his house...  “Well... I suppose one night wouldn't be so bad... ?”

Deal sealed, Herbie sighed with relief, got to his feet and shook Malky’s hand. Malky looked at Zindy and shook his head, “You know you’ll never hear the end of this, dontcha?”

Zindy grinned, “Careful Ollie Laphen’s poltergeist don’t drop summat ‘eavy on yer ‘ead, chook!”

Malky held his sides and pretended to cry tears of laughter.

“Oh yeah - one other fing,” said Herbie, looking around, “The commissioner-bloke told us that you usually work wiv a free-legged German shepherd...?”

Right on cue, the beast in question nosed the door open and sauntered into the room, someone call?

[Broo and Malky had a semi-telepathic link; they couldn't communicate directly, but over the years following the Barry McKee saga, they’d developed an intuitive sense of what the other was thinking.]

Malky glared, you heard all that didn’t you?

The old dog grunted, I can hear the rats building a nest three-doors-down, you twit - of course I heard. And I must say, it’s about time we had a case...

“It’ll be a bit of a lark, won’t it?” chirped Zindy, putting Malky’s toothbrush and shaving kit into his overnight bag. She gave the once over and shook her head, “you’re a walkin’ disaster. Things wrinkled as soon as you put them on.” She lifted the comb and tried to do something with his hair.

Her other-half still hadn't warmed to the idea, “Lark? It’ll be no laughing matter for me, wandering around some creaky, chilly stately-home all night with that grumpy hound at me heel.”

Broo growled back.

She stooped slightly and pointed the comb at the old dog, “Now listen – Broo – you be patient w’ ‘im and remember that ‘e ‘ates all this kinda spooky stuff,” she turned back to her man, “and Mal, you remember that Broo is old and crotchety and prone to snarkiness.”

How dare you madam! I’ll have you know my intellectual capacity is at its peak! The father of your child is the one with questionable mental faculties, not me!

Standing on tiptoe, Zindy cupped Malky’s cheeks and gave him one of her pep-talks, “Listen, chook... take a look round, if you don’t find anythin’ or it looks like a set up, or it don’t feel right -- whatever -- I’ll understand if you don’t take the money, OK?”

Malky was confused, “Then why....?”

She put a finger on his lips, “I’d appreciate a little time on me own, OK? Nothing sinister, just some time to meself. We've been in each other’s pockets day-and-night for 2 year now, so tonight -- for one night only -- I’m gonna finish workin’ on the soddin’ van, ‘ave a bath, write a coupla letters and get an early night. Meanwhile, you get to spend the night in a luxurious mansion in the company of yer boyhood hero.”

She wants a break from you, and who can blame her.

Malky shot the dog a reproachful glance, then smiled when he turned back to his better-half, “You don’t need to explain, Zin. You've got what’s commonly known as Calvert Fatigue.”

She pushed him out onto the landing, “Now fook off. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Broo surveyed the stray cats lined long the parapet of the old burned-out cinema. They had gathered to watch the Rolls roll by, just like they had at the time of the McKee affair: further confirmation, to him at least, that this journey was significant. He resolved to pay attention to every detail and use all his powers... to get to the bottom... of (yawn)... whatever....zzzzzzz He was asleep within 10 minutes. Malky looked over his shoulder and scowled. Lazy sod.

Herbie took the scenic route and drove slowly. The hedgerows bustled-by lackadaisically, the dry-stone-walls refused to become a grey-white blur as £400,000 worth of Rolls Royce shook ‘n’ shimmied along bumpy country lanes and pot-holey side-roads at a leisurely 32mph. He was enjoying the view of the misty Wicklow mountains, and despite the nip in the breeze and the baleful skies, he wound down his window and leaned out to take the air -- which reeked of compost and slurry, but which was entirely to his taste -- “Aaaaah! Smell that?! Laaave this cahntryside, I do! Y’know, at least once a day, I stop what I’m doin’ ‘n give fanks that we landed back ‘ere and not blahdy Swizzer-land. Swizzer-land,” he sneered. “I ‘ate blahdy Swizzer-land. The boss wuz a tax-exile for a while y’see...” He went on to list the many shortcomings of the Swiss in his bouncy cockney twang. Malky repressed the overwhelming urge to shout for Christ’s sake shut-up and step on it! and tuned him out. There he was, on his way to do something he didn’t want to do for people he didn’t want to know in a place he didn’t want to be, and the longer it took to get there the more the prospect bothered him. Bloody cheek, that Gardai Commissioner handing my name & number out to all-and-sundry – I should sue! ... Bloody hocus-pocus and hoodoo-voodoo... but as usual, money talks and principles go out the window... money, money, money... she’ll be setting up a Supernatural Detective Agency next... She’ll be advertising it in the paper...

Seemingly oblivious to the ennui emanating from the fidgety heap of grumpiness beside him, Herbie continued to natter away about getting acclimatised to the snail’s-pace of pastoral Irish life after so many years spent in the fraught, hustle-&-bustle of Hollywood: “They’re as nice-as-ninepence to ya just so long as yer putting bums on seats and bags of lolly in the bank – if not - they’ll drop ya like ‘ot potatah! Fankfully, the boss is always bankable – you put ‘is name on a marquee and you’s guaranteed a profit! ‘E still ‘as a core fanbase of millions who’ll come to everyfink ‘e’s in!”

Malky grunted a hollow, listless “Oh really?”

Unfazed, Herbie whispered in Malky’s ear: “Lissen, mate, if you wanna take the edge-off - ‘ave a drop of Irish. The boss keeps a flask in the glove-compartment for emergencies.”

Malky was caught off-guard and answered in an embarrassed stutter, “Er, no thanks, I don’t drink...”

“‘Recovering alcoholic’, are ya?” Herbie asked.

Although wholly nonplussed by the man’s audacity, Malky replied without raising his voice, “Let’s just say I had a problem at one time and leave it at that, shall we?”

But Herbie continued to pry, “Don’t take this the wrong way, pal, but you have the look of a man who’s no stranger to --”

“Oi! Enough!” Malky barked (Brooster woke up with a start), “Keep yer eyes on the road, Jeeves! Just cuz yer boss is willin’ to pay 7 grand for my services doesn’t give ye the right to dig into me personal life!”

Herbie was visibly taken aback by this unexpected tirade; he pulled down the peak of his cap so that it covered his eyes, straightened up in his seat, took the car up to a steady 40, and after a brief pause, spoke in a more professional tone, “I wuz only makin’ conversation, sir. If I’ve offended you in any way, I ‘umbly apologise and beg yer pardon, sir.”

“Forget it.” Malky turned away and looked out of the window.

A minute or two passed, and as the little surge of adrenalin dissipated, so the embarrassment sank in and he decided to restart the conversation, “Did I hear you tell Zindy you were in the army?”

Still somewhat narked, the chauffeur kept his eyes on the road and gave his name rank and number with the clipped diction of a well-drilled soldier, “Queen’s Royal Irish Fusiliers, 17 years: Corporal Herbert Valentino Gorringe 2063 reporting for duty, sah.”

Malky smiled, “Valentino?”

Herbie made a face, “It was that or Rudolph. My ol’ mum was a big fan. She was in-con-sole-able when ‘e died, grieved fer days, apparently.”

Where was another protracted pause, until Malky said, “I used to meet a lot of Tommies in Belfast in the early days of the Troubles. Seen a good few murdered, too. Bad times.”

The chauffeur turned slightly so that he could look Malky in the eye, “You wasn't chucking the ol’ Molotovs, was ya? You ain’t an ex-IRA man or anyfink like that, ‘is ya?!” Au contraire. Malky told him he was an ex-RUC policeman. Herbie was very interested, visibly relieved and wholly amazed, “Really? If you don’t mind me saying so - you don’t strike me as the type...?”

“My ambition was to be a detective, but I never made it out of uniform. I quit after my partner was gunned down right beside me and I went off the rails a bit and... Well, y’know...” Malky’s voice trailed off.

Herbie shook his head, “Gunned down right beside you? That’s rough that is.”

“But surely you’ve had near-death experiences yourself, Herbie, especially after 17 years in the army...?”

“Well, I wuz too young to serve in the war. I turned 17 the day after VE day. I didn’t join-up til the September of 46. And I never did no tour of duty in Norvern Ireland neevah, I was mostly overseas in Cyprus and the Middle East. We was part of a UN peace-keeping force tryin’ to keep the tribes apart: Jews, Muslims, Christians – not to mention the Greeks and the Turks! Bit like Belfast, but wiv loadsa sun, sand and bearded blokes in pyjamas wiv machine guns. Mind you, I saw the aftermaff of a lotta bombs, I saw fousands killed in genocides... terrible, ‘orrible it was... But I never really saw battle, just ‘minor skirmishes’. Luck, I suppose. It was during a tour of Norf Africa in 64 when I first met the boss!”

“Really,” asked Malky, suddenly interested, “you met oul’ Ollie while you were still in the army? You've been with him that long?”

Herbie was back on his favourite subject and relishing the opportunity to impart his favourite anecdote to a captive audience: “Oh yeah, it was me firtiefth birthday and I was on a day’s leave, so me and a couple of the lads went to Casablanca to paint the tahn several shades of crimson... and after a bit of a pub crawl rahnd the Kasbahs, I got separated from me mates, and while I was lookin’ fer ‘em, I strolls into this dark little tavern and sittin’ there in a corner was Oliver Laphen! Would you Adam ‘n’ Eve it?! ‘E was supposed to shootin’ an adventure movie wiv David Niven about archaeologists in World War Two called Diamonds in the Dust –- but he was skivin’-off cuz he’d ‘ad a row with the director and ‘e was layin’-low -- he didn’t wanna ‘ang round the ‘otel, so ‘e’s ‘iding-out in this dark little Kasbah, trying to be inconspicuous – wearin’ a black wig, big black shades, a kaftan and a fez - but I knew ‘im the minute I set eyes on ‘im! See, our CO was a big fan. He ‘ad all the reels of the comic shawts from the late 30s and some of the feature films the boss made for Paramahnt in the 40s – he used to get ‘em sent ovah and screen ‘em for the lads on a Satur’ay night! Anyway - there ‘e is, in the flesh, so-to-speak! Oliver Laphen! Jolly Ollie! So I go over an’ I say, ‘Can I ‘ave your autograwph Mr Laphen, sah?’ and at first ‘e‘s fumin’ – ‘e goes-off-on-one! Then ‘e calms dahn and says to me – ‘’ow the eff did you know it was me?!’ and I say ‘It’s the way you’re ‘olding your drink!’ Cuz ‘e’s always had this way of curling back ‘is little finger as if ‘e’s drinkin’ from the finest choy-nah. E ‘as these delicate li’l ‘ands, see...”

As he watched the chauffeur get more-and-more animated, Malky came to understand how a sensible, seemingly-well-balanced ex-squaddie like Herbert Valentino Gorringe could forsake marriage, family and blissful conformity just to spend his life at the beck-and-call of -- if popular opinion had it right -- a detestable, despotic, volatile, cranky little egomaniac like Oliver Laphen. Well, now he knew. Herbie wasn't just a fan – he was in love with the man. The pair’s long-term relationship had outlasted all of ‘The Quare Geg’s’ marriages put together. No wonder the story was related with such gusto and attention to detail, it was, after all, an epic romance.

“.... any’ow, at 400 hours, I ‘ad to get back to base, but before I go ‘e takes me to one side an’ ‘e says – ‘’Erbie, if you quit the army ‘n become my chauffeur and personal bodyguard, I’ll guarantee you a 50 knicker a week for starters, bed-‘n’-board - all the skirt you can ‘andle – plus -- you’ll get to see the world without ‘avin’ to worry abaht gettin’ yer ‘ead blown orf!’ So I laugh ‘n’ say I’ll fink about it. I fanked him for the best night of my life and we say ta-ra. I go back to camp finking it wuz all the blustah and idle boasts of a booze-‘ahnd and forgot abaht it.  But it didn’t stop ‘im. When ‘e asked for the fird and final time, I quit and I’ve been at ‘is beck-‘n’-call ever since.”

“Was it worth it, Herbie?” Malky asked.

The chauffeur thought long and hard about the question before answering. When he did, his voice was more mature and thoughtful, “E can be an ‘andful sometimes, but artistic people is prone to temperament, it’s ‘ow they’s able to do the fings they do. But I’ve learned ‘ow to balance it aht. I’ve been all over the world, visited all the major cities ‘n’ ‘istorical places... I’ve met a lotta Very Important People – besides movie stars an’ showbiz folk, there’s been world leaders, presidents, kings and queens, writers, top sportsmen – so whenever people awsk ‘’ow do you put up wiv ‘im?’ I say ‘take a look at me passport, me photos and me bank accahnt, moosh - there’s ‘ow!’” He turned to Malky and told him earnestly, “See, I’ve gotta lotta great memories. I’ve seen ‘istory bein’ made. I’ve supped Earl Grey wiv Picasso and knocked back bourbon wiv Dean ‘n’ Frank. I’ve made an omelette fer Einstein an’ cocktails for Noel Coward. I’ve played cards wiv Kate Hepburn for two straight days - and lost. No matter what the ol’ boy gets up to, I wouldn't trade those memories for the world.... Umm...” Something crossed his mind. When he spoke again, it was in a more tentative tone, “Look, before we get to the ‘ahse, I’d better mention the incident on Friday night wot started ‘im off.”

“Why? What happened on Friday night?” asked Malky, a little disconcerted.

“I was away visitin’ a lady-friend in Dublin, an’ apparently all the lights went aht and the ‘uge grandfavver clock in the lobby fell over and smashed on the floor -– the boss was frightened outta his wits -- fought it was burglars – so ‘e pressed one of the panic buttons and Charlie, our ‘ead of security, drove up to the ’ahse right away. But the power-cut musta shorted-aht the alarm system cuz ‘is swipe-card wouldn't work and the master key wouldn't turn in the lock! So, finkin’ ‘e’s under siege, the ol’ man pressed the button that calls the Old Bill, but by the time they got there, Charlie ‘ad managed to get in ‘n’ calm the old man down. Then the lights come on again – not just the lights that wuz on when the power went aht – but every single light in the ‘ole ahse including the bedrooms, bathrooms, the ballroom -- everywhere. By this stage, the boss is goin’ mental. Really, really scared.

“When I got back I got a right bollockin’ as if it was all my fault – like I ‘ad the temerity to ‘ave a night off! Any'ow, me ‘n’ Charlie searched that ahse from top to bottom; the cops  ‘n’ the security lads looked round the grounds, but we come up empty... there wuz nothin’ up iv the fuse-box, no sign of tamperin’ or anyfink dodgy.”

“Would the grandfather clock be easy to topple?” said Malky.

“Well, it’s set into the wall ‘n’ it’s solid, antique Bavarian pine, 9 foot tall wiv a ruddy great bell in it; it’s got a solid gold pendulum and it weighs around a two-and-an-‘alf ton, I couldn’t pull it dahn on me own.” Gorringe coughed then said, “And that’s the ovver fing... the boss’ been back on the bottle ever since, and if you know anyfink about the boss, you’ll know that ‘e’s a bit... volatile when ‘e’s on the sawse. So, ignore any strange behaviour, if y’know what I mean.”

Malky was a trifle miffed at being apprised of these tidings so late in the day; he was about to ask if there was anything else he should know when Herbie suddenly brightened and declared, “And ‘ere we are, my beauties! My little ‘ome-from-‘ome!”

Herbie slowed the limo to a funereal crawl as they entered a particularly picturesque little village, “Ahhh, ‘ave you ever been a little place like this before?” he asked, with a little smirk that hinted at a rhetorical question.

Malky honestly confessed, “No. I’m sure I’d remember if I had.”

“You wouldn’t ‘ave. This ‘ere is a protected community, see. Only a few people know about it.”

It was beautiful, rows of whitewashed thatched cottages with black gloss doors, all flowers beds and hanging baskets with a little square with a little roundabout in the centre, bedecked with a floral clock depicting the flag of St George (?); aside from the copious vegetation, there was very little sign of life and almost no sign of the 20th century. “What’s it called?”

“Bogmire. Pretty lousy name for such a laavly little ‘amlet, innit?”

If it wasn't for the faded & peeling Coca Cola sign stuck to the inside of the window of the post office-cum-newsagent and an old bicycle leaning against the bench outside a ramshackle little country pub (the Black Water Rat), they could be back in Tudor England. Malky made appreciative noises.

“It’s like a little oasis from bygone days, innit? You feel as if you’ve slipped frew a time-warp – eh?! But the funny thing is – it ain't Irish! See, most of the people ‘oo live ‘ere are descended from English peasant stock! Most of ‘em is originally from the wilds o’ Cornwall! The Duke of Roxborough brought ‘em ovah to build Pagham ‘Ahse ‘n ‘e built these ‘ere cottages for ‘em – and believe it or not, they lasted through the rebellion cos of a pact between the Irish rebels and the Roxborough family ‘n they’ve been ‘ere ever since. When ‘e bought the ahse the only proviso wuz that we keep the staff and let the Supplicants – that’s their religion, that is – live ‘n’ work on the estate.” Herbie went on to tell of the locals’ strange customs and bizarre lifestyle in a disbelieving tone, “... and they've been doin’ it fer 200 years straight!”

Malky looked around, “And this is all part of the estate?”

“Yep, it came with the ahse!”

This didn’t surprise Malky one bit. For an Irish ex-pat, the old man wasn't renowned for his patriotism; in fact, he was a close friend of Princess Margaret and during the height of the Troubles in the 70s he was renowned for making disparaging noises about the Republican movement in Ireland from the safety of his Bel Air mansion (when Lord Mountbatten was murdered by the IRA he told a NBC TV news reporter that the terrorists in question were ‘like a bunch of weasels attacking a lion’ and that Britain should ‘string ‘em up’), he was frequent visitor to the Whitehouse when the Republicans were in office, and was often mooted to be an anonymous sponsor of various right-of-centre US politicos -- he backed Nixon over Kennedy, was close to Ronnie Reagan since his  days as chairman of Screen Actors Guild, and was a frequent house guest of George Bush senior -- all of which made him a potential target for disgruntled boyos on both sides of the pond. It made sense that he’d want to live out his twilight years in a little slice of England transplanted into the heart of the Irish countryside, it suited his style: contrary to the end.

Herbie pulled-up outside a dainty little general store called The Peppermint Poke. The window was full of candy jars and pastries neatly arranged on little lacy paper doilies, “Dora oo runs the Poke is an Outsider, meanin’ she’s married to one of the Supplicants so she’s allowed to run a shop. None of ‘em is allowed to ‘ave a shop or make profit from their work, so the outsiders tend to do them fings, like business transactions and that. The local garda sergeant is an outsider, too -- he lives in that li’l cottage ovah there.” he pointed to one of the gleaming residences across the square...” Herbie opened the door, “I’m just gonna go in and get the Sunday papers ‘n’ a tube of Polos... I’ll only be a sec.”

Malky wound down his window to inhale the compliment of delicious odours to accompany the view: flowers, mown lawns and more flowers, “very restful. Then he heard a rumble outside the car -- a motorcycle had pulled up alongside and its rider, wearing a helmet with a dark visor, was looking through the driver’s-side-window. What’s this? Malky shrank back in his seat....The rider casually unzipped his black leather jacket and reached inside – for a second Malky flinched -- but instead of a weapon, he produced a video camera. Malky knew a maverick paparazzo when he saw one and immediately flew into a rage – he lunged out of the open widow, shook his fist and yelled, “Piss-off ya bastard! Get that f**kin’ thing outta my face or I’ll put my foot in yer arse!”

The shouting roused Broo from his slumbers. He saw the motorcyclist, heard Malky screaming and instinctively barked loudly and forcefully -- until he sensed that the stranger posed no threat and Malky appeared to be overreacting. He stopped barking, gave himself a shake and tried to get his bearings. The cameraman was quite small, dressed in biker’s leathers like Zindy’s biker chums, but these were more expensive and unsullied by general wear-&-tear. Then, as the bleariness subsided and his eyes refocused, Broo saw something that both startled and alarmed him. At first he thought it was the motorcycle’s exhaust fumes, then he realised the figure was shrouded in what he could only describe as a purplish-halo -- whatever it was, it was unlike any aura he’d ever seen before.

Malky was fit to be tied, “I’m not gonna tell you again, friend! If you don’t fuck aff immediately I’m gonna come out there and stick that camera where the sun don’t shine!!”

“That’s a take!” The biker cried, packing away his camera, “Thank you sir! Have a nice day!” he said and roared off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke in his wake. “Bloody paps – see – this is what happens when you do somebody a favour,” grumbled Malky.

Broo was still drinking in the atmosphere and looking for anomalies. Having been in places like this all over Ireland, the old dog had noted that each dainty village and township they visited had its own peculiar little ripples of the past shining through the present. On his travels he’d heard the echoes of ancient battles in the silence of the first light of dawn; he’d seen the children of ancient tribes playing on a busy motorway at noon; he’d seen 16th century Spanish galleons off the coast at Cork -– but Bogmire was a spiritual desert: there was absolutely nothing to sense or feel beyond the here and now. It was clearly old, spotless and brightly painted, but utterly devoid of soul. And that smell... beneath the floral scents and peat smoke, lay an ever-present stench that marred the otherwise wholesomeness of the place. Even for a dog that usually salivated at the stink of putrid flesh, it was hard to stomach. Most unusual...

Just then they heard the little tinkle of a bell and Herbie emerged from the shop with a bundle of newspapers under his arm and a Polo mint in his cheek; he got back in and offered one to Malky, “Did I ‘ear a mo’orbike?” he asked, “I was chattin' to Dora and I could've swawn I ‘eard a rumblin’ sahnd...?”

“Just a guy askin’ for directions,” said Malky, “so I told him where to go...”  

At that very moment, 3000 miles away, in the kitchen of a townhouse in North York, Toronto, Canada, the man of the house appeared in the kitchen doorway, barefoot in his pyjama bottoms, unshaven, hands deep in the pockets of his bedraggled dressing gown. 

“Emil! What the f**k?! Go get dressed – we’re late as it is!” shouted Fran, ever the fiery redhead, dressed to the nines in her Sunday-best, rifling through her purse in search of her car keys, “I told you to get ready an hour ago!” They were supposed to be going to her niece’s christening and they were running 10 minutes late. She looked under the cushions in the lounge; she looked in and under the couch; she checked every pocket in the coat rack. “Where the f**k are they?!!”

Emil watched her, his arms hanging by his sides, and said, “I’m not going. I have the shits.” 

Did I just say that? What the f**k?!

Fran, currently poking through the trash in the pedal-bin with the salad-tongs, threw her head back and mocked him in an ironic voice, “Hah! I knew it! Mom warned me – ‘he won’t go – he doesn’t even own a suit’! Well, it suits me – I don’t have to watch you get drunk and throw up in the swimming pool or make a pass at a waitress... Owww-ouch!” she’d cut her knuckle on the edge of a jagged tuna can, “F**k this!” she kicked the bin and ran to the sink to rinse it, screaming, “F**K! F**K! WHERE THE F**K ARE MY F**KING KEYS!!”

He knew exactly where they were. They were in his pocket. He was holding them in the palm of his hand; but for some strange reason he didn’t hand them over. It wasn't that he didn’t want to, it was because he couldn't. And no matter how hard he tried to communicate, his body wouldn't respond; he let her go on searching and said nothing.

She went to the knick-knack drawer in the welsh-dresser, rummaged around in the back and eventually emerged triumphant, “Ah - hah! The spare! I knew I’d put it somewhere!!” She had one last look in the mirror to check her mascara and top-up her lip gloss, “... If you go out make sure you turn on the alarm.... and if you go back to bed - don’t f**king smoke! That’s a new quilt and I don’t want it looking like somebody’s used it for target practice!” She strode down the hall to the front door; a few seconds later she came stomping back, madder than ever “You f**king asshole! You've done it again!! You've boxed me in! I can’t get my car out!” 

Emil remained silent. 

“Emil!” She approached him and looked up into his dull, blue eyes, “EMIL! You have to move your car! Are you listening to me?!

He stood and stared.

“Emil!”

“See you later, legislator,” he said, without smiling. It was a catchphrase he used when they said goodbye on the doorstep in those early days when they first moved in together; but here & now it just sounded weird. She gave him a sideways look, “Are you stoned?”

“Take my car.” He dangled his keys on his pinkie.

She grimaced at the smell of his breath, glowered and said, “Listen... I don’t know what the hell you’re on or what you are trying to pull, but my mother will be frothing at the mouth -– I was supposed to pick her 15 minutes ago -– this is a crisis!”

He dangled his keys.

She drew herself up and bawled in his face, “GET OUT THERE AND MOVE YOUR F**KING CAR!”

He jangled his keys.

She slammed her key down on the table and snatched his in one frighteningly limber move, “RIGHT! – I’m calling your bluff, asshole – I’m taking your beloved Porsche! You can take my Volvo -- I wonder what all those cutesy little students of yours will think when they see the delectable Dr Labatt driving through campus in a busted-up soccer-mom-mobile?!”

Emil stared back, unblinking and blank, and said, “I’ll miss you, Fran. You’re alright.”  

“F**k you, asshole!” She thrust the finger in his face and stormed out.

The slamming door was the last thing Emil heard before the darkness descended...

A few miles from Bogmire, along a road that was little more than a narrow lane, they arrived at a long, narrow lane lined on one side by yew trees concealing a tall, ivy-covered, red-brick wall that contained the entrance to Pagham House (or Paggum Ahse, as Herbie called it, making it sound like a particularly nasty proctological affliction), the stately-home of Oliver Laphen. Herbie reached into the inside pocket of his tunic and produced a small remote-control which he used to open a pair of inconspicuous but heavily fortified, solid iron gates, “As you can imagine, the boss is fanatical about security,” he pointed to the CCTV cameras perched atop the pillars either side of the gate, “this place ‘as got more cameras than Fort Knox.”

Inside of course, it was different story entirely: acres of well-tended lawns as smooth as billiard-table-baizes; vast flower beds moistened by a huge sprinkler system; topiary styled to resemble the figures in the Ascent of Man leading to the entrance of an extensive privet-maze; an enormous, ornate white-marble fountain with alabaster cherubs pissing into the air. It was all very tastefully ostentatious.

Like most of the world, his knowledge of Oliver Laphen was based on sensational gossip-columns he’d read in tatty magazines in various waiting-rooms over the years and the odd interview on Parkinson. Because Laphen was such an intensely private man, there were no official biographies and he used the services of an extremely litigious LA law firm to stymie any scandalous tomes that might shed light on the mystery he’d carefully nurtured over the years – a tantalising question: where did this fiery, working class, comic genius come from? The more reclusive he became, the more public interest increased, the more speculative the press became about his private life, the more outrageous the rumours -– the more tickets he sold. His career was indestructible. Not that everything was rosy on the home front. Enigmas, especially rich, volatile enigmas, are pap magnets; a good picture will fetch upwards of $10,000 so he was tabloid fodder from the day he stepped into the limelight. Editors from LA to Tokyo dispatched an army of dedicated investigative journalists to Dublin where they pored over thousands of files in public records offices in an attempt to trace the Laphen family line, but they always drew a blank: Jolly Ollie’s pedigree remained a tantalising mystery. He was certainly an Irishman by birth but refused to say anything about his childhood other than he was ‘educated by sadistic nuns’; he never talked about any parents or siblings and nobody knew where in Ireland he was from -- his accent was hard to pinpoint and changed as often as his anecdotes, the most famous of which was the story of his emigration to America when he allegedly stowed-away on a liner bound for New York at the age of 13 in 1929. After evading processing at Ellis Island he hitched his way across the States east to west and landed in Hollywood, where, according to (his) legend, he slept on the beach and did whatever work he could find during the day. At night he’d ‘hone his art’ performing slapstick in vaudeville, readying himself for stardom; two years later, at the age of 16, he was discovered by the celebrated ‘King Of Comedy’ Max Sennett. The talkies were the new big thing, and at a time when most silent stars were finding it impossible to ‘sound funny’, Ollie’s cartoonish Irish accent was a godsend and Sennett gave him his own series of 15 minute shorts. As Laphen retold this story over the subsequent decades, the narrative was wont to evolve until the embellishments rendered it wholly unreliable.

In the mid-30s when he traded under the moniker Ollie Laffin, he was happy to mug and gurn for the downmarket rags and Pathé News presentations; then, when he got ‘serious’ in the late-40s/early-50s, he stopped playing the fool and became a semi-reclusive thesp. The post-war world was a different place: screwball comedy and slapstick was old hat and Ollie was too canny to go down with the ship. When he returned to movies in ‘46 he went under the name of Oliver Laphen, stopped doing interviews and avoided all ‘that red carpet bollox’, preferring to leave the PR to his co-stars and directors who’d either guardedly sing his praises or proffer equivocal comments that were actually thinly-veiled digs, such as: ‘[working with] Mr Laphen was an experience I’ll never forget... but I’m trying.’ (Lauren Bacall) ‘He brings a piece of himself to every role and playing the villain comes so naturally [to him]...’ (David Niven), but one vox-pop in particular had stuck in in Malky’s mind: "He kept us mere mortals waiting for 4 hours before gracing us with His Presence, we went $4 million over-budget, 4 producers suffered a collective nervous breakdown and 2 of the crew died from heatstroke, but when you hire [Oliver Laphen], you get the best and some studios are prepared to set aside a few million to ‘feed the beast’.” Regardless of what his fellow-travellers thought of him, and how big a pain in the arse he was, Ollie Laphen = Box Office Gold.

“There she is!” cried Herbie, like an enthusiastic tour guide. The Rolls had rounded a bend in the driveway and Malky got his first glimpse of Pagham House.

“Jeez –- house is too small a word, Herbie! This makes Windsor Castle look like a B&B!” said Malky, when confronted by the huge, sandstone edifice of palatial proportions, with rows of latticed gothic windows, draped with thick beards of ivy.

The chauffeur chuckled, “Impressive, eh? It used to belong to the 10th Duke of Roxborough til ‘e fell on ‘ard-times ‘n the boss made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. We rent it aht when we’re ahtta town. It’s very popular wiv the Arabs ‘n the Chinese. It’s got 30 rooms, swimming pool, gym, ballroom, sauna -- it even has its own church -- the works!” They pulled into a gravel forecourt and parked at the foot of a huge white marble staircase leading up to a tastefully-weathered, balustrade-lined terrace. But Malky’s attention was drawn to another vehicle parked to the right of the steps: namely, the same Harley-Davison touring bike he’d seen in the village, and sitting on the steps was the mysterious rider/cameraman filming them as they drew up!

Malky was furious all over again, “What’s he doing here?”

“More to the point, ‘ow the ‘ell did ‘e get in?!” said Herbie, slowly unclipping his seat belt and opening his door, “I’ll ‘andle this...” Herbie got out, straightened his cap and walked toward the diminutive figure, “Can I ‘elp you, mate...?” Malky heard him ask, and then he and Broo watched as the biker promptly stopped filming, jumped down and met the burly chauffeur head-on -- he took off his helmet, grinned, opened his arms and the two embraced like they were very pleased to see each other.

“Uncle Herb – you look great!” trilled a cherub-cheeked, heavily-freckled, copper-headed American kid in his mid-20s, brimming with childlike-enthusiasm, speaking quickly and excitedly, “Listen - we’re gonna be shooting in July! I’m here to scout for locations and do the final negotiations...!” The lad stopped short when he noticed Malky trudging across the gravel.

“Sorry, Mr Calvert sir, I got a bit distracted then,” said Herbie, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “This ‘ere’s Kristof Katz, Mr Laphen’s grandson. Kris – this-‘ere is Mr Malcolm Calvert ‘oo’s come to... erm... sort out a little... plumbing problem...”

The young Master Katz took off a leather gauntlet, shook Malky’s hand, chattering incessantly, “Very pleased to meet you sir, I’m very sorry for the candid camera incident, but when I saw the car I thought my grandfather was inside and I wanted to catch him unawares but I caught you unawares and once you started to rant I couldn’t resist capturing that intense anger! I guess it’s the habit of lifetime -- Herb here will tell ya -- I’ve hadda movie-camera in my mitt since I was old enough to lift one – isn’t that right Uncle Herb? I’m a total geek!”

Malky gaped at him as if he’d arrived from another planet.

“Yer caffeinated up-to the-eyeballs again!” said Herbie, playfully clipping him round the ear and scolding him like a naughty schoolboy, “jet-lagged, ridin’ rahnd windin’ cahntry roads on a bleedin’ two-wheeled deff-trap?! Are y’ off your trolley, boy?! You coulda been killed -- there’s farm vehicles on these-‘ere roads, you coulda turned an ‘airpin bend an’ wahnd-up in the blades of a combine ‘arvester or summink!!”

Kris apologised for his over-enthusiasm and slowed down, “... anyhow, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Calvert,” he turned and pointed behind him, “welcome to Ollie Towers, The Laphen House -- Xanadu -- whatever you wanna call it.”

Now that he was up close, Malky saw the family resemblance; the lad was short, around 5’ 5”, the same steely-blue peepers and winsome dimples that had graced millions-upon-millions of magazine covers since 1930. Malky felt compelled to comment, “I must say, you are the spitting image of your granddad.”

Herbie was gushing again, “Not only that -- but he’s in’erited his talent too! Kris is a movie director!” he tweaked the lad’s cheek and pretended to punch his jaw.

Kris went all aw-shucks and kicked at the gravel with the toe of a leather boot, “Well, I’m about to direct my first full-length feature. I’m very excited. It’s been in development hell for 3 or 4 years and now it’s finally in pre-production.”  

“’E’s like a son to me!” Herbie put an arm around Kris’ shoulders, tweaked his cheek again and beamed, “when he was a nipper ‘is mum used to leave ‘im wif me on those days when she was... erm... uvverwise occupied...”

Kris, utterly unfazed, merrily took up the slack and filled in the blanks, “What Herb won’t tell you is my mom – Annelise Katz, née Laphen - had a lotta ‘substance abuse issues’ at the time, Mr Calvert. She used to unload me onto Herbie for weeks on end when she went on a jag [Now that the lad had mentioned it, Malky recalled reading something about one of Laphen’s daughters getting arrested for possession in the late 60s. In fact, from what he could remember, all 8 of the Quare Geg’s children had ‘issues’ of one kind or another]. Thankfully she’s been clean and sober for the past 6 years and now she’s counselling other women with similar issues...” he squeezed the hand dangling on his shoulder, “So I have this man to thank for givin’ me a relatively normal childhood! We used to play on the film sets in the studios when gramps was making a movie - that’s where I got my training!”

Herbie blushed, “Ach, it wasn't ideal, but where else was I gonna take ya? You know your granddad always ‘as to ‘ave me arahnd to fetch and carry for ‘im. And watchin’ a film get made is like watchin’ paint dry, if you awsk me - it’s a wonder it didn’t put you off movies for life!”

They were distracted by the sound of paws hitting gravel. The old dog had finally exited the Rolls but didn’t join them; he kept close to the car and watched from a distance. “Whassup wiv the pooch, ‘e’s gawn a bit shy, ‘in ‘e?” asked Herbie.

Malky called out to him: “What’s the matter with you, Hopalong? What has you all cagey, huh? Come over here and say hello!”

“Aww, look, he’s only got three legs,” crooned Kris, in a childishly sympathetic voice. Broo whimpered as he watched the glowing boy walk toward him, stooped and spoke softly as if addressing a bashful toddler, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, boy, I wouldn't hurt a fly! No I wouldn't...” he reached out

Broo recoiled and whimpered: Get off me, you idiot... you’re killing me!

But Kris carried on, unaware of the old dog’s distress, “Easy, boy, I won’t hurt you...”

AARGH!!

Kris cuddled him, stroked his back and made silly noises, “Eh? Who’s a handsome fella, then? You must quite the VIP, huh? A German Shepherd who’s so important he gets to ride around in the back of a limousine...?”

Mercifully, he was rudely interrupted by a loud voice from above, “Where the f**k have you been, Gorringe?!”

The boy stopped petting and turned away – Broo (unseen) wobbled for a second then keeled over.

There was an elderly man in a gaping, black silk kimono, electric-blue satin boxer-shorts, and bright green unlaced baseball boots standing at the top of steps; he pointed at Kris with an accusing finger, “and what-the-f**k’s that wee ginger gobshite doing on my property?!”

Malky looked up and regarded their prospective client. His collar length grey hair was thinning and unruly as if he’d just got out of bed, his heavily lined face clenched in distaste; but underneath the grizzled exterior and the bizarre attire, was none other the Quare Geg Himself: the fun-loving Ollie Laphen, former Crown Prince of Comedy! Looking at him now, though, it seemed there was little to laugh about, but you wouldn't know it to hear his grandson.

“Gramps! How-the-hell are you?! It’s me, Kris!” The boy put the helmet on the seat of the Harley and joyfully bounded-up the steps two-at-a-time, “so goo-ood to see you, dude...” he embraced the frail, bristly figure - who immediately pushed him away. “Gitcher filthy hands affa me, ye wee shite!! I’m not senile yet -- I know damn-well who you are!” Laphen put his fists on his hips and sneered in a high-pitched whine, “Whaddya want from me this time? Money, is it? Well, you can feck-off back to La-La Land - this bank is closed! Go and ask that crooked auld kike of a father o’ yours – oh yeah, I forgot – he’s back in the bankruptcy courts -- yet-again -- after yet-another one of his half-assed business-deals went tits-up in the water – still - why break the habit of a lifetime, huh? Once a loser, always a loser!” he stuck his little pug nose in the air, stuck out his chin and tied the belt of his silk kimono, like a superannuated prize-fighter squaring-up at a weigh-in. 

Doing his best to suppress a fit of giggles, Kris reassured him in a sober tone, “S’OK gramps, don’t have a cow, man. I don’t need any of your filthy lucre, after all -- we've got a backer! And for the record –- I’ve never asked you for anything in my life, you old goat -- and you know it!”

Laphen stepped closer, “Why are you here then?”

“To see you you...” said Kris, smirking.

Laphen went nose-to-nose with his grandson and growled, “So, you don’t need me?! Well! You've seen me! Now piss off!”

Kris put a hand on the old man’s shoulder and smiled, warmly, “C'mon, we’d better get you inside, it’s quite chilly out here and we wouldn't want you catching cold, now, would we?”

The old man swatted the hand away like a particularly stubborn piece of lint, “Stop treatin’ me like a feckin’ invalid! I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ unaided – I’m not in a feckin’ wheelchair yet!” in the same breath, he broke away, looked down at Herbie, pointed at Malky and barked, “Is this the guy?”

“Yessah!” Herbie replied, standing to attention, as if addressed by a superior officer, “this is Mr Malcolm Calvert, the, erm... consultant from Brodir.”

“Well – don’t just stand there like a spare cock at a hen-night! Bring him in!”

With that, Laphen stomped back to the house with Kris walking alongside him, chatting incessantly despite the cold shoulder.

As Herbie fetched his overnight bag from the trunk of the Rolls, Malky watched them walk off and commented, “Chirpy little git, isn't he?”  

Herbie slammed the lid shut and explained in a low voice, “Don’t let the ol’ Scrooge act give ya the wrong impression, Mr C. Kris is the apple of the old man’s eye - ‘e dotes on that boy. This is the way they speak to each uvvah. There’s no real malice intended so it’s best if you just let ‘em get on wiv it. Neevah wants to admit that it’s all a big contest to see who’ll crack first –- it usually ends in ‘uge laughs all-round. Only fing is the old man’s been ‘ittin’ the bottle again. I’m afraid ‘e’ll end-up sayin’ somefink really ‘urtful to the boy and ‘e might never come back. Kris is the only grandchild ‘oo ever comes to visit, see -- so for all of our sakes -- I ‘ope they chill-aht 'n have a civilised conversation.”

“Uh-huh,” Malky grunted, distractedly. The more he heard, the stronger the temptation to hand back the cheque and book a taxi back to Brodir, but he was so hungry now he had no choice but to reserve judgement until after dinner.

As they climbed the steps he suddenly realised they’d forgotten someone; he looked back and saw that his trusty companion was finding it hard to drag himself up, “Och, c’mon Broo, they’re not as steep as the stairs at the inn -- and you manage to climb those when you fancy a drink from the bog!” said Malky, turning away.

Broo could barely stand, let alone climb a flight of steps. When the young leatherman approached to indulge in a spot of light-petting and the strange, purplish halo enveloped him, Broo was instantly numbed -- he felt a sensation akin to sinking into a vat of virulent, viscous quicksand; a toxic vapour overwhelmed his senses -– and when the boy eventually let go, the dread feeling went with him. Alas, the men were too busy to notice him collapse in a heap, having been distracted by the sudden appearance of an angry old man who smelled of cigarettes, alcohol and bathsalts. Then something strange happened: when the younger man climbed the steps -- the aura around him grew more transparent –- by the time he embraced the old man - it had evaporated completely! One second it was there, the next – nothing. This was most perplexing. And if his senses were to be believed, aside from a few passing crows, there were none of the usual creatures one would find on an estate as big as this. Just like the village, there was no livestock or wildlife in the vicinity at all. Not only that, but as his head cleared, he realised that something else was missing: there’s no sign of anything Other in the ether either, and that bothered him most of all. The sky was darkening for dusk, the shadows were lengthening and the sun was low, so why are there no apparitions in the Golden Hour? Where was the shimmering residual energy of past events that can only be glimpsed through the rays of twilight? In a land such as this, historically ravaged by epidemics, tribal violence, famine and murderous invaders, there should be at least a few ghostly children playing in the fields... And yet, there’s nothing. If the Barry McKee case had taught him anything at all, it was to Beware Spiritual Vacuums. Bad things happen in Spiritual Vacuums.

... at that very moment (12:56 US Eastern Time), approximately 3600 miles away, at a checkpoint at the Canadian/United States’ border, on the Peace Bridge at Fort Erie, between Ontario and Buffalo, New York State...

“Sir? Sir... hello...

“Sir?!

“Wind down the window, sir!”

Somewhere... off in the distance Emil heard a man’s voice and a clicking sound. Metal on glass...

It wasn't like waking up, more like someone switching on a light. He was sitting in Fran’s Volvo, at what appeared to be the US/Canadian border!

“Sir, would you please wind down your window?” the muffled voice barked “SIR?!”

In his peripheral vision, Emil discerned a uniformed figure peering through the window. A US border patrol guard?! Holy shit?! What the f**k is going on?! 

But the inner-turmoil, dislocation and downright terror didn’t register on his face: on the outside, he was deadpan, ice-cool and composed. The inner-Emil watched his own hand reach out and push the button that wound down the window; he felt the crisp breeze buffet his face and arms as the glass descended.  If this is a dream, it’s very vivid. The guard stooped, leaned-in and sniffed the inside of the car. The outer-Emil remained unfazed, but when he caught a glimpse of himself in the wing-mirror, he soon realised why the guard was so suspicious.

He appeared to be wearing an unbelted towelling bathrobe, pyjama pants and his XXL Jimi Hendrix tee-shirt -- the ensemble he wore when he was slouching around the apartment... Shit -- you gotta be kidding me -- no briefs?! He desperately wanted to grab the hem of the gown and tuck the tails between his legs, but his arms refused to budge!

The certainties: it was daylight; he was at the border. I’m driving my wife’s 1979 Volvo estate dressed like an extra from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest! This has to be a dream! I’m gonna wake up at any minute...

Meanwhile, somewhat surprised that he couldn't smell any liquor, the guard returned to the business in hand, “May I see your passport, sir?!” he asked, acidly, in a thick New England accent. He was leaning on the roof now, the midday-sun gleaming off the chrome-plated badge on his cap; despite the dazzling flashes, Emil’s eyes refused to blink. The Inner-Emil wanted to grab his tie and shout: Stop me! I’m out of my mind! but his lips remained firmly zipped; his body remained still. For all-intents-and-purposes, he was a puppet with no mind of his own.

So who’s pulling the strings?

The guard was getting impatient; he pointed at the passenger seat, and snapped, “Your passport, sir!!

Emil’s outer voice said “Passport?”

The guard pointed, “It’s there. Right beside you, sir.”

His head turned to the right and he found himself looking down at the passenger seat; sure-enough, sitting atop an array of various official papers, was his passport. He saw his hand reach out, pick it up and hand it over. Maintaining eye-contact, the guard took the little booklet, ceremoniously shook it open and read it with a disdainful look. Emil had taken many acid trips and tried every psychedelic he could get his mitts on, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his voyages through the Doors of Perception. So what does that leave? Sleepwalking? He tried to make the fingers of his left hand pinch his thigh... but nothing.

“What brings you to the US, Mr Labatt?”

Emil heard himself say, “Doctor Labatt. I’m on my way to visit an elderly relative, if you must know. She’s very ill. Dying. It’s an emergency.”

What?!

“... Are you planning to drive all the way, Dr Labatt?” the guard asked, doubtfully.

The inner-Emil wanted to cry out: I don’t wanna drive anywhere! I don’t know why I’m here or what I’m doing! Please call my wife, Frances – she’ll come and get me!! In fact – arrest me! Take me into custody right now!!

Instead he heard his outer voice reply, dryly, “Yes, officer. Driving all the way.”

The guard handed back the passport, sighed heavily and asked pointedly, “Dr Labatt, have you been imbibing today? Narcotics, alcohol, have you taken any prescription drugs that might affect your ability to drive?”

This could work to his advantage: if I’m cheeky enough they might arrest me on suspicion of DUI! Alas, the invisible ventriloquist kept the voice calm and answered succinctly, “I most certainly have not been imbibing, officer. I’m a well-respected forensic scientist and a senior lecturer at the University of Toronto. I’m on my way to Baltimore to see an elderly relative with a terminal illness. It’s matter of some urgency. I need to get on.”

Baltimore?!

The guard handed back the passport and enquired, brusquely, “Carrying any foodstuffs, livestock including pets, liquor or sundries that may be considered contraband by the United States of America?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, would you mind popping the trunk, sir?”

Emil didn’t stir.

“Sir... pop the trunk?”

“This is my wife’s car and I don’t know where the trunk popper is.”

‘Trunk popper’?! Listen to me! Arrest me, you fool! I’m frickin’ nuts!!

Shaking his head, the guard reached in and groped under the wheel; “There she is,” and tugged the lever.

While the guard searched the trunk, the Inner-Emil tried to think logically: Could I have been inadvertently poisoned at the lab? Unlikely, he was very careful about sterilisation and wore a mask at all times... Have I ingested something in the course of my work... a fungus...? A spoor that causes one to act out in some way...? But he was ignoring the obvious: there was a taste in his mouth -- a taste that was as familiar as it was bitter and earthy that usually preceded the bouts of sickness. In fact, it had been happening ever since he’d got back from the dig in Kildare 2 years ago when they discovered the bog mummies (he’d abandoned the annual expeditions after his little fling with Niamh). Lately, he’d been prone to intermittent lapses in consciousness and bouts of short-term memory-loss. He’d find himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours on end. Fran thought he was smoking too much weed, but not even strongest strain of mary jane could induce blackouts like this, and nothing would leave a taste in his mouth this bad.

The trunk slammed shut. The guard returned, “Everything seems to be in order, Dr Labatt...” he leaned on the roof and spoke close, “Listen doc, if I was you I’d stop at the first motel I came to and I’d get myself a couple of hours sleep. Then I’d have a shower and a change of clothes and I’d drive the rest of the way feeling wide awake ‘n refreshed. I wouldn't want to fall asleep at the wheel and maybe kill myself or some innocent folk who were unlucky enough to be travellin’ the same road. Whaddya say to that, doc?”

An uneasy silence followed. The inner-Emil waited for his body to respond but nothing came: his eyes remained unblinking, his mouth stayed shut. He prayed that this was a turning point -- that he’d do something so outrageous they’d have to take him in -- but it never came. Finally, the guard sighed and patted the roof with the flat of his hand, “Welcome to the United States, doctor.”

Before the lights went out, Emil heard his voice reply with a curt, “Thank you. Have a nice day.” He felt his right hand release the handbrake; he felt his foot gently depress the accelerator. He watched as the Volvo taxied through the checkpoint; he paid the toll and ventured onto the open road... that was the last thing he remembered before the darkness descended again...

Malahide, Dublin: The Somerville family were going to Mass.

“Put on yer seat-belt, Cate, luv. You don’t have to sit in the baby-seat but you still have to strap yerself in,” said Somerville, getting into the driver’s seat.

In the back, Cate turned to her younger sister, “See, Cathy – he called it a ‘baby’ seat!’”

“Mommeeeeeeee!” Cathy wailed.

Pat got into the passenger seat and took control: “Ssshhhh, Cathy.... Cate don’t tease Cathy! You’ll start her off -- then baby Clare will start!” She playfully slapped her husband’s shoulder, “That’s your fault, daddy! It’s a CAR seat not a BABY seat, silly -– it even says so on the little label ‘Car Seat’ –- so-there, Miss smarty-pants-Caitlin -- you were wrong!”

“Daddy said it not me.”

“It was a slip of the tongue, Pat.”

“He didn’t mean to say it, Cathy. I’ll never hear the feckin end of this... will you be more careful what you say!”

“I’m not a baby I’m 4 and 4 months! I have to sit in it cuz I’m too wee for the seat belt!”

“That’s right! You tell ‘em Cathy! It’s a seat for small people, not babies! Cathy’s very sensitive and unassertive and I’m trying to build her confidence!”

“Daddy, what’s ‘police brutality’?” asked Cate, apropos of nothing.

“Where did you hear about ‘police brutality’?” said Somerville, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

“One of the older girls shouted it when Sister Marie dragged her into the bogs to wash her face.”

“Toilets, Ladies, loo or lavatory, please, Cate, dear. What are bogs?” said Pat, sternly.

“Sorry mommy: ‘Bogs are Irish swamps...’” Cate sang, rolling her eyes.

Herbie led the way through the huge front door into a huge, cavernous sandstone vestibule lit by a quartet of gothic, arched windows, not unlike the narthex of a Christian church, but cluttered with precisely the sort of tone-lowering kitschy bric-a-brac that one would expect a working-class-boy-made-good to put on display -- as much a screw you to visiting nobs & snobs as it was a totem to his wealth and wilful nature, to wit: a suit of armour wearing an American Indian headdress, a deep-sea diving-suit with a stuffed monkey’s head in the helmet; a pair of large Persian vases filled with strange umbrellas. One item in particular gave Malky cause for pause: standing to the left of the adjoining Gothic archway, stood a life-sized waxwork of the Master of Mirth himself, fashioned and dressed to represent his ‘hey-day’ in the 30s; this waxen Laphen was the youthful, joyful Jolly Ollie Laffin, grinning that trademark  squidgy-grin, complete with pinchable dimples, the rash of freckles across the bridge of his little pug-nose, the glassy sky-blue eyes gleaming like sapphires – you couldn't help but smile. Malky couldn't help but remark, “Whatever happened to that sweet li’l guy, eh?”

The burly chauffeur didn’t take the bait and doggedly maintained his chummy, sunny disposition, providing information with the patter of a well-informed tour-guide, “That used to reside in the foy-yer at Madame Toussauds in Lahndahn! They replaced it wiv a more recent model in the 70s an’ the boss brought the originals back ‘ere when he bought the ahse. This one was done in ’38, just after his first full-length feature: Ollie and Molly Strike Oil!” Herbie moved to the right of the connecting archway and unconsciously adopted an almost identical pose to the grinning effigy on the left, “This way, Mr Calvert. I’ll take you to yer room and you can freshen up ‘n that ‘n we can tawk about the ‘situation’ over dinnah.”

As they walked through a slate-floored lobby lit by muted spotlights, it was more of the same: a veritable Ollie Laphen museum exhibit; an autobiography laid out chronologically -- from glass-cases containing newspaper columns, magazine covers and PR stills from the slapstick days of the 1930s -- to the chin-stroking thesp (a framed headline in The Irish News: ‘Laphen’s Lear is a masterclass!’). The dark, wood-panelled walls were lined with framed photographs of Ollie pressing flesh and embracing some of the greatest movie-makers, movers-and-shakers of the past 60 years: FDR, Bogart, Monroe, Gable, Jackie O, Bing, Hope, Groucho, Einstein, Fidel, Vidal, Hitchcock, Wayne, JFK, Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger, Elvis, the Dalai Lama, the Beatles, the Queen of England and various royals – as far as the 20th century is concerned, Ollie is the OED definition of ubiquitous. As they passed through the connecting archway, Malky got quite a jolt - enough to stop him dead in his tracks. Dead being the appropriate word, for in the shadows of the dimly lit reception hall stood a menagerie of dead things ready to attack -- lions, bears, tigers, panthers -- feral, snarling, glassy-eyed, posed in a stance of attack; ugly birds-of-prey hung on wires from the rafters, talons bared, poised to swoop; and to be certain that arachnophobes didn’t feel excluded, there were a few tarantulas strategically attached to various pillars and posts.

Malky gaped and gasped, “Wow! Did Ollie kill all these himself?!”

This time Herbie did seem a wee bit uncomfortable, “Nah, ‘e commissioned ‘em from a taxi-dermist’s in Sarf Africa where they can get you anything...” He sniffed and shook his head, “I ‘ate it too, to tell the troof – I never come frew ‘ere if I can avoid it. It’s the old man’s sense off ooma, see – he likes to lull visi’ors into a false sense of security then - aargh! They get the shock of their lives,” he reached behind a curtain and threw a switch -- the animals’ eyes shone bright red and and roared in their respective voices. “The boss ‘ates animals, see –- he got rid of all the livestock ‘cept for stables when ‘e bought the ahse. ‘E ‘ates ‘orses most of all. ‘E got thrown by a donkey when ‘e was doin’ a cameo in Around the World in Eighty Days in ’55 or ’56 –- ‘e walked orf the set and refused to ‘ave anyfink to do with animals evah again! Animals and kids. If he could get ridda the crows he’d be ‘appy.”

Broo found the menagerie obscene and growled accordingly.

Their attention was briefly diverted by shouting in a room somewhere further in: “... Will you quit naggin’ me – ye’re worse than a feckin wife!”

“NO! I won’t stop til you see sense! If I don’t say it – who will!?! You’re cracking up!! You’re a delusional... egomaniacal narcissist! You’re like Stalin without the people-skills...!”

Herbie quickly ushered his guests into the lobby and closed a connecting door turning the voices into incoherent murmurs, but Malky had heard enough. Herbie’s stoic exterior slipped, he got jittery and muttered something about an ‘Inquisition’ under his breath. Malky was about to ask what he meant when he quickened his step and led the way through another archway that led to a lobby at the foot of a huge white marble staircase cleft with a dark scarlet runner. On the bottom step stood the other waxwork of Ollie dressed as a tramp holding the Oscar statuette for his role as a shady boxing promoter in the movie Knuckledusters. In an alcove in the rear wall to the left of the staircase stood an imposing, but badly-damaged grandfather clock; the glass insets covering the face and pendulum case were smashed, the hour-hand hung limp on the wheel and part of the ornate, intricately hand-carved casing was cracked down one side.

Herbie stood next to his guest, looked up at it and said, “Big f**ker, innit?”

Malky was inclined to agree that it was highly unlikely that such a huge piece of solid timber could be toppled so easily by a man as old and small as Ollie.

The bickering voices were making Herbie very uncomfortable, there was a pained expression on his big, weather-beaten face. As they climbed the staircase, he said, “Look, Mr Calvert... I don’t know ’ow to say this... what I mean to say is.... you might ‘ear certain fings whilst you is ‘ere... and I don’t like ‘avin’ to ask... but we’d be grateful if you would sign, for the want of a better phrase, a gag order.”

Malky shook his head, “Like I said, Herbie, I hate the press as much as ‘oul Ollie, but I don’t feel comfortable signing that sort of thing. Cuz if there is anythin’ iffy goin’ on – I’m not sayin’ there is – but should we detect signs of chicanery or skulduggery in the course of our ‘investigation’ -- like, say, we uncover a plot to get the ol’ bugger certified and bleed him dry or rewrite his will -- a gagging order could severely hinder an official investigation, and, when all’s said and done, I’m on the side of law and order.” He held up his right hand, “But if it makes you feel any better – as far as petty gossip and scandal-mongering is concerned -- my lips are sealed,” he turned, looked down at Broo and added, glumly, “... can’t speak for the dog, though...”

Broo grunted, still too stupefied to take anything in.  

In light of such an earnest assurance, Herbie relaxed a little and explained, “Um well, the ‘Inquisition’ I mentioned refers to some recent sackin’s in the last week or two. ‘E’s fired a coupla security guards, the assistant gardener and the young gal who ‘elps out wiv the ‘ahsework on Tuesdays ‘n Fursdays!”

“Why did he sack them?”

“Cos somebody leaked some gossip to an American tabloid ‘n it could only ‘ave come from the staff, so ‘e hadda clear-aht.” Herbie took a deep breath and spoke in a half-whisper, “So you can see how bad it is ‘ere. It’s got to the point where the only people ‘e trusts is me and the ‘ahsekeeper, Mrs Sparkes - and ‘e only trusts ‘er cuz she’s from the village and they believes all this ’aunted ‘ouse bollox.”

Again they were distracted; this time it was the jingle of unbuckled buckles and the stomp of motorcycle-boot-heels on the chequered tiles below, “Uncle Herb! Is it true? He’s sacked Scanlon?!” Kris shouted from the hall, clearly incensed. The three turned and looked down; Herbie maintained eye contact but didn’t answer; his uneasy silence said it all. “He has?! Shit! Where did he go?”

Herbie lowered his head, looked at his shoes and said, “Nobody knows. He packed up ‘n walked aht wivvaht a word ‘n we’ve ‘eard nuffink since.”

The lad stamped his foot and punched his thighs with his fists in a sudden fit of anger and disbelief, pacing back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, as the implications hit him one by one, “This is such bullshit, Uncle Herb -- I was working with Scanlon -- he was helping me with the movie -- what did he do?!”

Herbie’s head dropped, “Look Kris, yer grandpaw’s been ‘avin’ a bit of bovver lately and...”

“And where’s the cat? Don’t tell me he’s fired him too?!”

“He ran away.”

“Huh?! Fey Ray ran away? I not friggin’ surprised! The entire estate is a no go area for anything with more than two legs!” yelled Kris, without realising how odd it sounded, and stomped off in a huff; a few seconds later they heard him shouting at the old man in another room.

“Do ever stop and think: ‘hey, maybe I’m the problem?’ – cuz unless you straighten-out you’re gonna die a very lonely old man...” “Ach, blow it out yer arse, ye ginger shite-hawk...!”

A door slammed and the squabbling voices became muffled and unintelligible again. Herbie put a hand to his brow and groaned to himself, “Kris, son, you couldn't-a picked a worse time to pay us a surprise visit...”

“Who was Scanlon? The butler?” asked Malky.

“No, groundskeeper, but he might as well’ve been,” Herbie replied, unhappily, “’E did all the odd-jobs arahnd the ahse. Lifetime’s service – gone - jus-like-that - phfft! Kris an’ ‘im wuz thick as thieves too. ‘E knew all the stories about this place. Kris used to sit up for hours on end listenin’ to ‘im but Scanlon and the boss never really got along – Scanlon came wiv the ahse, see, just like all the servants – but ‘e wuz a bit of a law onto ‘isself. When we checked, we found ‘irregularities’ in our finances. The boss confronted him, he couldn’t answer, ‘n that was that.”

They reached the second landing and the old retainer ushered them along a long corridor with row-upon-row of sky-blue doors with ornate brass name plates, the panelling in-between bedecked with gold and silver discs, “Were all these recorded by Ollie?” asked Malky, genuinely impressed.

Herbie, pleased to have a diversion, nodded and cheerfully slipped back into tour-guide mode, “Oh, people forget ‘e was a great crooner. In the 50s he recorded loadsa LPs and they wuz big ‘its all ovah the world - not-so-much in the US or Britain - but ‘ere in Ireland ‘n France ‘n’ Germany.  Can’t walk dahn the street in Japan. We go over to Tokyo every now-‘n’-then and ‘e records all these TV commercials for ‘em. Liquor, potato chips, candy bars, mostly. ‘Big bucks for a load of ol’ bollox!’ ‘e says.”

“I know how that feels,” muttered Malky, thumbing the cheque in his pocket.

Herbie opened a door with an engraved plate bearing the legend The Wonderland Suite and put the case on an ottoman by the door. The room was weirdly magnificent, in an oversized, child’s playbox type-way. The floor was a chessboard, there were huge cushions in the shape of chess pieces scattered around the floor; the walls were decorated with blow ups of Tenniel’s drawings of Alice in Wonderland characters; an emperor-sized four-poster swathed in white satin sheets patterned with black diamonds; and a large, white tallboy with outsized, bright red knobs and drawers that were shaped to look warped and uneven, like a prop from a kids’ cartoon. “’Ere’s the TV,” he said, opening the doors of a huge white sideboard to reveal a 38” screen, “If you wanna take a walk round before dinnah -– go ‘ead, nowhere’s off limits -– oh, part of the east-wing’s locked-up, but I can get the keys from the safe and take you down later. There’s some PJs ‘n wot-not in the dresser drawer and fresh towels in the en suite. There’s the phone,” he pointed at an ornate, art deco phone, “just dial 9 for an outside line.”

Astonished by his surroundings, Malky could only gaze and nod his head.

Herbie clicked his heels and stood to attention, “There’s plenty of ‘ot-wa’ah if you wanna ‘ave a showah and a shave or wot-evah. Dinnah will be served at 8pm sharp (it was presently 5:50pm), I’ll bang the gong. In the meantime, make yerself at ‘ome 'n I’ll see you at 8,” said Herbie, brightly, closing the door behind him.

Malky sat down on the edge of the bed and examined a brass plated console next to the headboard; he pressed the first button: the curtains closed; he pressed the second: the curtains opened; he pressed a third and the lights either side of the bed came on; he pressed the fourth and the drape across the canopy over the bed rolled back to reveal a full-size, horizontal mirror. “Bit sordid for a room that looks like a nursery,” Malky opined, flopping down and looking up at his reflection, “God, I’m getting old. Remind me to close that curtain before I go to bed – if I wake up and see meself in the morning I’m likely to scare meself to death.” He kicked off his shoes and writhed in the welcoming sea of satiny-softness, like a Labrador pup in an unfurled toilet roll, “Oh, I just wanna sleeeeep... wake me up in September when the baby’s born...”

Broo growled quietly, that’s right, you have a nice relaxing catnap while your tiny, put-upon wife labours over a hot engine just so that she can get that wretched old banger of a van back on the road in order to buy provisions and decorating materials to build a nest for you and your unborn progeny.

Malky sat up, “Hmm. maybe I should ring her. This is our first night apart since we moved in together. I’d better give her a progress report.” He rolled over, picked up the art-deco phone and called the inn.

“Well, what’s Ollie’s house like?! Is it dead grand or what? I wanna know everything!”

He gave her a detailed description of the house so far, right up to and including the mirror in the canopy over the bed, “... the stories are true, though -- Jolly Ollie is one grouchy oul’ shite. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an obnoxious old git in all me life.” he said, shaking his head. “Zindy, what the hell am I doing here? This isn't me.”

Zindy had obviously been thinking about it too, “Listen luvver, this ain’t a justification or an excuse, but both of us know that there’s certain things we can’t explain away with logic. I mean, look what ‘appened with Barry McKee? Just put yer Sherlock hat on and look at it from a detective’s perspective; treat it as a sorta murder-mystery weekend. What about Broo? He should be able to let you know if there’s anything spooky about the place?”

“I dunno, he seems a bit drowsy, like he’s half-asleep,” said Malky, giving the old dog a cursory glance.

Of course I’m sluggish, you oaf -- this place is sucking the life out of me! Can’t you tell?!

But the semi-telepathic link remained infuriatingly out of order, “It was a long drive. He’s probably knackered.” Then, much to Broo’s chagrin, they forgot about him and exchanged love yous, miss yous and take cares before hanging up.

“Have you noticed somethin’?” said Malky, rhetorically, going to the en-suite and turning on the light; he looked around, “Hmmm,” he opened the bathroom cabinet: the mirror was on the inside of the door. “Whilst me ‘n Zindy were talking, it suddenly occurred to me -– there isn't a mirror to be seen around the house -- even the one above this bed is covered by a curtain.” Malky nodded, “It’s ironic, isn't it: the big Alice in Wonderland freak who doesn’t have Looking Glass –- an egotist who treats you to a personalised autobiographical stroll through his glory days but doesn’t like to look at his own reflection? I find that somewhat strange...”

5 minutes ago: Zindy put the receiver back in its cradle, sat back and winced, “Settle down, kiddo,” she said, patting the elongated face of Jimi Hendrix stretched across her bump, “I still have a gearbox to sort out before we ‘ave a nice bath ‘n go to bed.” She sat at the kitchen table, radio tuned to a classic rock station (Malky listened to nothing but BBC Radio 4) and sang along to Deep Purple’s Child in Time, wailing like a banshee as she screwed and unscrewed oily nuts and rusty bolts: très cathartic. She felt a little guilty, but surely she was entitled to a night on her own. She looked down at the bump: I mean the two of us. I’ll never be alone again

Zara ‘Zindy’ Lindsay, you see, was an accident; everybody told her so.

Ever since she could understand rudimentary English, her aunts and her mother would mention it regularly - usually after something burned down or yet another little boy’s mother had arrived at the door complaining that she was demanding dinner-money with menaces. When she was old enough to understand the mechanics of human reproduction (hard not to when you live on a farm), they’d tell her she was the result of a drunken one-night-stand with a Spanish scout master (visiting Burnley on an exchange-visit) that no one had seen or heard from since. Fortunately for Dory, the Lindsays were/are a well-to-do family with links to the cotton trade that go as far back as the 17th century, so they had the wealth and power to cover it up. After a secret birth, mother Dory and baby Zara were spirited away to a remote farmhouse in the heart of the Lancashire countryside under the care of a pair of huge, lumbering maiden-aunts. Unlike the petite and genteel Dory, Maggie and Lottie were tall, mannish land-girls with no time for molly-coddles and sentimentality -- what’s more they didn’t care what their niece got up to so long as she didn’t burn the place down or leave a gate open (she could drive a tractor by the age of 6). When she was 7, Dory married and moved out, but Zindy didn’t like her new stepdad and he didn’t like her (a snooty, middle-aged bank manager who read the FT and went to Mass twice a week). She preferred Dory’s long-term boyfriend Tam Horsham who drove the Mother’s Pride bread van; but he was too common, apparently, “He eats his dinner off a tray and smokes in the bath!” said Dory, tartly, when asked if Zindy should start calling him dad. So, after numerous tantrums, she was allowed to stay at the farm and enjoy the relative freedom of life with the ‘Looney Lindsay Sisters’ (as the locals called them). Then puberty hit, so did a lifelong passion: motorbikes. She found a broken down old ‘39 Triumph Tiger in the barn and with some help from Lottie (“It belonged to an old boyfriend who left it here in ’42 when he went to war... but he never came back for it so I assumed the worst.”) she cleaned it up and replaced the missing parts. It took 8 months of scouring scrapyards and hard labour, but she managed to restore it to its former glory. She was in the Gazette! ‘Tearaway Tomboy Triumphs!!’ Consequently, she met dozens of motorcycle enthusiasts and a lot of them just happened to be Hell’s Angels. That’s when she first got that weakness in her knees. Big, fat, hairy men. Her pals were aghast. It could've been a father-daddy complex or just a weird perversion, but she could get enough of grizzled, over-weight geezers most girls would cross the road to avoid.

In spite of her aggressive side, she was quite the artist and spent hours quietly painting and sketching the scenery behind her great-aunts’ farm. According to her second year teacher in her annual report (Zindy refused to go to boarding school and went to the local comprehensive): ‘She has shown a flair for art and is very intelligent – when she wants to work, which isn't often ... for the most part she is headstrong, opinionated, brusque and quick to temper; a girl who sees life as a big adventure ... it may be a symptom of her diminutive stature that she feels she has to be brash and contrary, but if she continues in this fashion she may face expulsion....’

Zindy just couldn't be tamed. She was up before the magistrate on a regular basis, mostly for driving without a licence or brawling with boys twice her size. On her 18th she stood on a table in the Flat Iron pub in front of her closest friends and allies and vowed never to settle down to a life of domesticity, to forsake motherhood and be a free spirit for the rest of her life. Three weeks later, she moved in with a recently divorced woodwork teacher 17 years her senior. He proposed (‘wanna shack-up?’) and she couldn't say no. So began her lifelong ‘thing’ for older men – the daddy syndrome, probably.

The cohabitation with the woodwork teacher was as passionate as it was incendiary – he turned out to be a secret drinker – there were vodka bottles hidden all over the flat; she tried to keep up for a while, but all they did was fight. Things came to a head with the couple spending a night in the cells of Bottle Street nick. The desk sergeant told her he was a lost cause – “He’s dried-out 3 times -– and he’s still the same mess he was when I first started in here 15 years ago! My advice lady – run as fast as them wee legs can take ya – find a fit young man with a good job!” She took this advice to heart, and a in a few months she met a recently widowed sculptor at a Henry Moore exhibition –- this time 40 years her senior; tall, with long grey hair who dressed like Tom Wolfe -– and got swept up in a whirlwind romance. ‘Whirlwind’ in the sense that the trail of destruction they left behind: various foodstuffs were hurled, crockery was smashed, household utensils took flight and embedded themselves in walls. Zindy loved it. She loved him. Alas, his kids, two of which were older than her, did not approve and weren’t shy about letting her know. It was grist for Zindy’s mill; it only strengthened her resolve. She thrived in adversity; she lived to Fight the Good Fight and persevered with the relationship without a thought for the toll it was taking on the poor man’s heart. Of course, like most Spring/Winter love affairs it ended with a lonely vigil in a draughty hospital corridor listening to the impassive beep of medical machinery whilst his own flesh & blood hold his hand as he drifts over. Previously estranged siblings now united in their grief against a common enemy: “The stupid bitch is still sitting out in t’corridor.” “She’s only after ‘is money.” “She looks about 9, makes you wonder...?” She heard every word, approached and told them in no uncertain terms she didn’t want or need his money – all she wanted was to organise the funeral in accordance with his last wishes. They told her his last wishes were enshrined in his last will & testament, not word of mouth, and while they were on the subject, he hadn't left her anything. They told her he was never done talking trash about her behind her back, telling them how he didn’t trust her; that she was a little gold-digger. Meanwhile he was telling Zindy how ungrateful and spiteful his children were and how they’d never done a day’s work in their lives! She had to stand there and listen as they sneered and talked about the stranger with whom she’d spent the last 2 years. It turned out he was a compulsive liar. His wives were all basket-cases by the time he’d finished messing with their minds. All told, the heart condition came as a result of the stress of numerous love affairs and having to remember what lie he told to whom.

Zindy swore to herself that she’d never have anything to do with men ever again! She cut her hair short, dyed it blue and foreswore make-up, skirts and blouses, bought a motorbike and toured Europe with a chapter of Hell’s Angels who treated her like one of the boys. The vow was broken 5 years later when she accompanied her new pals to the Isle of Man for the TT and met a biker from Wicklow. Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning was a built like a brick-shithouse with a long plaited (usually purple, sometimes blue) beard and intense stare (hence the moniker; Raspo: short for Rasputin). He was a nightmare in a studded leather jacket but Zindy was besotted with him. Despite his hulking size, expanding waistline and intimidating manner, he was smarter than the average bear. He read science fiction and knew a lot about astronomy. They used to ride up to Donegal, sit on the cliffs and he would teach her the consolations. She was hooked.

While she was there, one of her great-aunts died and Raspo took her back to Salford for the funeral. She inherited £30,000. Then Barry McKee, one of the gang of bikers from Brodir, happened to mention that his father was selling a seaside pub and she was very interested. She could run a business - she used to do the sculptor’s book-keeping and worked behind a bar in Germany for a few weeks; plus, Brodir might’ve been a rundown town, but it was a Mecca for bikers from all over Europe -- trade would be brisk –- she couldn't see what could possibly go wrong!

But you don’t know anybody until you live with them for a while.

At first, Raspo enjoyed playing host and worked behind the bar, but he had other business interests and that was OK – she preferred running things on her own – it was her name on the licence, her responsibility. She never asked about his business, she didn’t want to know, but she assumed he was a small time dealer: grass and tabs. Then one day he said, “Oh Zin, I’m off to Dublin to do bouncer for a boxin’ match at the National Stadium!” he kissed her goodbye, got on his trusty Triumph and off he went to bounce in Dublin. She found out later that he was off to collect a sizeable debt owed to him for a delivery of coke. When the debtor wasn't forthcoming, Raspo lost his temper and took it out of his hide with a crowbar. This information came courtesy of DS Phil Somerville, who also informed her that her beloved Raspo wasn't just peddling grass, he was dealing in all the a-listed narcotics, not to mention a little sideline in video piracy. She had to sit and listen while Somerville listed her lover’s shady dealings with various Dublin-based organised crime syndicates and proscribed terrorist militias when he tried to coerce her into turning tout and aid in the apprehension Raspo’s subordinates/associates/friends etc. She flatly refused. Raspo was sent down for 7 years, but 8 months later, to shave a few years off his sentence, he did what she refused to do: he shopped most of his former associates including some regulars, and - boom – the bulk of her clientele has declared her persona non grata and boycotted the inn. Somerville told her it was her own fault; she knew what Raspo was and chose to ignore it. He was right. A psychologist would say that it was indicative of a subconscious desire not to commit to a long-term relationship... Whatever, she was alone again, naturally.

Then along came Malky and his spooky three-legged German shepherd and their notorious pursuit of the evil Barry McKee. It was a thrill-a-minute-life-or-death roller coaster ride but it nearly killed them. She took a bullet to the shoulder; Malky had a heart attack and almost bled to death (the irony: Somerville saved Malky’s life after destroying hers). And here she was, back in another hospital corridor listening to bleeping machines. Just when she thought history was repeating itself, his old broken heart kept beating, “and it’s been beating for you ever since,” he said, in an uncharacteristic show of mawkish affection. 

Good ol’ Malky. He made her laugh. He was a good man and he made her feel good. They had conversations that lasted all night. OK, so he has a psychic three-legged dog who complains about the noise when I play me records, but that only makes it more fun. To put it simply, life was good. She was painting again; he’d made her a studio in the attic. (He never told what he was doing up there and she didn’t ask; he just hammered and sawed and cursed whilst she went about her business. In the end he’d put a ribbon across the door for the grand unveiling. He’d widened the skylight to let in more light and built a little podium for her still-life subjects. She accepted the keys like a gushing thesp before bursting into real tears. And although , he was hard work at times - he was sometimes taciturn and prone to moodiness – he was a good, kind man.

Then, wonder-of-wonders, she gets pregnant and her instinct, much to her surprise, is to keep it. Malky acted as if he wasn't overly keen, but she knew that deep-down he was delighted; he just felt unworthy and old.

And here we are. 2 years later and things couldn't be better. We’re broke but we ain't bust. We’re just about keepin’ our heads above water...

She went to the bar and looked out of the big window at the dirty, litter laden, windswept promenade. The council were meeting on Thursday; word on the wind had it that property developers were looking at the town with a view to redevelopment, so things were looking up. That’s good, ain't it? Lots of meetings with property developers and councilmen: all very ‘establishment’.

So 22 years later, what would she say to the silly girl standing on the table telling the world she’ll be a wild-child forever? Is she where she wants to be, where she has to be, or where she needs to be...?

Sammy couldn't read her mind but felt her doubts as if they were his own. It must be something to do with Malky. He hoped that it wasn't anything serious. Malky had grown on him. The old dog was a godsend, somebody to talk to who can see you, hear you... not that he ever feckin’ listens! But what if the auld dog died? Sammy shuddered at the thought: There would be no watching TV until 4 in the morning for a start. It was tough being a ghost. And although he knew Zindy couldn't see him, he still felt a little self-conscious about his appearance; as the old dog says: “the bloody-bullet-hole-ridden-apron makes you look like a psychopath (ghosts are stuck with what they wore when they died -- the last image The Light captures before their Soul passes), so he was discreet. He sat on the bin in the dark corner by the stove and watched from what he considered to be a reasonable distance. He’d been a bachelor all his life, he’d never met a woman he could live with, but Zindy was closest thing he’d ever had to a daughter – this, despite the fact that she was a headstrong, blue-haired English girl who dressed like a boy and swore like a docker. When she bought the inn, he thought she’d only last a few weeks, and yet, thank God, here we are. 

There were very few advantages in existing between Worlds, besides the walking through walls and not having to eat or sleep or all that malarkey, his senses were heightened and attuned to the Oneness of All Living Things (well, that’s how the dog put it) –- which meant he was able to see the little glow in Zindy’s belly. It was nothing more than an amber glimmer throbbing with the minute pulsebeat of a budding Soul, but it radiated an energy that brought a ripple of warmth to his Essence. Sometimes, when she was sleeping he’d stand close – not too close – and look into her womb. Oh, but it was a joyous sight to behold, “Look at the miracle begin again,” he whispered, to no one in particular.

Zindy climbed up onto the draining board to close the window above the sink -– Sammy was jumping up and down, pulling at his silver beard, “Are ye mad woman?! Get down o’ that w’ ye!” Thankfully she performed the exercise without incident, but he still hadn't settled; as she went about preparing her evening meal, he paced the floor behind her, fussing, wagging his finger, “Look at that floor! There’s engine oil down there! Ye’ll slip ‘n’ go on yer hoop! You’d better buck-up yer ideas, lady – that’s a chile in there – not a bag o’ chips!”

“Oh, I’d love a bag o’ chips,” she said, apropos of nothing.

Sammy stood by the cooker as she toiled over the sizzling pan and talked to her unborn baby, “Your silly daddy doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hates all this spooky stuff... He hates anything that brings the world to his door -- God knows what he’ll be like when the inn’s open for business...” Whether she was consoling a restless foetus or trying to convince herself, she didn’t know. She stopped stirring and stared as she contemplated her certain future.

The old ghost saw the doubt in her eyes and fought Malky’s case from his corner, “He’s a decent sort who won’t let you down –- you have to grow up sometime, missy! Stop moonin’ about and think like a mammy!”

No, let’s make no bones about, she was getting bored. It isn't good when life gets too predictable, when routine becomes rut. She needn't worry; things were about to get very strange indeed...

St Cedric’s Institution for the Criminally Insane (SCICI): Rossington watched the sundown from his office window, a very large brandy in one hand, a cigarette in the other. It had been a bad day. The news from the board had been direct with no room for interpretation. His time had run out. The victims’ families’ petitions and writing campaigns had fulfilled their purpose, the pressure to do something had forced their hand. He had to give up Barry McKee to the authorities so an independent assessment of his condition could be made. He’d explored every legal avenue to keep him at SCICI, but there was nothing more he could do. The mob has spoken.

He was angry and frustrated, but mostly angry. He finished his brandy, carelessly stubbed out the cigarette, left his office and made for the sick bay in the high security wing. He walked quickly and purposely, collected the swipe cards from the nurses’ station and marched on, swiping through the sophisticated system of doors, along the corridors and across the walkway that led to the security ward and the room of SCICI’s most infamous inmate. Then, just as he swiped the lock, he had a moment of inspiration. He turned and walked to the staff toilet at the end of the corridor, to the mirror above the wash-hand basin; using his penknife to unscrew the frame, he carefully prised the hexagonal glass from the wall, put it under his arm and took it to McKee’s room.

“Hello, Barry,” he said, quietly closing the door behind him and turning on the lights. The sudden blaze of brightness didn’t faze McKee. Hooked up to the machines that kept him alive, long haired and bearded, he continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling, like a stricken biblical prophet transfixed by a vision of hell.

“I must apologise, it’s been quite a while since I visited. I’ve been busy with other patients and projects, not to mention running this establishment, you know how it is. I’ve kept abreast of your progress, though... what there is of it.” Rossington slowly crossed the floor, talking in a casual manner as he approached the bed, “Anyway, I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve received some bad news regarding your case and I thought you should to be the first to hear it.” He sat in the chair by the bed and put the mirror on his lap, “They've decided to take you off my hands, Barry. They say I’ve had enough time to prove you’re worth keeping alive. They say it would be mercy: ‘it’s cruelty not to let nature take its course’. No doubt they’re under pressure from the families of the victims, not to mention that bastard Somerville. Whatever, you’re doomed, and there’s nothing I can do to save you.”

As always, McKee remained silent and seemingly insensible.

“You've shown no significant progress since that business with Niamh and Oona 2 years ago.” He tore off the latest print-out from the EEG and indicated the flat lines across the graph, “See, nothing like the flurry of activity we recorded during those instances in 1989. Why’s that, eh?” He scrunched the page into a ball and threw it into the corner. “It all stopped when I took away the mirrors and had you moved you to this room, didn’t it? Niamh and Oona lost their connection and have exhibited no psychic abilities since. It’s no coincidence, is it, Barry?”

He stood up and held the mirror over McKee’s face, “I know you use mirrors to reach out other telepaths and psychics,” he said, looking deep into McKee’s unseeing eyes, “so I’m having them re-installed, and you can do whatever is you do. Good or evil, I don’t care anymore. I just need results, Barry. I need something to show for my work. If not, I’ll hand you over to the authorities and they’ll perform what will be, for all intents and purposes, a public execution...”

To Be Continued Next Month...

[slashtakemylife]

Sad Voltron thoughts

The greatest weapon of the universe is really handled by a bunch of teenagers

So I’m late to this, I’ve spoiled myself since S8 came out but only now have I really watched the season and I’ve only reached the episode after clear day, now before I begin I will declare this:

I am a CASUAL viewer

I’ve followed VLD since S2 came out and the only ship I have is Adashi, and considering how you can easily take out their two scenes and the plot stays exactly the same, there is absoutely no ship bias in here, just a viewer (that also means that I’ve made this out of memory, any details I’ve miss please tell me but this are my thoughts as someone who is not going to take the time and go back into the seasons, I just watch the show and what stayed stayed)

S8 made me sad, the entire tone of the season is sad, dark and filled with loss and death, now this is supposed to be about the war and it’s consequences, to me it’s more of the consequences of Voltron’s actions, or lack of, rather than just Honerva’s evilness, so to me the fact that they must stop her is not something they want to do because they want to do the right thing but rather it’s them taking responsability for their actions, like saving the universe is the least they could do after everything they failed, (long post)

- Just to be clear

What Canon Shows

What I thought/interpret

-

In S2 Voltron along with their allies, the beginings of the Coallition, joined to defeat Zarkon, and S3 showed Voltron trying to consolidate the Coalition

The Coalition which is basically the UN and at it’s core it is just a group project, now each of these planets need to rebuild, yes sure they’ll sing up but each have their own issues so we need one neutral party to check and connect all the planets, this is Voltron or mainly, Allura, she is the face and leader of the Coallition

The Coalition plot line is dropped off the moment Allura goes to Blue, so we see none of them until later on

The Coalition still exist but there is no longer this figure to join them, imagine if the UN was just a big room were countries, whenever they wanted, would go and chat about problems the world may have, no one would go

I’d like to point to another part, the Garla, the Coalition began exclusively to defeat the Garla, not to create a united universe, they are literaly pointing a finger at them and calling them evil, the Garla, who’ve been inmerse in a conquerer mentally are left to fight and essencially detroy themselves

At this point, the Coalition works, not because Voltron is doing something good but because their objective, the Garla, are busy fighting themselves, thus no one is actively conquering or managing the enslaved colonies, thus making it seem like there is “peace”

S? I think 5? finally shows the struggle of the leaderless Galra and it finally dying out thanks Lotor becoming emperor, not by the Paladins, but by Shiro’s clone who is controled by Honerva

The Paladins couldn’t give a flying f*ck about the Galra, if the show had followed it’s initial intentions, Shiro would’ve died and Keith becomes the Black Paladin, it would show someone on the team actually cares for the Garla and wants to see them included in the Coalition, Keith, convinced Lotor is the right guy, helps him get to the throne, but since it’s Shiro’s clone controled by Honerva this moves becomes by the Garla and for the Garla, Voltron still doesn’t care about them and the fact that Keith is hardly there or mention, their Galra rep is essencially gone, Galra = Evil

Lotor rise to power is a Galra move for the Galra and it’s shown when he too shows to be evil, he is the crazy villain to defeat in S6

We get to S7, the Paladins learn the universe is in chaos, by the Galra again not having a leader and creating little evil groups and by the planets that didn’t have a defender, so what should we do? Go to Earth

For starters, S3 to 6 I rarely remember them doing anything with the Coalition so the fact that everything is in chaos by small Garla groups means the planets are still defensless, were is the Coalition? why they left each planet to their own device? why couldn’t they help each other?

With no Allura or Voltron or figure to join them, each to their own, leaving them vulnerable to attacks, the Coalition is just a name, Voltorn shook the bee hive, twice, and left, they killed their leaders and then did nothing for them, we also see a druid has decimated most of the Blade of Marmora

The Blade of Marmora, an organization that survived completely hidden for 10,000 years becomes more publicly active to support Voltron, they are now few in numers and pretty much extint

Earth is also in bad shape, Sam said they were the last people standing so it’s natural to assume many people have died on Earth, they get just in time because Sendak of all people went specifically to Earth just for fun of revenge and really by pure chance the paladins wanted to go there and they also get a big ship, the Atlas

We finally see the Coalition, we get to see aliens we’ve previously seen and they are all helping, it seems like the Coalition works just fine

S8, Voltron and the Atlas go back to space to hunt for Honerva but they are literaly just cruising space , they reach a Galra outpost were they try to get the Galra to cooperate, we learn this general was made to give his support to Voltron, only for them to kill their leader and disappear, making him suspicious or uncooperative with Voltron

At this point I thought, yeah, Voltron has killed the Galra’s leader twice, and it’s just now that they care for the Galra? When they are scattered, defeated, low on numbers? They never cared before, why now? Is it because the Coalition is not working and the Galra are weak that they are now finally taking them in consideration? They actually show Honerva is also decimating the Galra so do they go help them because they too have clues to Honerva? So they really don’t care, got it, only Keith does

And also at this point I go hu? That’s right, Lotor was empreror, did he do anything in his reign? Did Voltron tried to include the Galra in the Coalition? This is the first time I hear any Galra said they swore allegiane to Voltron and with Lotor in the throne it makes sense but did we ever see Lotor do something? I remmeber in the Honerva episode she said, find the emperor! And I thought, Zarkon? That b*tch alive? Oh please no! Oh yeah that’s right, Lotor was emperor, wait, what did he do as emperor again? He never even wore a type of head ornament to show status to really drill in my head yes he is the leader nor did he do anything emperor like or really ruled the Galra for me to think, yes this guy made his generals swore their allegiance to Voltron, this is the first time I hear of this and really no wonder he is bitter, Voltron killed his previous leader, put another that made him swear to Voltron and then Voltron killed him as well and left, like WTF Voltron? Chose a side you look like a moody teenager but you have the greates weapon known in the universe and you swing your sword and whoever makes you mad

They go to Olkari again by pure chance and only once they are close to the planet do they see it’s real devastating state, they also mention Olkarion was a key base to the Coalition, a communication base or just a base, idk can’t remember

So at this moment I think, that’s right, the Olkari! Then why did they go to Earth in S7? shouldn’t the Olkari be better equipped to handle the lions than Earth? why expose Earth who is still building up their defenses rather than go to the place they liberated long ago that has the best engineers in the universe?

Also they go by chance, first of all, this is the first time I hear they are vital to the Coalition, I know they are great allies but I’ve never seen or told beforehand they had such a big role and if they had, why didn’t they call anyone from the Coalition? Once Earth was back online they contacted Matt, the Coalition arrived on Earth, there is a working functioning one

Yes they may arrive late but I’m sure they could’ve sent a signal to the Coalition, to the Atlas, to Voltron who we actually literally in that episode see them use their mega thrusters just for fun, they should’ve recieved the distress signal but arrived too late not by chance, this makes me question their statement as if they were really a big part of the Coalition and only after they see the state of Olkari that they send the rebels to evacuate other planets, but it’s stated the robeast had beem destroying plantes for a while, why did no one in the Coalition said a thing? Why is it surprising now? In S7 the universe was chaos, the planets defenseless, so then we are back to square 1 but this time it feels worse and the worst part is that is their failure at not making a strong enough Coalition at going back to Earth rather than stay and help

In Olkari they mention how their information could save billions of live, Allura saying how they need to save all the lives in the universe

Ok, um which lives again? Let’s check the groups shall we? Earth was decimated not long ago, many people died, some are still alive, the Olkari were able to flee but we see that many must have died as well, Ryner probably dead, the Galra, are said to also be scattered and low on numbers due to Honerva, the Blade of Marmora are mostly dead because of that one lonely druid, the Alteans are alive but they are used by Honerva, if they speak they die so disposable and also in low numbers this are all the major groups Voltron has that I can remember

Everything is destroyed and dead, yes I know there are people still there to save but at this point, me as the viewer, I am just so depressed of this constant death and destruction, they never mention a bit of hope, at least one place they can defend and keep safe, a focus, at this point I’m just praying for Shay and her Balmera because they are the only group that they haven’t talked about

I can’t get emotionally invested, the heroes are motivated but they just look so down, so sad, I have nothing to root for, everything Voltron once did is pretty much gone and at this point I think, well what did they do?

The Coalition failed, I only remember seeing it work once on Earth, the farthest place from the conflict, by them failing at consolidating the Coalition the planets they saved are gone, their allies like the BoM are mostly dead because they came our more publicly to support Voltron, they killed the Galra leader twice and did nothing later which bit them in the ass when these random groups of Galra’s attacked them, they now are interested in the Galra because they are as much f*cked up as the rest of the universe and pretty much no longer a threat

I just...What The Ever Loving FUCK is happening, I’m sorry but I can’t get invested in this and worse, all of this just told me that everything I’ve been seeing for two years meant for nothing and no it’s not because Honerva was supper powerful but because they failed at doing what they were supposed to do! Honerva didn’t hit a well stablished big tower, she hit a Jenga tower that already had blocks taken away

And everything is so gloomy, not only am I sad all the time but it feels pointless, if they save the universe is because it’s the least they should do! I just can’t anymore, I know how it ends, I already reached the part were they go into Honerva’s mind so at this point I know they are not going to adress the previous issues i had, it’s only the big battle at the end were Allura dies so I want and don’t want to watch it but the only episode I’ve truly enjoyed is Clear Day and it’s only because it has nothing to do with the plot

.

Ok this is canon romantic stuff, I’m not feeling Allurance, Lance has stated his love twice, like literal, I LOVE YOU, Allura just smiled and the first thing she sees in her allucination is Lotor, her ex, I know it’s for the dark entity but it felt like Allura couldn’t shake off his memory, even if she doesn’t love him and she clearly looks traumatized to see him, it tells me she is not ready to jump into a relationship, she hasn’t healed from Lotor’s betrayal, she is just looking for someone to hold her before she snaps but I don’t feel an ounce of love of her to Lance, this makes me feel bad for Lance because he is cleary in love but Allura can’t and won’t be able to reciprocate until she is healed and I know perfectly well it won’t happen

[patriotsnet]

What Does The Bible Say About Republicans

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/what-does-the-bible-say-about-republicans/

What Does The Bible Say About Republicans

What Does God Say About Democrats

What Does the Bible Say About 2016 Election – Hidden Secrets Revealed – Republican vs Democrat

Sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ and Saving America

Steven Andrew is leading the nation to reaffirm covenant that the USA follows Jesus Christ. The Bible teaches covenant is the most important action to save lives, restore safety, strengthen the church, and raise godly generations.

testimonials

Michael

I know of no one doing everything they can to help our nation to turn away from wickedness and sin, and turn back to God, like Steven Andrew.;

Craig

Giving to USA Christian Church is the most powerful way to support God’s will for the nation and defend Christianity.

The USA is in a national emergency. Our only hope is to surrender our lives and the nation to God and agree to obey the Lord. We have hope. It is not too late to find Gods mercy. Steven Andrew

People are very concerned. The news shows the USA is in a freedon verses tyranny national emergency. It could even be a life verses death crisis if the nation goes into captivity as happened to Israel and Judhae for their sins. If we want to honor God and have God bless our lives and nation, it is important we know: What does the Bible teach about Democrats?

I am Steven Andrew, the pastor who believes like the founding fathers. I am on a mission from God

Pray

Is the Bible your final authority or do you go by your feelings and own ways?This is Gods opinion, not mine.

For protection and national security, the nation needs to see Democrats hearts the way God does.my This is Gods opinion not my opinion.

Grist Is The Only Nonprofit Newsroom Focused On Exploring Solutions At The Intersection Of Climate And Justice

Our team of journalists remains dedicated to telling stories of climate, justice, and solutions. We aim to inspire more people to talk about climate change and to believe that meaningful change is not only possible but happening right now.;Our in-depth approach to solutions-based journalism takes time and proactive planning, which is why Grist depends on reader support.

This September, become a monthly donor, and your entire yearly amount will be matched. Grist hopes to welcome 200 new monthly members by September 30, and were closing in on our goal! Help us further advance our reporting by giving us the stable, reliable funding we need. Consider becoming a Grist member today to ensure this important work continues and thrives.

Bible Verses Violated By The Republican Party

Please note this article is not another case of a Democrat insulting the Republican party and their religious members.; I dont like either political party and Ive lost hope in the current political system until major changes are made.

While Ive lost most; interest in national politics,; some things still catch my eye. But what bothers me the most, and always gets my attention, is when a politician campaigns on a the premise that their allegiance to their God makes them a better person than the other candidate. Fast forward a few months after their election and there they are obstructing ethical legislation; for their constituents only to make their donors happy.

If a politicians; adherence to the Bible is what makes them a good person and good elected official, what do they become when they no longer adhere to the Bible?

You can understand why I feel my arguments made here are sound: The voting and campaign records of Congress are widely-available public records, and since 7 out of the 10 Bible verses I used are from either Matthew, Mark, Luke or John, meaning that 70% of this is literally the Gospel truth

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James : 19 Niv: Everyone Should Be Quick To Listen Slow To Speak And Slow To Become Angry

Well THAT’S a big red flag if I ever saw one. Any of the above points show that Donald Trump does not have a reasonable filter. Whatever comes to mind comes straight out of his mouth, especially when he gets angry. If our president acts out in anger, we are going to have a lot of issues on our hands. Can you imagine how he would converse with other world leaders? What would he do if they insulted our government, or heaven forbid, Trump’s hand size? How would he react to negative criticism from countries we very much need to remain on good terms with? Not only is this dangerous, it also gives more reason for people not to respect America. It would say a lot about us if our leader had the same temperament as a two-year old in a time out. A true God following leader would participate in rational discussion, in which all sides are heard and acknowledged.

I’m not trying to tell anybody that Hilary is the Christian candidate we’re looking for. In fact, I don’t even believe we need a Christian candidate at all. This is America, where anybody of any race or religion can do the job. What I am trying to say, is that if you think Donald Trump is your closest bet to having a Christian in office, you’re making the wrong choice.

Your choice matters. Choose wisely.

Abortion Is An Integral Part Of The Vaccine Industry

For you created my inmost being;;you knit me together;in my mothers womb.;Psalm 139:13

The Bible makes clear that life begins at conception. It says that every child is a gift from God . If Jesus were here today, I am not sure if He would be carrying a sign, but we can agree He would be pro-life.

Many are surprised to find that in fact, vaccines do contain;aborted fetal tissue,;including lung and kidney tissue.

This is because scientists grow live vaccines in living tissue. You can find aborted fetal tissue in 23 total vaccines, including:

MMR

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Gop Lawmaker: The Bible Says If A Man Will Not Work He Shall Not Eat

This storys headline;has been corrected. A quote from Rep. Jodey Arringtons remarks at a congressional hearing has also been added.

One lawmaker is citing a godly reference to; justify changes to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program: Rep. Jodey Arrington recently quoted the New Testament to question the strength of current work requirements.

The biblical passage, 2 Thessalonians 3-10, was a rebuttal to one of the hearings expert witnesses, a representative of the Jewish anti-hunger group MAZON. It is also a familiar refrain to anyone who has watched past debates about SNAP.

House Republicans have historically cited the verse if a man will not work, he shall not eat as justification for cutting some adults SNAP benefits. Arrington referenced the verse in a discussion;about increasing the work requirements for unemployed adults on the food stamp program. But critics say that;advances;a pernicious myth about the unemployed who receive SNAP.

The verse in question applies specifically to people who can work or otherwise contribute to society but choose not to, said theologians from several denominations who spoke to The Post. There is a perception, among some voters and lawmakers, that many adult SNAP recipients are exactly this sort of freeloader.

More from Wonkblog:

James : 26 Esv: If Anyone Thinks He Is Religious And Does Not Bridle His Tongue But Deceives His Heart This Person’s Religion Is Worthless

Wow. That was blunt. I commonly hear people say that they like Donald Trump because, “He speaks his mind.” There is a monumental difference between speaking your mind, and throwing words about without caution. The things that Donald Trump has used his platform to say should not only shock you; they should offend you. His words are rash, prejudiced, and hurtful. You don’t believe me? Here are some examples:

“You know, it really doesn’t matter what the media write as long as you’ve got a young, and beautiful, piece of a**.”

“My fingers are long and beautiful, as, it has well been documented, are various other parts of my body.”

Now I don’t know about you, but this doesn’t sound like the kind of man who has proper control over his tongue to me. Words are some of the greatest indicators of who we are. The president of our country should be able to possess certain qualities, such as engaging in foreign affairs without flying off the handle. Not only is this concerning to our national security, it is also a warning sign of poor character.

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Looking For Some More Related Articles

Take a look at these other similar type articles:

Robert

Great article Jack,Sure a lot of good points you brought up. A lot to ponder as an election grows near.

It seems like the people who get elected reflect the sentiment of the nation. If we are concerned with the economy, we vote for the people we think will fix it. If we are concerned with moral issues, we vote for those we think care about what we care about.

This may also be a way in which God judges, or blesses, a nation. As the individuals of a nation move further from God, they elect representatives that are also further from God. These representatives are then naturally going to be motivated by something other than God and His love. Therefore, the nation suffers.

On the other hand, as the individuals of a nation move closer to God and elect godly representatives, these representatives seek Gods will for themselves and the country. The nation is blessed.

Thanks again for a wonderful, thought-provoking article.

Yours in Christ,

Friendship Is The Goal Of The Gospel

What does the Bible say about voting in 2020?

Christians rightly think about salvation as forgiveness of sins and eternal life. But it is more than this. Jesus gives all who trust him the privilege of being his friends . And what is eternal life, after all? According to Jesus, this is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent . He rescued us to forge an intimate relationship with the triune God . God forgives us that we might share in his triune fellowship of love forever.;

In the new creation we will enjoy true friendship with all other believers. Our future is a world of friendship.

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Matthew : 28 Esv: But I Say To You That Everyone Who Looks At A Woman With Lustful Intent Has Already Committed Adultery With Her In His Heart

Now, I’m not trying to single out Donald Trump for having completely natural biological urges. All of humankind has fallen prey to the allure of lust. However, to battle with that in one’s heart and to voice it out loud to others are two completely different things.

The LORD calls men to honor and protect women. Women are handcrafted by God, and they are to be respected. Donald Trump has been quoted saying things that go directly against this God-given duty:

“Grab them by the the p*ssy.”

If that wasn’t vulgar enough for you, here’s a list of adjectives he has publicly used to describe women: Fat. Dog. Pig. Slob. Disgusting animal.

I don’t know what it’s going to take for this country to start valuing women properly, but having this guy in charge isn’t going to do it. As a woman, you should be concerned that a candidate for president is getting away with talking about your demographic like that. As a man, you should be standing up for the women in your life by saying that this is NOT okay! Young girls in this world should not grow up thinking that those words are okay because the President of the United States says them. If we elect this man, that will be the standard our girls will have for the men in their lives.

Exercising Our Civic Responsibility: What The Bible Says About Voting

Before we look at what the Bible says about voting, let us look at how our individual votes count.

Song of Solomon 2:15 says, Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes. Foxes sometimes, in search of food, would enter into the grape orchards and devour the grapes and spoil the crop. However, the little foxes were too small to reach the grape bunches so they would chew on the vines and it would kill the whole vine. Instead of the farmer just losing his crop, he would lose his vine which was more disastrous. Spiritually some things we do or allow that we might think are little or insignificant can also be disastrous for us.

Listed below are some of the little foxes that generally keep us from our civic responsibilities, in the area of voting. The devil uses these lies and others so that he can keep godly men and women away from the polls and get the candidates of his choice elected. If we do nothing, it makes it easy for the enemy to help those who could become the wrong leadership for our nation.

My one vote doesnt count anyway.

Im disillusioned by the whole political process.

Im already too busy to take the time to cast an informed vote, so I just dont vote at all.

Politics are corrupt anyway and as a Christian I dont want to be involved.

What the Bible Says About Voting

_______________________________________________________________

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Achieving Racial Justice And Equity

The Bible is very clear that God does not show favoritism, and neither should his followers. So, there is no place for racism in the church or in America. The Democratic Party is absolutely just in standing strong against racism in America.;

Now, personally I think that some of the Democrats policies for eliminating racism are not biblical at all. But the fact still remains: The basic policy position is biblically just.

As the election approaches, remember: As Christians we are called to lead people to Christ, not to an elephant or a donkey. Dont allow your politics to sabotage your witness to unbelievers or your fellowship with believers.;

Our loyalty must be to Christ. So, do some research, and vote in line with the heart of Christ. Lets do our best to vote for right and just leaders, and to pray for righteousness and justice in the hearts of those who are elected.

Dane Davis is the pastor of Impact Christian Church. Join Impacts live outdoor worship service at 9 a.m. Sunday at 17746 George Boulevard in Victorville, or tune in online at 10 a.m. on the Impact Christian Church YouTube channel or Facebook page.

Christianity For Votes: How Republicans Are Using A Religious Facade To Gain Political Power

On full display: Rep. Ted Yoho, in his non-apology to Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, remarkably argued, I cannot apologize for my passion or for loving my God, my family, and my country.

Talk of God has been brought into and out of national politics throughout American history, with various partisan and non-partisan causes, but rarely in our history has any political group weaponized faith for political goals as comprehensively as todays Republican Party. Although the name of God has been used as a rallying cry for Republicans for decades, the party that claims to support Christian values has developed a twisted ideology where the mere mention of God has become a license for injustice. Consequently, his name is being thrown out in vain by Republicans who seek to avoid being held responsible for their actions, even when those actions go directly against the Scripture.

The contradictory nature of devotional statements made by GOP;members;was put on full display in a recent scandal in Congress,;when Rep.;Ted;Yoho, R-Florida,;was forced to resign from a Christian organizations;board after publicly exhibiting a behavior profoundly opposite to the values he claimed to stand for.

Yohos non-apology

A powerful political tool

If we want to resemble a hope for uniting and healing;within our;nation, we must rebuke lies, hate and division. We must rejoice in the truth.

WANT TO ADD YOUR VOICE?

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Christians Cannot Serve Both God And The Gop

The Christian right is the backbone of the Republican Party. Christians of all stripes from Catholics to Protestants and evangelicals consistently vote Republican. The core tenets of the modern Republican Party, however, are at stark odds with biblical scripture.

Over the last four decades, few priorities have consumed the Republican Party more than economic policies that benefit the ultra-wealthy. The Ronald Reagan presidency, in particular, ushered in an era where corporate bottom lines took precedence over fair wages for American workers. The rise of the Reagan-Republican ethos, which preaches the elevation of over virtually all other considerations, directly influenced of American jobs to countries with vast pools of cheap labor. Ditto for union-busting and the adoption of job-killing automation in pursuit of maximum profit.

These factors, unsurprisingly, the American middle class. Moreover, Presidents Reagan, George W. Bush and Donald Trump all pursued radical tax policies that overwhelmingly; if not solely; benefitted a small group of exceptionally wealthy Americans at the expense of the working and middle classes.

Republican policies favoring the ultra-affluent, however, stand in stark contrast with biblical scripture. The Bibles condemnations of the wealthy and the accumulation of riches leave zero room for ambiguity.

In short, followers of Christ must choose between God and money.

Property was sold and the proceeds distributed to anyone who had need.

[canaryatlaw]

okay, so today was pretty good. I woke up to my alarm at 11:45 for PT, got ready and walked there. The session was fine, nothing very remarkable about it. Afterwards when I was walking home there were people from charities out canvasing which is a fairly common sight, I ended up stopping and talking to a guy from one called People’s Action who are working to end mass incarceration  and advocate for a fairer legal system (I told him up front that I was a student and had no income so I couldn’t donate, but we had a pleasant conversation anyway). We were very much on the same wavelength about things, we talked about the new DA in Philadelphia and how he was instrumental in getting Meek Mills released from prison recently, he was talking about reforms the Chicago SA has been instituting and I was telling him about the JTDC and how there were children locked up in there for sometimes over a year. They’re currently pushing for a bill that’s in the Illinois legislature to end money bail throughout the state, basically meaning if someone is arrested on a low level offense, they would be booked and processed, but then released subject to bail conditions such as ankle monitoring and such, the idea being that nobody stays in jail simply because they can’t afford to pay their way out, which is a huge reason for incarceration and the main cause behind most of the inmates at the Cook County Jail right now (note jail is different than prison, prisons don’t usually house people who are pre-trial). So he gave me the name of that legislation and how I could talk to my elected representatives about supporting it (he said he was pretty sure the rep for where I live was signed on, but it’s always good to let them know we’re supporting their position). So that was a pleasant little discussion (pleasant being a relative term, of course). So I got home and started on my baking projects for the day, one being the bread I wanted to make into cheesy garlic bread. I had bought a package of frozen pizza dough a while back, and there’s a recipe on the back to turn it into italian bread instead, and I had let the last one I had thaw out yesterday so I could cook it today, first I had to split it into two loaves and then leave it to rise for 2-3 hours, so I set that up, then started working on my caramels. It was the same recipe I used before and liked, I’ve just learned to change up the temperatures according to how I like them lol mainly leaving them on longer so they get harder and chewier, which is how I like them. there were a few potentially dicey moments when I was adding the heavy cream and butter (if you’ve ever made caramel before you know when you add the heavy cream it legit starts bubbling violently and can be rather intense) probably because I added too much too quickly, and it threatened to bubble over but eventually subsided. I then left them on until they got to like 260 instead of 240 like the recipe said before taking it off the stove and pouring it into a pan to harden, then topped it with sea salt because any good caramel has to be salted these days. It was around 4 at that point and they were supposed to sit for 3 1/2 hours, so I had some time obviously. I did the dishes in the sink, then finally started to finish cleaning my room. I had done a good bit of it last week with cleaning up the clothes that were really the main issue, but I just had a lot of other clutter and random things hanging about that I mainly stuffed either under my bed or in my closet, because those are really the only places I have to put stuff, lol. Hopefully this weekend I can get around to pulling out my clothing and deciding what I want to do with what exactly, keep it or hand, or store, or donate, so hopefully that will work out. Around 5:30 when the bread was done rising I put it in the oven, then when it was done I sliced one of the loaves open and started the cheesy garlic bread part, which is actually very easy because it’s only melted butter, garlic powder, and shredded cheese (of course you could go for the more authentic garlic flavoring by using actual garlic, but in my experience the garlic powder tastes fine). Once that was done I sat down on the couch and had some time to kill before Arrow came on, so I watched last week’s Blindspot that I hadn’t gotten around to yet. I think I only have last night’s Krypton to catch up on now, though I’ll have another Blindspot episode to watch tomorrow night, but it’s the season finale so I’m almost done with that. I’m gonna have to find some good shows to binge over the summer when all my shows are over and I need to decompress from bar studying. Soon enough after that it was Arrow time. Now, to be clear, the only reason I was watching was for Dinah Drake, Black Siren, and Sara Lance, I didn't really give a fuck about anybody else (besides like, Quentin, I guess). Oliver I really don’t give a shit about at this point, and even Felicity has become pretty meh to me because they can’t seem to write her as a character independent from her relationship with Oliver. The opening with them attacking the police prescient with the FBI was pretty bad ass, and done really well, so they get credit for that. The episode went on, I was worried for a moment that they were gonna kill off Rene when they had him call his daughter and I was like OH GOD DO NOT DO THIS TO ME so I was glad they got out of there alive. Then there was Quentin clearly only caring about getting Laurel back, and I’m sorry but I refuse to believe you can GPS track A FUCKING PACEMAKER even when I know they’ve done it with someone else on here at some point, but as soon as he said it to Oliver I was like okay that’s gonna be important so it was good that that was picked up soon. I mean, literally everyone knew they were gonna kill Quentin, and that it’d most likely be in the form of him sacrificing himself to save Laurel, so when he quite literally took a bullet for her that wasn’t really a surprise. When she called him “Dad” my heart definitely broke a little bit. Then everyone else stormed in and I was really just wanting Laurel to rip that stupid collar off her neck and scream at Diaz, but actually having Dinah come to her assist and help her get Quentin out of there was like, such a really well done moment for both of them, I loved it. Then of course there was Oliver being stupid with Diaz and not just putting a fucking arrow into him like he should’ve, like you could’ve grabbed that USB data off his neck if he stopped breathing??? We know thinking isn’t your strong suit buddy but come on. Not gonna lie, Laurel coming in and being like “oh, that movie you were talking about, it was old yeller” before literally blasting him off the building with her scream was so fucking great, I just wish it had actually killed him so we didn’t have to deal with anymore of this bullshit. If he’s actually like, a villain next season I’m gonna be pissed because he needs to just be done. Then of course we had everybody at the hospital with Quentin in ~stable~ condition going into surgery, and getting to have a nice long goodbye chat with Oliver, only for them to have Sara show up after he already went into surgery so she didn’t get FUCKING SAY GOODBYE to her FUCKING FATHER and just shows up in time to hear that he’s dead, because has the universe not dealt Sara Lance enough heartbreak already, you really gotta keep killing the people she loves???? that shit pissed me off, because it would’ve been so fucking easy for them to have her there earlier and at least get to say goodbye, this was just being unnecessarily cruel. I did appreciate that she at least got to speak to Black Siren, I would’ve liked a more in-depth conversation but it’s a start at least. I did of course feel for Laurel as well, we know she has to be dealing with a lot of grief and heartbreak based on the relationship her and Quentin had built up over the last season and him quite literally becoming a father to her. And now of course she has nobody, like who is going to help her now? the only other person who maybe would was Oliver, and OH WAIT he’s getting taken off to prison now. I mean, I guess they could have Dinah reach out to her which my DinahSiren shipper heart would adore, I would be really happy if that happened for next season, but I don’t really want to get my hopes up about it. But yeah, about that whole Oliver getting arrested thing. I know I was going on two weeks ago about how brilliant it was that they ended the case the way they did because it put double jeopardy rules into play so they couldn’t try him again, but double jeopardy doesn’t apply to federal charges (which is frankly something a lot of people, myself included, think is unconstitutional, but it’s the law for now), so he could be charged under federal statutes for crimes, however they would have to establish federal jurisdiction over the crimes, such as them occurring on federal land, or a series of other factors, because federal and state jurisdiction isn't always concurrent. It is of course very rare that federal charges are brought after someone is acquitted of state charges for the reasons I outlined above, it may not be double jeopardy by law but a lot of people view it that way regardless. They also made it really unclear as to what his situation was, like was he getting charged and going to trial or had he essentially entered a plea of some sort? I mean, if the charge is for like 35 murders (or however many they can claim federal jurisdiction for) there’s no way he’s getting an actual plea less than life in prison without parole (as opposed to the death penalty) so idk how that would work. but I really didn’t feel emotionally invested in that plot at all because I just didn’t believe the stakes, like sure he may spend a few months in prison until next season starts but we all know he’s going to get out and somehow take up his vigilante identity again. I wasn’t surprised that he went public about being the green arrow, I mean, Oliver did it in season 10 of Smallville so at this point I was pretty sure it was gonna be happening any time now. As far as the scene of him walking through the prison to his cell, that’s bullshit, because they would have him in protective custody being that like half the people in the prison want to kill him. but yeah, I guess that’s where we’re leaving off for now. I honestly really hope they make season 7 the last, it’s a solid place to end a series without it getting too drawn out (because let’s be real, it’s already being drawn out) and at this point I feel like they’re just getting close to Oliver’s narrative journey. Of course the characters can still be a part of the universe and show up in crossovers or just make cameos in the different shows, so it’s not like they'd really be going anywhere permanently. As far as the news coming out of the CW Upfronts today, I did chuckle a little at Supergirl getting moved to the Sunday night slot and Legends permanently taking over Monday (sorry SG fans) and it leading into Arrow, because that’s apparently the way they want to do things now. As far as the fact that Batwoman/Kate Kane is going to be part of the crossover next year, I can’t have much of an opinion there because I’m not terribly invested in the Batman mythos to the point where I’d really have any knowledge about her, the most I’ve really seen was watching Batman The Animated Series and of course that isn’t very much, so I guess we’ll have to see where they go with that. Someone on twitter said Legends should be leading the crossover next season, which I very much agree with, they've definitely earned it at this point. Well, once Arrow was over I just watched the Great British Baking Show Masterclass which is just the two judges making their perfect versions of the different challenges they had the contestants make in the bake off, because it’s very soft and British and does not hurt me the way the Arrowverse does, so that was pleasant, and I watched that until I started getting ready for bed. I have an early morning, it’ll be my first day at my mini internship at the DV Clinic, just on Fridays through the end of June. I would really have liked to have known about the NY job by now so I could have a better idea of how I stand there, but I guess I’ll just have to be pulling out all the stops to make myself the most useful worker that they won’t want me to leave, whether I end up needing a job or not. That’s the plan, anyway, as far as things I’ve already done there I’m pretty good at all of them, I can do OPs of course and I’ve interviewed clients, both over the phone and in person, and of course I can step up in court on status updates and such which it sounds like would be most of what I’m doing in court, so that’s all good. Well, it’s 12:30 am and I have to wake up at 6:55 am to get there by 8:30, so I really should be getting to bed now. Goodnight my loves. Happy Friday. 

[patriotsnet]

Who Raises Taxes More Republicans Or Democrats

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/who-raises-taxes-more-republicans-or-democrats/

Who Raises Taxes More Republicans Or Democrats

Republicans Vs Democrats On Taxes: An Overview

Republicans Threaten To Cut Taxes Again If Democrats Raise Them To Pay For Infrastructure

We often boil down the tax policy of our major political parties to its simplest form: Democrats raise taxes to fund social programs, and Republicans lower taxes to benefit big businesses and the wealthy.;Both ideas oversimplify the policy of each party, yet both ideas are essentially true.

Whether you agree with more government spending or tax breaks for corporations, each party’s agenda will affect your taxes.

Which Party Is The Party Of The 1 Percent

First, both parties receive substantial support. Much of it comes from registered voters who make $100K+ annually. However, Democrats actually come out ahead when it comes to fundraising for campaigns. In many cases, Democrats have been able to raise twice as much in private political contributions. But what about outside of politicians? Does that mean Democrats are the wealthier party? Which American families are wealthier? Republicans or Democrats?

Honestly, it is probably Republicans. When it comes down to it, the richest families in America tend to donate to Republican candidates. Forbes reported out of the 50 richest families in the United States, 28 donate to Republican candidates. Another seven donate to Democrats. Additionally, 15 of the richest families in the U.S. donate to both parties.

Republicans Are Setting A Tax Trap For Biden

Republicans in Congress want to raise the federal gas tax. Yes, the same Republicans who oppose tax hikes most of the rest of the time.

You wont hear them say, lets raise the gas tax, exactly. Theres a code phrase: user fees. Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, for instance, says Republicans will support $600 billion in infrastructure spending, as long as user fees cover the cost. Were happy to look for traditional infrastructure pay-fors, which means the users participate, McConnell said in Louisville on May 3.

The conventional wisdom on infrastructure is that its one rare area of bipartisan agreement, since everybody wants better transportation and a more efficient economy. But theres not really bipartisanship, because of the clash over how to pay for it. Its like a husband and wife saying they agree on the importance of money, except he wants to spend it while she wants to save it.

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The Salt Cap Has Yet To Be Addressed

Democrats from high-tax cities and states have agitated for months to address a limit on how much taxpayers can deduct in state and local taxes, after the 2017 Republican tax changes imposed a cap of $10,000 for single filers and $20,000 for married couples filing jointly.

None of the tax proposals so far have formally addressed a partial or full repeal of that limit, although it has support in both chambers and Senator Bernie Sanders, the Vermont independent in charge of the Budget Committee, has signaled openness to a partial repeal of the cap.

And while it was left out of the legislation released on Monday, Mr. Neal and two Democratic advocates for the proposal, Representatives Bill Pascrell of New Jersey and Tom Suozzi of New York, issued a statement pledging that we are committed to enacting a law that will include meaningful SALT relief that is so essential to our middle-class communities.

Mr. Suozzi, who has stood behind a mantra of No SALT, no deal, issued his own statement expressing confidence that a change to the limit would ultimately be included in the package. Some liberal Democrats, however, have pushed back against its inclusion because of its cost and because it could counter some of their tax increases on the wealthy.

What The House Democrats Are Proposing

The 10-year spending plan is the latest step in Democrats campaign to expand education, health care and child care support, tackle the climate crisis, and make further investments in infrastructure.

Party leaders are hoping to use the annual budget process to push forward several measures in Bidens jobs and families proposals that have been blocked by the Republican opposition.

It includes a number of provisions to combat climate change and to invest in infrastructure and jobs.

This story has been updated with additional information.

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‘we’re The Party Of Lower Taxes’

Sen. John Cornyn, R-Texas, said he “would not be surprised” if Republicans move to undo Biden’s tax hikes the next time they control Washington.

“They’re the party of big government. We’re the party of lower taxes and more freedom,” he said. “That’s kind of the problem with doing business this way on a purely partisan basis.”

Sen. Jerry Moran, R-Kan., who is up for re-election next year, said avoiding sharp swings in policy is “a reason not to” govern on a party-line basis.

“We ought to avoid the ups and downs, the uncertainty that comes with a change after every election,” he said.

Senate Finance Committee Chair Ron Wyden, D-Ore., said it’s “absolutely crucial” for Democrats to emphasize the need for economic investments to voters and to make the case for tax “fairness” on top earners to set up a safety net that can stand the test of time.

“I say this to everyone: If you’re a nurse in Medford, Oregon, treating Covid patients, you pay taxes with every single paycheck no tax havens for you. If you’re somebody who’s a well-connected billionaire, it’s very different. It’s to a great extent optional,” he said. “People have never heard that. They say that’s not right. Everybody should have to pay their fair share.”

Rep. Brendan Boyle, D-Pa., said Democrats should ignore GOP warnings about taxes, arguing that they would seek to cut social programs and lower taxes on the wealthy no matter what Biden does.

The Income Tax Arrives

19011902190419061907 1908 190919101913A hand from Washington will be stretched out and placed upon every mans business; the eye of the Federal inspector will be in every mans counting house . . . The law will of necessity have inquisitorial features, it will provide penalties, it will create complicated machinery. Under it men will be hailed into courts distant from their homes. Heavy fines imposed by distant and unfamiliar tribunals will constantly menace the tax payer. An army of Federal inspectors, spies and detectives will descend upon the state . . . Who of us who have had knowledge of the doings of the Federal officials in the Internal Revenue service can be blind to what will follow? I do not hesitate to say that the adoption of this amendment will be such a surrender to imperialism that has not been since the Northern states in their blindness forced the fourteenth and fifteenth amendments upon the entire sisterhood of the Commonwealth.1914-19151916 19171918-1919Audio clip: McAdoo on the need for tax reduction, probably 1919.1920 Audio clip: George White, on Republican tax promises 1921 Andrew Mellon19241926against 19281929-1932whether

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Of The Founder Of The South Korean Megachurch Died At The Age Of

The draft proposal, which may still change before it is officially released on Monday, calls for raising the top marginal rate on individuals to 39.6%, up from the 37% rate set by Republicans 2017 tax cut law. . Plans aired Sunday and obtained by CNN.

This rate will apply to individuals whose taxable income exceeds $400,000 per year and married couples who jointly earn more than $450,000 annually.

The top capital gains rate will increase from 20% to 25%.

In addition, lawmakers would impose an additional 3% tax on individuals with an adjusted gross income of more than $5 million.

And it would broaden the net investment income tax to cover net income received in the ordinary course of a business or business for single taxpayers, joint filers with more than $400,000 in taxable income, or joint filers with more than $500,000 in income.

Currently, as part of the Affordable Care Act, some high-income Americans are subject to an additional 3.8% Medicare tax on certain investment income and a 0.9% Medicare surcharge on wages.

The proposal also calls for raising the top corporate tax rate to 26.5%, up from the current 21% set by Republicans 2017 tax cut legislation. This would only apply to businesses with incomes in excess of $5 million.

And the House resolution would increase the minimum tax on foreign income of US companies to 16.5 percent from the current 10.5%. Biden had suggested increasing it to 21%.

The Biden Tax Proposal Is Still In Its Early Days

Rep. Malinowski: Some Republicans are willing to raise taxes for infrastructure

Bidens follow-up recovery plan is still taking shape, as are plans to accompany it with taxes. The White House wants to be deliberate in how it goes forward not just in addressing the immediate issues, but also in making strategic decisions about whats on the horizon.

What Bidens trying to do is to make some long-term structural changes for this economy and the investments that we need to be competitive with China and to really bet on American workers and to pay for some of that, Bianchi said.

But there are obstacles. For one thing, the US economy is hardly firing on all cylinders: The US economy is still hamstrung by the Covid-19 pandemic, and millions of jobs still arent back. There is increasing optimism that between the stimulus package and vaccines, the economy is about to bounce back fast, but that doesnt make the politics of the issue a walk in the park.

Were still in the midst of a recession, and it would be pretty easy to make the argument that this isnt a great time to be talking about tax increases, said Leonard Burman, co-founder of the Tax Policy Center and a Syracuse University economist. If the economy comes roaring back, then it would be the appropriate time to be talking about tax increases.

Policymakers could have some levers here perhaps phasing in tax increases, or making sure theyre not put in place until unemployment hits a certain level but its still a tricky situation. After all, 2022 is an election year.

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Hearings This Week Could Also Expose Divisions Within Party

Top Democrats argue voters would prefer tax increases on a small group of wealthy individuals and corporations to pay for infrastructure spending over broad-based user fees that would take a bigger chunk out of lower-income voters wallets.

Thats despite Senate Republicans putting transportation fees on the table as well as new taxes on electric vehicle drivers who dont currently pay into the Highway Trust Fund.;But President Joe Biden pledged not to raise taxes on anyone making less than $400,000, and Democratic leaders are anxious to protect vulnerable members facing tough midterm challenges.

Rep. Ron Kind, D-Wis., said his constituents werent troubled by Bidens proposals to raise taxes on the top 1 percent of households and corporations, which would be an easier sell than increasing gasoline or other user fees.

If the feedback back home is any indication, it sure is, said Kind, a member of Democrats Frontline program for top House GOP targets. He won reelection last year by the closest margin of his career in a district Donald Trump carried twice.

A Morning Consult poll conducted April 21-25 supports Kinds assessment. The survey found that 51 percent support raising the corporate tax rate to 28 percent, versus 31 percent support for a gas tax increase and 29 percent for a vehicle-miles-traveled tax to finance infrastructure.

Stock Market Performance Under A Democratic Or Republican President

Updated: by Financial Samurai

Let us take a look at the historical stock market performance under a Democratic or a Republican President. The annualized S&P 500 return by President is quit consistent over history.

Before finding out the answer, Id like you to guess under what party do you think the S&P 500 has performed the best? From there, we can compare the reality with your beliefs.

After all, one of the keys to being a good stock investor is to remove as much bias from your investing process as possible. It is suboptimal to invest on emotion.

For example, I know several people who decided to sell a majority of their stock holdings in 2016 once Donald Trump won the election. They hated Donald Trump. As a result, they missed out on over 50% in S&P 500 gains.

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Republicans To Increase Taxes For More Than 5 Million Older Americans

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Republicans are trying to force a vote on their tax bill before people know whats in it, because they know how unpopular their proposals are. But what we already know is damaging enough, including that more than 5 million older Americans would pay higher taxes, while big corporations and the top 1% get massive tax giveaways.

More than 5 million older Americans could pay higher taxes, and more than 10 million would not receive any tax cut under the Republican tax bill.

AARP: As a result of sunsetting the SFCs middle-class tax cuts, the projected number of taxpayers 65+ experiencing a tax hike would jump more than four times in eight years from 1.2 million in 2019 to 5.2 million in 2027. Add the 5.6 million older Americans who would see no tax change in 2027, and the total number of taxpayers 65+ not receiving a tax cut rises to 10.8 million.

Experts and CEOs continue to oppose the Republican tax plan, calling it a grand deception.

Reagan Tax Cut Architect: What they have here is a big tax cut for the rich paid for with random increases in taxes for various constituencies. Its ridiculous. And its telling that they are ramming this through without any debate. All of the empirical evidence goes against the tax cut.

Former CEO of Stride Rite: This tax bill is a grand deception. It hurts the most vulnerable, and hurts health care and education, which are essential for a healthy economy.

Favoring The Biden Strategy

Lamont and Republicans both say the timing is bad for tax increases as the states finances are finally stabilizing allowing for the first Wall Street bond rating increase in the past 20 years. The state is projecting a budget surplus of nearly $250 million in the current fiscal year, and the rainy day fund for fiscal emergencies is projected to rise to $3.8 billion later this year. Those numbers have continued to increase due to a record-setting pace on Wall Street as Fairfield County millionaires and billionaires pay hundreds of millions of dollars in capital gains that are paid through the personal income tax.

After the Twin Towers fell, many raced to help or went back to work. Now, for those suffering with cancer or lung disease, 9/11 did not end on 9/11. »

In addition, the major federal stimulus package that was passed by Congress and signed into law by President Biden will send $6.2 billion to Connecticut for state and local government over the next three years, including $1.75 billion directly into the state budget over the next two years.

Lamont, though, doubled down on his views about the timing and against capital gains taxes. Instead, he said in an interview that President Joe Biden should set the tone on tax increases at the national level so that taxpayers in all states are treated the same.

Connecticut honors, mourns the fallen on the 20th anniversary of 9/11 attacks »

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User Fees Would Force Biden’s Hand

If Republicans controlled Congress, its extremely unlikely theyd raise user fees or impose new ones to pay for an infrastructure plan. The federal gasoline tax, which is supposed to cover the costs of the national highway system, is a classic user fee because people who buy gasdriverspay into the fund that maintains the roads they drive on. But the gas tax has been stuck at 18.4 center per gallon since 1993, and its now too low to cover all the costs its supposed to. President Trump supposedly wanted a big infrastructure plan, and his fellow Republicans controlled Congress during the first two years of his presidency. Yet they never mounted a serious infrastructure plan, let alone new user fees to pay for it.

So why do Republicans favor user fees now? Because they would force Biden to break a core campaign promise, damaging him politically. Biden pledged not to raise taxes on households earning less than $400,000 per year, and any user fee applied broadly to the public would violate that pledge. User fees are actually a sensible and proven way to pay for big projects, yet Biden, for better or worse, has effectively ruled them out as a funding source for his ambitious plans.

Rick Newman is the author of four books, including “Rebounders: How Winners Pivot from Setback to Success. Follow him on Twitter: . You can also , and click here to get Ricks stories by email.

Read more:

The Trump Tax Reform Conspicuously Targeted High

New York Governor Andrew Cuomo has always been more reluctant than other Empire State Democrats to soak the richjust last summer he warned that raising taxes on the states billionaires would mean theyd . But last week he agreed to a budget deal that boosts state income tax rates on millionaires and would leave New York Citys richest paying the highest combined state and local income tax rate in the nation14.8% on income above $25 million. New York hadnt held that dubious title since 2012, when California voters hit millionaires with a 13.3% rate.;

Cynics might suggest that Cuomo caved now because hes been politically weakened by allegations he sexually harassed subordinates and misled the public about the number of Covid-19 deaths among nursing home residents. But the Governor himself offered another explanation for his change of heart: taxes for the richest New Yorkers will actually go down. Huh?;

While attention has focused on Bidens plan to raise federal taxes on and earning more than $400,000, another tax war has been raging around the countryand is itself affecting Washington maneuvering. According to data collected by the Urban Institute, between April and December of 2020, a majority of states collected less tax revenue than in the year before, even as the pandemic put increased demands on their budgets. The five hardest hit statesAlaska, Hawaii, North Dakota, Nevada and Floridaare heavily dependent on tax revenue from either oil or tourism.

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[rfield87]

Writing Advice from Best-Selling Authors: Jason Reynolds

This week’s re-blog was written by J.D. Myall and is titled: Sunny Author Jason Reynolds on Publishing, Writing, and Advice for New Writers. It was published on July 20, 2018. If you would like to read the original post on the Writer’s Digest website, I will leave the link below.

https://www.writersdigest.com/be-inspired/jason-reynolds-author-sunny-writing-publishing-advice-new-authors

Sunny Author Jason Reynolds on Writing, Publishing and Advice for New Writers

Award-winning YA novelist Jason Reynolds has cemented his place in literary history with titles like When I Was the Greatest, The Boy in the Black Suit and Long Way Down. Here we talk to Jason about writing, publishing and his advice for new authors.

Jason Reynolds is one of the most gifted YA novelists of this time. With titles like When I Was the Greatest, The Boy in the Black Suit and Long Way Down, Reynolds has cemented his place in literary history.

Recently, Reynolds had three titles on the New York Times Best Seller list at the same time. He has been honored with a collection of awards, including several Coretta Scott King Book Award honors, an NAACP Image Award, and his novel Long Way Down has won the Edgar Award. He’s been a National Book Award finalist and has graced stages with Ta-Nehisi Coates and Rep. Jon Lewis. Reynolds has also been featured in the pages of People magazine. He has appeared on television shows such as The Daily Show with Trevor Noah. Here we talk to Jason about writing, publishing and his advice for new authors. 

What was your life like, pre-book?

I was a happy shop worker. I got to dress nice going to work every day and I liked that. I saw people at these high-end stores in New York City making a lot of money. I would have been happy to do that, but I wouldn’t have been reaching my full potential.

Best advice you have heard on writing?

Sharon Draper told me that to write a novel is to climb Mount Everest. When you climb Mount Everest, the whole time you’re thinking, I don’t think I can make it. When you reach the top, you think, now I know I can climb Mount Everest. But what you don’t account for is that on your way down all the footholds change. So, when you climb again it’s not the same route. It’s difficult all over again...every time it’s a new climb.

Do you have any advice for new authors on creating a satisfying ending and a thrilling beginning?

My uncle use to say that the good books begin with “...and shots rang out.” Shots rang out is a cliche, but what he meant is that no one has time for you to get us to the minefield. Drop us in the minefield in the beginning. Drop us off in the mix and you can move backward and forward from there. End in the mix. Don’t answer any questions. Leave me in the muck at the end, too. There can be less muck, but all the loose ends shouldn’t be tied up. There should be something unreconciled. That’s life. Nobody’s life is tied up in a bow. Stories that end in a bow are kind of disrespectful to the reader. If you want your story to be compelling, let it fade to black without reconciliation.

How do you know when a novel is finished?

You always end it a chapter early.

What has novel writing taught you?

Patience. Diligence. Every time you write a novel it’s like writing one for the first time.

Your poetry is amazing. Do you have any advice for writing poetry that connects with readers?

You have to be honest. You have to choose words that breathe. It doesn’t have to necessarily be correct English, but you need words with life. Gwendolyn Brooks once had a list of goals that was published. One of them said she wanted to speak proper English. One of her most popular poems was “We Real Cool.” That’s not what anybody would call proper English, but those words breathed.

You have collaborated on writing with editors and writers. What is the key to making a collaboration work effectively?

Humility. If we are collaborating, we both need to only work for the good of the product. Nothing is sacred to me. If my best line has to get sacrificed for the good of the project, I am not in fear that I’ll never have another good line. If my editor says, “this isn’t working,” and she explains why it’s not working...it’s just not working. It’s that simple. I want to create the best thing. I don’t always know how to make the best thing by myself. Sometimes I can be way too close to something...to actually see it.

How did you connect with Marvel to write Miles Morales: Spider-Man? And can you tell us about the project?

They called me. I wish I had some romantic story about it. I was writing a lot of young, black urban males and they wanted a Spider-Man like that. They reached out to me. Then, I had to think about what that would mean. What are superpowers? Heightened senses? All of our mothers have taught us to have those, so we can stay safe in the hood. I had to ask myself what the kid’s neighbors and family are like. How does it feel to wear a mask and then take that mask off and still feel like you’re not seen? For a kid like this, his super villain would be while supremacy. So, I had to figure out how to change that thought into a comic book.

Tell me the story behind the story. How did your current novels, For Everyone and Sunny, come to be? What are they about?

Sunny is the third book of the track series. I wanted to explore what it means to be black and to be strange...I think our kids deserve to be able to stretch out imaginatively and live their best lives...even if that means being a little left of center. It’s beautiful to tell a story like that.

The other one is called For Everyone. It was basically a love letter wrote to myself when I was twenty-five years old. I decide to quit writing. It was like a curtain call, a sun setting on my career. Looking back on it, (that thinking) was very melodramatic. I thought I’m twenty-five years old and this is it for me. I’m Done. So, I was writing what it feels like to fail. Then, over the course of the two- or three-year process of writing it (things) evolved. It became less about failure and more about what it feels like to want something. We often look at freedom as attaining something. Really, it’s the ability to even have the gumption and the space to dream you could have it in the fist place.

Do your current novels address social issues? If so what themes or messages were you hoping to convey to readers in regard to those issues?

For Everything addresses the fear of living a full life. Sunny addresses depression and  grief...and the breakdown of a family due to a young person’s misunderstanding of their parents. Parents are human. They deal with things like grief, depression and anxiety. To a young person that can feel like dismissal, abandonment, and other things.

Looking back what do you think you did right that helped you to become the novelist you are today?

Be honest. When I was 21, my first editor said that my intuition would take me further than my education ever would. She said what she knew about me was that I had a golden gut. I could put on a page that what felt good to me. I don’t care about the rules. If it feels good, I go with it and that hasn’t let me down yet.

How has your life changed since publication?

I feel more responsibility about what I put out in the world because a lot of people are going to read it. I feel more pressure so there are moments when it isn’t as fun. Moments when this feels like a job. I am appreciative and the fun is there, but there are times when it feels like a job. I’m on the road 100 days a year. Visiting schools, speaking at events, but I have to show up and be the Jason that everyone came to see. It’s hard on me and it’s hard on my family...but you can’t show that.

What are the biggest surprises and learning experiences that you discovered during the publishing journey?

How hard it is. The editors are like collaborators. They do a lot of work, but most writers don’t give them enough credit. (I’ve also learned) how hard it is to sell books. I would encourage everyone to go outside and try to sell fifty things to strangers and see how difficult it is. People underestimate how difficult it is...so when you land on a (bestseller) list it can feel like a miracle.

How do you respond to finding out you made the New York Times Best Sellers List? How do you celebrate?

I don’t celebrate things that have to do with me. I celebrate other people. My National Book Award medal is in a desk. My awards are in boxes. When those things happen, it’s awesome. But there is so much work to be done. I don’t have time to bask in it...People who drink their own Kool-Aid have their career cut short. I can’t believe my own hype. It’s cool to have people say nice things about me. But I have work to do.

Your novel Long Way Down was optioned for film by Universal, with John Legend scheduled to produce it. How involved will you be in that?

I don’t know. I would like to be in the room. I’d like to consult. There are slippery parts of the book I would like to be sure they understand, but other than that, I am not a movie maker. I don’t have that weird thing authors have (when they say), “Don’t ruin my book.” No one can ruin my book because it already exists. What they are creating is a different product. Having that distance helps you enjoy the process.

What matters more to you as an author: winning awards or making best sellers list?

What matters most is creating a book that will withstand. I am here to make art, but if I had to pick between the two, I would pick the awards because awards last forever. Bestsellers are nice, but you may only be on there a week. You’re only as good as what comes out that week. If you make that list and the next week Stephen King or John Green come out it’s a wrap for you. You ain’t on there no more. I think Long Way Down was on (The New York Times Best Sellers List) for seven weeks...but it won the Walter Award, and that’s forever.

Final advice for aspiring writers?

Excellence is habit. The way you live your life is the way you approach your novels...If you work to be great at every part of your life, writing a novel will feel natural for you. Excellence can’t be turned off.

What’s up next for you?

I want to work on a contemporary adult novel. Sunny and For Everyone are available now and I will continue to work hard and put out more books. I want people to scratch their heads wondering how I can put out so many books at this level. I’m my own competition...I’ll keep trying to best myself and try to be of service to others.