#fort residency

[starbuck]

Was thinking earlier about “People are not stupid, Ives.” “Really?” and how Ives’ self-centered misanthropy is so important within the larger thematic context of American Imperialism. Imperialists prioritize their own interests over all others since they believe that those they have deemed “others” are unworthy of human consideration. On an individual level, this comes down to believing that you are better than other people, more worthy of life and happiness. 

This is how Hart ends up working with Ives as a willing coconspirator… Even before Colqhoun’s arrival, Hart clearly looks down on the other residents of Fort Spencer. He describes them so uncharitably to Boyd that it isolates Boyd from everyone before he’s even met them. Hart hates his job and the life he lived that got him there and he copes by believing that he is, at least, a superior type of person to everyone under his command. 

In that way, Hart killing his former comrades in cold blood doesn’t come out of nowhere. It’s the logical conclusion of his superior, misanthropic perspective pushed to the extreme. He’s better than them, so why SHOULDN’T he kill and eat them? Don’t you understand? You have to KILL! to live! You have to KILL!!!!!!! 

[missrandomdreamer]

Just some pics of Karl on adventures :3

[mayorwhisper]

This is so obscure yet I agree with it lol

[postcard-from-the-past]

Residence of the Governor in Bellevue, near Fort-de-France, Martinique

French vintage postcard

[fooligandan]

i'd like to share this absolute legend that appeared in my current fort

[avid-idiot]

Dishes? Fine, I'll do them. No complaints.

Cooking? I feel like you'd prefer to see the devil instead of me atp

[megacross-ground-zero-rated-r]

**Does a spoof of the wheel-throwing scene from the movie Ghost but it's Nick getting help re-rolling the last of Kellogg’s signature cigars so it can be smoked as makeshift incense during the autopsy.**

[crazyintheeast]

Scylla: I did not want to murder this man in the middle of town. It is going to be messy for the people who clean up dead bodies. I'll write "sorry" on the wall in his blood.

Raelle: I am sorry about Scylla. She can be a little serial killery

[grandwretch]

bro i was looking up serial killers in the 80s for a throwaway line from robin about profiling and stuff and there was apparently a serial killer active from 1982 to 1984 that was fROM the same area of indiana stranger things is set in. wtf. like yeah that'll work for a fic set in 1985 i guess. jesus christ.

[novinha-amador]

Hana Bunny faz lindo cosplay da Ada Wong de R4

Hana Bunny faz lindo cosplay da Ada Wong de R4 e tira o folego dos admiradores. Ada Wong é uma personagem fictícia da série de jogos de vídeo “Resident Evil” da Capcom. Ela apareceu pela primeira vez em “Resident Evil 2” em 1998 e se tornou um personagem recorrente na série. Ada Wong é retratada como uma mulher misteriosa e astuta que trabalha como espiã, frequentemente se infiltrando em áreas…

[ausetkmt]

October 4, 2022October 4, 2022273

Residents say authorities are dragging their feet to aid a historically African American neighborhood in Fort Myers Florida.

Following the disruption of Hurricane Ian, low-income communities in Florida are reportedly still awaiting assistance from authorities and lawmakers.

According to NPR, the storm’s aftermath has caused a shortage of resources for many communities, including loss of electricity, unsanitary water that looks brownish, and putrid aromas from sewage.

In a report by the outlet, Black residents in Fort Myers, Florida, revealed the damage to their homes that resulted from the hurricane.

“They’re saying the islands got destroyed. Well, we’re destroyed, too. We’re really messed up here,” said 24-year-old Lexxus Cherry, a resident in the Dunbar area. The historically African American neighborhood consists of “squat homes” and reportedly faced the crisis on its own.

Cherry’s uncle, Ta’Wan Grant, explained that he observed a pattern of a lack of attention toward low-income communities after they experienced natural disasters. The hurricane ripped away his air conditioning unit, leaving a hole in the side of his home

“I understand that the city is trying its best to restore everybody’s power,” he said. “But this is a common thing that I’m seeing in cities around America. Whenever a disaster happens, for some reason the city is slow to respond to people in ethnic communities, in low-income communities.”

“We are the ones who need the most help,” Grant said.

Cherry’s mother, who lives nearby in the low-income area, said she’s never seen one police officer ride through to check on the community.

Other residents in surrounding neighborhoods shared that they’ve found places to receive help and resources, including Sheddrick Jacobs and his wife, Sheneka, who live near Dunbar High School. According to Jacobs, the couple was headed to the centralized shelter with power and water at the Hertz Arena in Estero.

“I’m getting what I need, and I think other people are getting what they need too,” he said. “From what I see on Facebook and Instagram and then us coming to here, I think it’s been great.”

The storm affected many areas in and around the city on Sunday, estimating nearly 580,000 people left without electricity and 120 issued boil notices throughout 22 counties, according to PowerOutage.

[ozkar-krapo]

V/A

"Blorp esette vol.1"

(LP. États-Unis. 2022 / rec. 1971-77) [US]

[ask-dbd-chrisredfield]

I wish I was you.. not to know what fortnight is.. is a dream come true

"You are not making any sense. What the Hell has happened to the world outside?!"

[realtyhubph-blog]

Pacific Residences Unit 507 Foreclosed Condo

📍 Unit 7 (507), 5th floor, Elizabeth Building – Tower 2, Pacific Residences, Barangay Ususan, Taguig City, Metro Manila Property Features TYPE: Residential Condo📐 Floor: 40.79 square meters🛌 2 Bedrooms🛀 1 Bathroom🏢 5th FL, Elizabeth Building✅ TCT on process✅ Unoccupied About Pacific Residences A master-planned development influenced by the stylish architecture of Victorian San Francisco,…

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[karmamarsh]

Contemporary Entry Miami Example of a mid-sized trendy marble floor and beige floor foyer design with white walls