#gonna continue to fuck up lucerne

[republic-korlan]

Korlanic military invades Pylerick Island

Following failures to completely annex the island of Hokotae due to Vau'senaan pushback, Korlan has launched as attack on an island in the Led Eteijer Sea, Pylerick Island. Pylerick Island was formerly under the control of Great Hegi, and then Dhraul, however when Vau'sena invaded Dhraul to capture the Blackbird leader Zuriel Nash following several attacks on Vau'senaan soil, they captured the island.

Now, November 10th, 2053, Korlan is invading the island to take it from Vau'sena. The island was deemed incredibly strategic by the Korlanic government, who sent its navy from Sonder to the east of the island. The island had very little defence due to most of Vau'sena's military being stationed in Dhraul, Kuwhara or Ponder. This oversight by Vau'sena has led to Korlan successfully landing on the island.

The Korlanic military is predicted to overtake the island's defences and capture the island in less than a day, preventing Vau'sena's military to come to it's aid in time. There is also now a significant naval presence around the island, most of which are new ships recently built in the newly constructed shipyards in Fort Tataromoa.

[lovemesomerafael]

Others Like Me                                    Chapter 2:  Switzerland

Read Chapter 1  Read it on AO3

For a while, Bucky concentrates on flying the jet and Blondie – Eight, he reminds himself – just keeps quiet.  Flying does come back to him; it’s not long before he feels pretty good about what he’s doing.  Landing is going to be trickier, but he’ll worry about that later.  

“Are there maps in here somewhere?  Where are we?”  He asks, once they level out at a recklessly low altitude hoping to stay under any radar that might be looking for them.

“I don’t know.”

“What?  How can you not know?”

“They tell us only what we need to know.  You, of all people, should understand that, Soldat.”   Her emphasis on the last word shows Eight’s irritation with that question.  

“Shit.  You’re right.  Sorry.  But that’s a big damn problem.  I wish I had my cell phone, but you guys took everything away from me.”

Eight reaches inside a pouch on her vest and retrieves the package the woman had handed her outside the bunker.  “Here are your things.  Are any of those a ‘cell phone’?”  She says the words like they’re new to her.

“You don’t know what a cell phone is?”  Bucky asks, surprised, as he takes the package.

She says simply, “No.”

Bucky’s immensely relieved when he sees that his cell phone is, in fact, among the items in the package, and when he turns it on, it works.  This is going to make things much easier, because it’s not really a cell phone. Well, it is, but it does a whole lot more than cell phones that aren’t made by Tony Stark.  Bucky pushes a button.

“Barnes, what the fuck?”

“Is that how we’re answering the phone now, Tony?”  Bucky grins.

“It is today.  Where are you?  Rogers is having kittens over here.  It’s not pretty.”

“I’ll bet. Sorry.  It’s a long story, and part of it is, I don’t know where we are.  I’m going to need your help.  We’re in a jet, and I don’t know where we are, where to go, or how to get there.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right for you.  Gimme a sec.” It’s not much more time than that before Tony’s voice comes back on the speaker.  “Huh.  Siberia again.  What are you, a homing pigeon?”

“Fuck you.  Where can I go?  This thing’s not gonna make it far and we’re gonna need a ride from wherever we land.”

“We?  You meet a cute Russian girl, Barnes?”

“Matter of fact, yeah,” Bucky grins at Eight.  It’s the first time he’s thought about it, but she is actually quite a dish.  The grin fades a little, though, because she looks back at him in absolute perplexity.

“I don’t know if I’m Russian,” she says.

“Wait,” Tony says, a new tone in his voice.  “What are you telling me?  You’ve been in Siberia and you’re bringing people back with you?”

“Just one.”

“Why am I not surprised you had to go all that way to find a girl who’ll spend time with you?  Anyhoo, that changes things.  Who is this girl?”

“She’s…  She was one of the people who abducted me.  But she’s also the one who got me out.  I told you, it’s a long story.  And, honestly, I don’t know most of it yet.”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucksticks!  How do you get yourself into these situations?”

“Tony…”

“OK, look.  I’m not compromising anything because you got Stockholm Syndrome for some snow bunny.  I’ll get you to a safe house, but then you – and she – are gonna have to deal with Natasha.”

“Kinda figured that. Fine.”

“Jarvis will send you a flight plan.  Can you input it into whatever you’re flying?”

“Uh…  I…”

“Yes,” Eight says, leaning forward toward the instruments and beginning to fiddle with a bank of electronic stuff that makes Bucky’s head spin.

“Yeah, Tony, we can do that.”

“Fine.  You’re going to Switzerland.”

“Gonna need air clearance.”

“Already on it.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, not that I care or anything, but Rogers is a giant pain in the ass, and he’s gonna ask.  Are you OK?”

“Fine.  Just got the shit scared out of me is all.”

“Good.  Enjoy your blind date in a stolen aircraft.  I’ll make some arrangements in Lucerne and we’ll get you and your girlfriend to a safe house.  What’s her name, anyway?”

“Her name is Eight,” Bucky answers, expecting discussion about it.  

“Of course it is,” is all Tony says before ending the call.

Bucky hands the phone to Eight, who immediately pulls the back off of it.  “Hey-“

“This device and this plane are not made to work together.  I’m going to have to make them.”  She frowns in concentration as she pulls a screwdriver from her vest and pops a panel out of the bank of instruments in front of them.

“You know what you’re doing?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’d hate for you to mess up something I need to fly this thing.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Bucky’s gotta just accept that, because it’s not like he’ll know if she messes with the wrong thing.  Not until it’s too late.  “So now that we’re out of there, and we have a plan, it’s time to tell me what the hell just happened.  Who are you?”

Continuing to work, Eight begins to talk.  “I’ll tell you what I know.  Herr Hellner told you who those people are.  They’re trying to rebuild Hydra.  You were one of Hydra’s greatest successes, so they wanted to get you back.  I’ve been hearing about you all my life.”

“All your life? What do you mean?”

Eight sighs.  “They wanted to build an army.  Basically, soldiers who were nothing but empty killing machines. With you, they succeeded for a time, which is why they tried to do the same with the others.”

“The other Winter Soldiers? The ones they gave the serum to after me?”

“Yes.  But they were never a success.  They were feral.  Uncontrollable.”

“I know.  I met them.  They had me fight with them to see what they could do.  They kicked my ass.”

“And killed too many handlers.  Eventually, they had to be destroyed.”

“But not by Hydra.  Is that what they told you?  Because it wasn’t them.  There was a guy…  Anyway, what’s that got to do with you?”

“Even you were hard to control.  There was only one of you, which worked for missions that could be handled by one person but, like I said, they needed an army.”  She takes in a deep breath and lets it out.  “They decided that the problem was starting with adults.  Adults are too fully formed.  So they used us.”

Bucky does not want to know the answer to his next question.  “Who is ‘us’?”

“Me.  My brothers and sisters.  We have no idea whether any of us are actually related, but we call ourselves that because we’re all the same.  We were taken as children, given the same serum you were, built into a squad of troops that could function together.  The point was to make each one of us entirely replaceable.  That way, if one of us died, or went rogue, it wasn’t any loss. Not like you were.”

“How do you know about me?”

“They told us stories about you.  Threatened to bring you out of cryostasis to punish us when we didn’t comply.  There were tales of your achievements, and how you lived to serve Hydra, had given your life gladly over to them…”

“That’s a damn lie!” Bucky’s sickened.

“We know.  We always knew.  We could always tell when you were awake, out of cryofreeze, because we could hear you screaming.  There’s only one thing that makes a person scream like that.  And why would the have to keep emptying you if you were so dedicated to Hydra?”

“’Emptying’?”  

“That machine that goes on your head.  Empties you of all the memories they don’t want you to have?  We don’t know what it’s called.  But you know what I’m talking about.”

“You’ve…  they’ve done that to you?”

“Yes.  Many times.  They do it if we let them see we have a memory, or sometimes just as punishment. But we’re careful.  We try never to let them know we remember.”

“You remember your life? Before?”

“No,” Eight answers sadly. “Not even my name.  I remember only the day they took us, my brother and I, from our school.  They said they were doing some kind of scholastic testing, made us do physical tests, too.  They chose the smartest ones who could do the physical tests, and killed the rest. Teachers.  Everyone.”

“Fuck.”

“You keep saying that. What does ‘fuck’ mean?”

“You don’t know what fuck means?”

“No.”  Again, that simplicity.

Bucky and Steve are going to have a good laugh about that.  But he’s not going to laugh at it right now.  “It’s just an all-purpose word.  Means something bad.  In this case, it means damn those bloody sons of bitches.”

Which he can see means nothing to her, either.

“Anyway, so you remember that day.  How old were you?”

“I don’t know.  I think maybe ten or so.  But that’s all I remember.  That one day, those few hours.  Even that isn’t very clear.  Just impressions.  Everything else has been bunkers and missions.”

“Then how…  How did you know you weren’t, you know… Hydra?”

“I told you, I remember being taken.  Others do, too.  And they hurt us.  All the time. Call us livestock.  They remind us in every possible way that we aren’t like them, we’re tools.  Possessions.  That’s one mistake, but they made a lot of mistakes with us.  They wanted us to be a team, so we are all always together.  That was a mistake, because we remind each other. And when one of us gets emptied, the others just tell that one who they are again.”

Bucky grins evilly.

“We used to look at you sometimes in your cryotube.  And sometimes we’d watch you when you were awake.  You were fascinating to us.”

“Great.  The freak show.”

“No.  You were our brother.  We wanted to help you.  We tried to, sometimes, when they were hurting you particularly badly, but there wasn’t much we could do.  One of us would misbehave, or we’d break something and cause a fuss.”  She looks up from her work.  “You saw me once.”

He looks over at her, shocked.  “I did?”

“They sent you on a mission. The target survived and you were badly hurt.  We were just children, but when you returned, they made us watch what they did to you. So that we would know what happens if we fail.  Just before they emptied you, you looked at me.  It was just for a second, but in that second I could see that we’d been right.  You were like us.  There was another person inside, trying to escape.  I told the others.”

Eight gives Bucky a warm look and lays a hand on his arm.  “You must have felt very alone.  But from the time we came, you never were.”

That one’s gonna take a long time with a counselor to unpack.

“I felt sorry for you that day.  You didn’t have anyone.  So I wanted to do something for you.  There was a guard.  They never tell us their names, we called this one Rumpelstiltskin because he was small and wrinkly.  He really liked to use his stun baton, and he really seemed to hate you.  He used it on you all the time.  More than anyone.”

“I know who you’re talking about.  I remember that guard.”  It’s odd, the feeling Bucky gets from that shared memory.  Before, what she’d been saying had all been kind of an abstract story. But with that, it starts to sink in that she’s telling the truth.  That she really is like him.  It feels… big.  

“So I went into his quarters while he was sleeping, and I reprogrammed it.  It still made light and noise, but there was no shock.  I thought the best I could do was to spare you from a shock or two before he figured it out, but you…   You pretended it still worked.  We saw you.”

Bucky’s floored.  “Holy shit, I remember that, too!”  

“I was so happy you pretended.  I’m glad you remember,” Eight says, beaming at him.  

“I have so many questions. How were you spying on me?  How did you get into a guard’s quarters?”

“I told you, Sergeant. They took the smart ones.  There were many of us, and we were children.  Angry, mistreated children.  We found many ways to get around the bunker without being seen. We were trained to do things like that.  We spied, we sabotaged things, we stole food when they’d forget to feed us.  We couldn’t escape, but we could at least do those things.  Like I said, they made many mistakes with us.  They should’ve taken the dumb ones.”

Bucky likes the glint of malice in her eye as she says that.  

“You don’t have to call me Sergeant.  My name is Bucky.”

He is in no way prepared for the sour look on her face when her head pops up from where she’s now tearing out wiring and connecting it to his phone.  She gapes at him.  “Bucky?”  

He doesn’t like her tone at all.  “Yeah. What’s wrong with Bucky?”

“They threatened us with you!  ‘Comply, or we will wake the Zimniy Soldat and watch while he tears you apart and eats your flesh.’  You were the boogeyman!  I hate to think how many times I obeyed under that threat, and now you tell me that the boogeyman I feared so much is named Bucky?”

She’s truly bothered by that, which makes it even funnier to Bucky.  He’s seized with uncontrollable laughter for a long time.  He has to wipe tears from his eyes as he surrenders to helpless hysterics.  This woman! She’s such a weird combination of opposing characteristics.  She’s like a child in many ways.  A lethal, treacherous child.  Who, apparently, has a gift for electronics.  A display lights up and he’s got headings to Lucerne.

“That’s aces!”  He cries.  “Now we’re cookin’ with gas.  All right. Let’s see.”  Bucky studies the readout on the screen for a while.  “About three more hours.  Just enough time for you to tell me what you’re doing here.”

Bucky’s treated to another of Eight’s perplexed looks.  “Saving my brothers and sisters.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to be perplexed.  “Huh?”

“Hydra, they’re afraid of you, and your friends.  The ‘Adventures’, they call you.  We’ve heard them say many times that you are capable of destroying the fragile beginning they’ve made.”

“I think you mean The Avengers.  But ‘Adventures’ works, too.  What’s any of this got to do with them?”

“When we learned that you were with The… Avengers, it was easy for us to suggest to Hydra that they should try to recapture you.  Then they would find you for us, and send us to get you.  We knew we’d have to capture you for them, of course, but then we would set you free and one of us would go with you to ask The Avengers to help us. So now here we are.”

“Why you?”

“I was the obvious choice. You escaped, and I’m the leader of the squad that was supposed to prevent that.  They would have killed me.  This way, my brothers and sisters can say that I went rogue, and perhaps only a few of them will be punished.  Or killed.”

“Look, Eight, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have a vote in what The Avengers do.  They might not help you.”

“But you will help me convince them.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because you’re our brother.”

Bucky chews on that for quite a while.  This is… complicated.  He believes Eight.  He believes everything she’s telling him.  But The Avengers won’t.  Natasha won’t.  She’ll be sure it’s a trap, to lure them to Hydra’s new headquarters to be captured. Well, that’s a fight for another day. What’s eating at him right now is the dawning sense that his experiences aren’t unique.  There is someone else – several others – who have lived the same nightmare.  People who might be able to understand what he is.  Why no amount of mind control excuses any of it.  

“Eight, have you…  Did they make you… do things?  Things like they made me do?”

“Yes.”

He waits for more, but that’s all she says.  “Eight?”

“I really don’t want to talk about those things, Sergeant.”

“Bucky.”

“Sergeant,” she says with a scowl, and he’s laughing again.

“Have it your way.”  

Bucky can’t really blame her for not wanting to walk down that particular memory lane with him. But there are a lot of things he needs to know.  

**************

Landing at the private airstrip in Lucerne is a relief for Bucky, but he’s watched Eight become more and more anxious the closer they’ve flown.  By the time they’re fifteen minutes out, she’s practically vibrating out of her seat with nerves.  

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Bucky says with what he hopes sounds like kindness.

“There’s no mission plan.”

“You don’t need one. You’re with me.”  Bucky’s faking that nonchalance.  He knows exactly what she means.  He wishes like hell he didn’t.

Her eyes are huge when she looks at him.  “I haven’t studied the terrain, or the targets, or…”

“Look, Eight, quit thinkin’ about this like a mission.  It’s more like a… business meeting.”

“What’s that?”

“OK, a briefing.  You’ve been in a gazillion of those, right?”

“Gazillion?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and huffs out an irritated breath.  “It’s a word no one’s used in fifty years.  Forget it.  Many. You’ve been in many briefings.  We’re just going to a briefing – if I know those guys, several – and we’re gonna propose a mission.  You can do that.”

“I can do that.  But there are dangers I haven’t prepared for, and-“

“Relax.  You’re with me.”  Bucky gives her his best smile, and he’s gratified to see that it works.  In fact, she looks a little dazzled, if he does say so himself.  

She doesn’t stay dazzled very long.  “Who is Natasha?”  

“Natasha is, well… She’s…”  He’s about to say she’s a lot of people, but he’s learning quickly that Eight is very literal.  It’s cute, but it makes him have to watch how he phrases things.  “She’s going to ask you a lot of questions about who you are.  What you want.  She’s very good at getting the truth out of people.”

“Is she going to hurt me? Because she doesn’t have to.  I’ll tell her whatever she wants to know.”

“No hurting. Promise.  But if I know her, the number and intensity of the questions might be unpleasant.”

Eight nods.  Bucky recognizes that, too.  She would’ve nodded even if he’d told her Natasha was going to torture the information out of her.  She’s prepared to endure it, she just wants to know what she’s in for.  Fuck.  It’s like looking in a mirror.  Bucky’s not particularly enjoying the experience of being shown just how fucked up he is.

It’s not Bucky’s best landing but, in his defense, he hasn’t flown a jet in a long time, and he’s never flown this particular model before.  He tries to make excuses to Eight, but she looks at him with her now-customary confusion.

“I can do a lot better than that,” Bucky says.  “It’s just, this jet is, um…  old, and a little temperamental-“

“I don’t know how to land a plane.  I have no opinion.”

Huh.  He’d expected her to pitch him some shit.  How refreshing.  The Avengers could take a page from her book.

Tony calls when they land. “I see you’re on the ground in Lucerne. You have the directions to the safe house, and there should be a car waiting there for you with the keys in it.  J sent you a picture of the car.”

“I got it.”

“All right.  Burn rubber and get out of there.  Your departure from Siberia hasn’t gone unnoticed. It won’t be hard to find that jet. Make sure you’re not followed to the safe house.”

Eight unhooks what’s left of Bucky’s cell phone from the instrument panel and they quickly leave the jet for the tiny car waiting for them.  They’re not followed.  It’s a relief to think that they are – probably – somewhere safe, where this new Hydra can’t find them.  Bucky’s exhausted.  It’s been a bitch of a day.

The safe house is small and generic, on a street of very similar houses.  As instructed, they drive up to the back of the house under a carport that will shield the car from the eyes of anyone who hasn’t already found the house.  Bucky’s intrigued by the fact that Eight can drive, and wonders tiredly what driving lessons from Hydra are like.  He assumes they taught him to fly planes and helicopters, but he doesn’t remember it, and somehow that doesn’t seem quite the same.

The first clue Bucky gets that this isn’t all going to be quite as easy as he’d made it sound is when the caretaker of the little house makes the mistake of coming around the corner of the house.  Before Bucky has time to utter even the first sound, Eight’s got the poor man spread-eagled on the driveway with her knee pressing into his back and a knife at his throat. This, too, is something to laugh at later.  Not now.

“Eight, no… Stand down. We expected him.  He’s the caretaker.  He’s a friendly.  Let him up.”

Eight graciously helps the man to his feet, albeit without saying a word of apology.  She’s still eyeing him suspiciously.  He hands the keys calmly to Bucky with a resigned sigh and goes back to his own house next door.  Apparently, this isn’t his first rodeo.  Bucky thanks him in perfect Shcwyzerdütsch he didn’t even know he knew and unlocks the door.  “We greet people a little differently here in the West,” he says as he motions Eight into the house before him.  “We’ll work on it.”

He really doesn’t think it’s necessary for her to pull out her sidearm and sweep each of the rooms in the house.  Oh, well. Better safe than sorry.

There’s food cooking on the little stove.  Nice touch, that.  Bucky realizes how hungry he is.  Since they don’t have any luggage other than their armored vests, there’s nothing to do but just shuck them off and sit down to eat.  Eight asks Bucky to tell her about The Avengers, especially those they’re going to meet, which is a conversation that could last much longer than it takes them to eat dinner, but Bucky can see Eight’s as tired as he is.  He cuts himself off and suggests they get some sleep.  

She points.  “There’s a bed in that room.”  

“You take it,” Bucky says generously.  “I’ll take the couch.”

Confusion again.  “Why?”

Bucky sputters.  “Uh…  Did you want to sleep on the couch?”

“No.”

“Then, I guess I don’t understand the question.”

“Why aren’t you going to sleep on the bed with me?  Are we going to keep watch?”

“Uh…”

She doesn’t rescue him. Just looks at him like he has really bad manners, and she deserves an explanation.  

“We don’t…  It’s not really… appropriate.”

“Why?”

“Look, ask Natasha when she gets here.  Let’s just go to sleep.”

“But I’ll be cold.  Won’t you?”

Really?  “I’m sure there are blankets.”

Her confusion’s not gone.

“Look, Eight, why don’t you tell me what you’re used to?  Maybe that’s the problem here.  Where did you sleep in the bunker?  Didn’t you have a bed?”

“No.  A mat.  A room with a mat.”

“And was it just you in the room with the mat?”

“All of us.”

“All of you.”

“Yes.  There are twenty-two of us left.”

“Must be a big mat.”

“No.”

“So… what?  You all just pile together like puppies?”

“Yes.  It’s warmer than blankets.  And the blankets there are… not good.”

“OK, well, the blankets here are nice.  I’m sure of it.  And you can have as many as we can find.  Let’s go look and see how many there are.”

“Sergeant, did I do something wrong?  You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous, I’m trying to make sure you’re comfortable.  I’m sort of the host here, so it’s my responsibility.  Look!  A linen cupboard.  And one, two… there are three blankets in here.  Plenty.”

He shoves them into her arms.

“Don’t you want one?”

“Sure.  Just one.  I’ll be fine. All right?  Good night.”

“Good night,” Eight says, frowning.  

Bucky hastily crosses the small distance to the couch and makes a show of being busy arranging things to go to sleep.  When he dares to look toward the door of the bedroom, Eight is no longer standing there. Suddenly, Bucky finds himself looking forward to Natasha’s arrival.  This woman is more than he’s equipped to deal with.  

[dougmeet]

.@swindledPodcast  REVIEW: THE BODY SNATCHER is the latest Pod from @SwindledPodcast.

 NOT THE last show available, but there REMAIN only UNA penultimate Y LA ultima left in the can, and then ONLY TWO MORE TO COMPLETE THE SEASON. 

It IS the one i nursed my sleep-deprived body with tonight;  playing the professional Mardi Gras careerist, Graham Greene-stilo and choosing to dwell on more salubrious, ephemeral, and hidden sybaritic hedonism, not of the festivities, but not in a place where the festivities are nowhere to be found: NEW ORLEANS!

i took up with it tonight.

 (That was the creepiest music you ever conscripted. And i’m glad it’s over.) 

All Swindled Pods are thought up by your concerned anonymous pocaster/citizen (i don’t have time to go into the long line of anonymous disc jockeys, pirate ship radio and South American journalists whose longevity owes its “long” part to their obedience to their number one rule:  stay anonymous, and STAY ALIVE) in a VERY CROWDED, MEDIOCRE CRIME POD-SCENE (what’s worse than a scene?)  today.

"A Concerned Citizen" is serious about what he does, and doing it while protecting his anonymity.

.  He goes as far as blurring out his face in photos from his Social Network platforms.

  I get happy when he posts a manufactured complaint from some bored listener.  His pithy sparring with fans and critics is commensurate with his on-Pod demeanor: 

so dry as to make the three years i spent in Vegas seem wet.

Not one to shy away from a joke (that is close OT a Bob Dylan lyric and its making me crazy, from Infidels), or wanting  us to laugh, he sometimes posts screenshots of some of his still-disparate as hell, wandering, wondering future-fans:  AS SOON AS HE DOES exactly WHAT THEY TELL HIM TO DO!

This ep. features his most ghoulish twofer to date, including TWO deranged morticians, Mercury poisoning, and hundreds of dead bodies, in a gory killing field to make Jim Jones look fastidious, or John Wayne Gacy call Angie’s List. 

They’re corpse-hoarders who would respectively make Herschel Gordon Lewis proud. 

You're likely to hear

WARNING: i now go on a Lester Bangs-type rant as my body cries out for one person to exert a calming influence on me tonight. 

 (once you stop telling everyone to listen to that fucking 2-year-old PODCAST which NO ONE born yet HAS NOT yet LISTENED TO BY NOW!  - and, yes, that dead guy from Alabama also likely had the Mad Hatter's Mercury poisoning chelation disease too, which probably had not a little to do with how he died and from what;  although it was probably time to go, if you believe George Costanza!) 

*You just made me run-on my parentheticalized sentence, too far to go back now.

Watch this podcast! 

There ain't but two more left, and you're on your own, unless, you take media advice from  The fucking New Yorker snobs, whose mascot has his nose in the air in top hat and specs, and wouldn’t give you the time of day if his pocket watch wasn’t being rejewled in Lucerne...They also  passed Swindled over for Best Crime Pod last year ... someone to whom you're gonna transfer power of attorney, or living will rights holding dominion over your final Podlist and Testament...as you slowly succumb, but in your mind flail back in forth like a Price is Right contestant on your death bed (sounds like you’ve been zombified, like poor Narcisse in that book you have not read yet, from the tetratadactin coursing through your veins, administered by the only unfriendly Haitian at the Hotel Olaffson--he was very concerned about your PG Tipps?!  (look.  no fucking research, putain et salopes--as before Wikipedia as naked and only nourished what has gone in and stayed in to the cerebellum, hypocampus, or deep in the dark side of the moon/brain, WHERE IT WILL DIE UNUSED--all “up here,” AS THEY SAY, when the dumbshits aren’t trying to edit my peerlessly accurate submissions to Wikipedia “Traci Lords” article:  imperfect as the ruined executive function shell  shared by Keith Richards who only has to laugh until he vanquishes DEATH HIMSELF!  i, mE, who thinks this is a good use of my time...

*hOP back on.  it should be safe now, unless you are an editor

... and mutely scream to your Jamaican nurse,

"I don't like The fucking New Yorker's taste in podcasts, or anything else, for that matter, it turns out...AND STOP WITH THE REGGAE!”

*extra words in case you need them for continuity, like unused Ikea hardware: ***whculture, after all."*** -- this should be display:none in the html.  thanks--ed. 

if it gets bad ENOUGH, come back here or come see one of us on Twitter. 

We'll set you straighter than Parade. 

thought up by -- mrjyn  3.7.2019 

*i could key-in me a goddamn Kerouac ream with this fucking Special Elite font at 25px. 

Good choice, "CC".  

Now go sing your song!

if you’re completely all over the place and every way but louche, you can also go to the greatest browser button ever invented.  it tells you which font anything on the WWW is!  Then you can write shit in that font, and act like a big fucking journalist from the 40s.

to see the full size typography sample of this font, try going below or here, but it’s also up top.  just click on it and it should let you see.

https://www.typesample.com/samples/special_l0dae_2x/loading

UPDATE:  IT FINALLY LOADED AND IS STUCK ON TOP OF THIS POST!  LOOK AT IT IN ALL ITS SODDEN TYPEWRITER FADED GLORY!  BURROUGHS MAY HAVE SHOT IT IN MEXICO, OR PAUL BOWLES MAY HAVE TRIED TO FUCK IT.  WHO KNOWS, BUT ONLY ME, TOM hANKS AND POSSIBLY YOU WILL EVER BE EXCITED BY ITS DIGITAL CERTAINTY OF A NOBLY UNCERTAIN INSTRUMENT OF DEATH!

i typed this at the above url, but it was kinda longish, and so it didn’t come out for me to save it, but if you can imagine, it looked good.  CC can paste it on his Telegram thing IF he’s got time. 

SOURCES

CC INVENTED ‘SHOWING HIS WORK’

LINKS FROM JUST THIS EP.

https://www.nytimes.com/2004/11/20/us/georgia-crematory-manager-pleads-guilty-and-gives-apology.html https://web.archive.org/web/20110718010013/http://www.wdef.com/node/2478 https://www.wsbtv.com/news/local/ray-brent-marsh-released-from-prison-after-tri-state-crematory-sentence/372030430 https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-2002-02-17-0202170367-story.html https://www.timesfreepress.com/news/local/story/2012/feb/12/horror-in-noble/70497/ https://archive.is/20130127080006/http://www.joplinglobe.com/local/local_story_242213157.html http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7192462.stm http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/4552742.stm https://www.cbsnews.com/news/18-years-for-ny-body-parts-pillager/ https://www.cbsnews.com/news/michael-mastromarino-aka-the-brooklyn-bone-snatcher-dies-from-bone-cancer-report-says/ https://www.medicalbag.com/despicable-doctors/michael-mastromarino-the-organ-grinder/article/472352/?fbclid=IwAR002hKyrqdoYPJ2RFly1acm1CDGh49CA8u2aKu827IbvfsHmitIjsWVjGc https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1388122/ https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/brooklyn/boss-notorious-body-snatching-ring-54-years-harvesting-article-1.286586 https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/body-snatcher-michael-mastromarino-dead-article-1.1392503 https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/health/bodysnatcher-facing-ultimate-irony-death-bone-cancer-article-1.1304216 https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/brooklyn/admitted-body-snatcher-testifies-gruesome-practices-article-1.291606 https://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/23/nyregion/alistair-cookes-bones-were-stolen-for-implantation-his-family-says.html https://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/19/nyregion/19tissue.html https://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/19/nyregion/thecity/19bones.html https://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/09/nyregion/michael-mastromarino-dentist-guilty-in-organ-scheme-dies-at-49.html http://www.oprah.com/relationships/husbands-secret-lives-revealed/2 http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/27/AR2006012701569.html https://web.archive.org/web/20120924153427/http://www.phillymag.com/articles/body-snatchers/ https://www.wired.com/2005/12/a-macabre-theater-of-greed/ https://www.cbsnews.com/video/brooklyn-da-episode-4/

(via s2e11-800x480.jpg (JPEG Image, 800 × 480 pixels))