#he’s always had questionable jokes about jewish people but how DARE this man use the phrase ‘jew me down’

[lowvintagesims]

@funkiesims and i saw john mulaney last night and this is the front and back of the shirts we made for the occasion

[inlovewithhisblueeyes]

The Great Jewish Cook-off

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Jewish Reader

Prompt: Latkes from the 8 Days of Henry-kkah

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Mentions of sadness and depression in regards to the holidays and the current pandemic.

A/N: Happy Hanukkah. I wanted to get this done for the first day, but my depression reared it’s ugly head. I decided to start off this challenge by writing for my favorite bear. I’m feeling a bit homesick due to the fact I’m normally back home with my family at this time of year. So this piece reflects a bit of that.

A delicate blanket made of snowflakes had nestled itself over the streets of Minneapolis. Normally by the time Walter was evicted from his office at the station, this picturesque scene would have been turned into mucky slush. However, with the impending snowstorm on top of the current stay at home order, the snowy streets remained relatively undisturbed. Walking towards his car, he took in the sight before him; it was different to be caught up in it rather than watching this winter wonderland from his office window.

The tired detective let out a groan as he clamored into his freezing car. The sun was just beginning to set and bright oranges and reds danced across the wintery whiter stage that was this city. He quickly turned on the ignition and peeled out of his parking spot, eager to be out of the cold and in the arms of his girl. The ride home was rather uneventful due to the denizens of this icy city finally listening to restrictions set in place. At least, that’s what he had hoped. The amount of times Walter had been called to break up a party in the past few months would have astounded him had he not been dealing with humanity’s worst of the worst in homicide.

In addition, Faye had been participating in remote learning, which allowed her to blow up his phone throughout the day. It was bad enough that he had be relegated from homicide to deal with those covidiots, but having a stir-crazy teenager attached to her phone when she should be paying attention to her classes was surely wearing him down. He went from having a phone that could stay charged for a few days straight to having to charge it nightly due to his daughter’s antics. In hindsight, it was better than her spending her ample free time messaging strangers online. All he wanted now was a quiet night at home with his girlfriend; perhaps, cuddled up on the couch with some wine and watching whatever silly holiday movie piqued their interest.

The first thing he noticed as he pulled into the driveway was that your car was parked out front, yet the lights were off in the house. It was still rather light out so it wouldn’t have been the biggest deal in the world if Walter wasn’t a cop. Nevertheless, it caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up as he exited the vehicle. The curly haired man quickly removed his gun from his holster and began to walk towards the front door. With a swift turn of the door knob, he could tell that you had once again left the door unlocked. This was a continued point of contention in the relationship as the horrors of that dreadful day a few years back were ever present in his mind.

Granted, the two of you had not even met yet and most of the details of that brutal case were never to be disclosed to the public. Walter carefully opened the door and stepped into the house. He heard the crackle of the fire in the next room and quickly ascertained that his worst fears hadn’t come true. Sliding his gun back into the holster, Walter quietly toed off his boots and hung his jacket up in the closet. Then he took off his mask and set it on the table by the door. His sock covered feet padded against the hard wooden floor of the entryway as he made his way towards the living room. The electric fire was the only source of light in the room and he could scarcely make your sleeping form out on the couch.

It wasn’t like you to be asleep this early, but ever since the world shut down, things have been rather different around here. Walter silently leant down to give you a kiss on the cheek and to check to make sure you weren’t suffering from a fever. Grabbing his phone from his back pocket, he made his way over to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Just as he was about to go through the sea of texts from Faye, the detective noticed a faint smell of burnt food. He set his phone on the counter and quickly flicked on the lights.

Walter immediately saw the culprit of the smell sitting on the stove. The pan that was there had something black seared to its insides, yet it was too charred for him to tell further. Whatever you had made had clearly gone awry and you had quickly cleaned up almost all traces of your failed attempt. You were a good cook and always roped him into whatever cooking show was on tv; even Faye would join the two of you whenever she would stay over. You had spent your down time during the quarantine trying out new recipes; some were good enough to be added to the meal rotation, while others had failed to win approval across the board.

It was no bother to him to take your place as the cook tonight if it meant you had one less thing weighing you down. This time of year was hard on most people and adding in a pandemic only made things more difficult. Tossing the pan into the sink for a well deserved deep cleaning at a later time, Walter noticed his phone light up on the counter. Another text from Faye joined the countless others and now was as good a time as any to go through them.

Walter had to thank whoever blessed him with his daughter and her daily text spams. The mystery of the burned food had been solved without having to wake you. Clearly, you had a bit of trouble with the latkes, but luckily for you now he was home to assist in anyway you needed. Hanukkah dinner could be a team effort. The curly haired man made quick work of getting the pan you had been using clean before he made his way over to the couch you were on. Getting down on bended knee in front of your sleeping form, he gently placed a hand on you to wake you up.

“Sweetheart…would you consider rejoining the land of the living?” He whispered.

“Too cozy,” you grumbled as you pulled an arm up to cover your eyes.

“I bet you are, but you won’t be if I take this blanket,” Walter chuckled.

That got you to sit up and stare blearily at him. “You wouldn’t dare let me freeze” you replied to which he raised an eyebrow at you as if to say try me.

You sighed heavily and pulled the blanket off you before folding and returning it to its spot over the back of the couch. Your bear of a man sat down beside you and gently pat his thigh, the universal signal for you to come cuddle up on his lap. You eagerly shot up and made yourself cozy on his lap, burying your face in his neck and breathing him in. His hand came up to slowly stroke your back as the two of you cuddled in silence.

“What’s on your mind, love?” He questioned as he kissed the top of your head.

You tried to hold back the tears that were eager to pour out, “I miss my family, Walt. I’m so used to spending at least some of the holidays with them. Then my cousins decided to have a latke cook-off since we can’t get together and I burned them. I have no idea how I did it. It was awful and it made me wish that my gram was here to help me fix it. B-b-but she’s back home and I’m here and I don’t know when I’ll get to cook with her again.” The last part came out in as sob.

“Shhhhh honey. Shhhh. It’s ok,” Walter murmured into your hair and he hugged you tightly as you cried into his neck.

It took a few minutes for all your sadness and frustration to be sobbed out. The detective remained the strong beacon of light that his girl needed to get through this storm of emotions. He whispered his love and praises into your hair, never letting go of you even for a second. You needed to get everything out that you been bundling up in inside. When the last remaining tears had fallen and your sniffles had abated, you slowly lifted your head to look at him.

“Well I think together we can try and kick those cousins of yours’ arses, sweetheart. What do you say?”

“I’d say let’s try to save Hanukkah.”

“Good. Up we get,” Walter said, giving a small swat to your butt.

You quickly clamored off of his lap and hurried into the kitchen to get out the supplies. Walter followed after you and waited for further instructions. The two of started cleaning and shredding the potatoes. You even turned it into a game to see who shred the most potatoes the fastest and it turned out a tie. Soon you added the rest of the ingredients to the bowl while he heated the pan. Walter and you worked together as a perfect team; joking around and laughing as you fried the latkes.

Walter set the table as you continued to cook up you Hanukkah meal. He grabbed the applesauce and ketchup since that what you recommended to accompany them. When you had finally finished cooking the last few and added them to the growing pile, you took the precious cargo over to your eager boyfriend. Each latke turned out a perfect golden brown that was hard on the outside and softer in the center. With the first bite, the two of you moaned at the salty, oily goodness.

“Now you see why we only make them once a year,” You hummed in between bites.

“I do indeed. Faye asked you to save her some.”

“Well we did make enough to feed an army. The only issue is you big guy,” You teased,” But yes I can save her some.”

You finished the latke you were on and padded over to the kitchen to grab a container before returning. You carefully placed the latkes inside and headed back to the kitchen to stick them in the freezer for the next time Faye was over. The two of you contentedly ate as many latkes as your stomachs could handle. With your stomachs and hearts full, the table was cleared and you both returned to curl up by the fire.

“Hey Walter,” You started, smiling up at him.

“Yes, love.”

“Thank you.”

[sopxhiea]

Dare

Alfie Solomons X Reader

| Prompt

“Could you come get me?”

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a damsel doing damage.” 

Warning: Blood. A lot of it.

This wasn’t bound to happen.

The grounds were quiet, the only breathing soul besides you had been shot a while ago. The wind blew against the fragile leaves, caressing them in a manner that certainly did not go with the scene before you.

You breathed in forcefully, feeling the cold stone base of the stair against your skin through your sheer dress. Inhaling once more, you shifted without realising. Your upper body was covered in blood, most of it someone else’s but the taste of it was the same when you’d shot the men.

A sigh escaped your lips, the want to scream resided somewhere deep in your now hollow chest while you stared at the situation before you. 

Blood, three dead men laying on the ground next to the water fountain, an abandoned car, wind in your face as you wiped the dried blood off of your hands even though it didn’t help much.

Your hands were shaking as you sat on the cold stone again, getting up every now and then because you didn’t quite know what to do. It wasn’t fear that made you shake, it was adrenaline.

A man named John had called you in for a meeting, saying that he had some valuable information. It had been a bait and you knew it, that was why you had blades and small guns decorating your upper thighs if he tried to do something funny. And he had, he was now making his way down to hell, you assumed.

You looked into the building that was right behind you, it was a big mansion that had been abandoned a while ago. The want to escape urged you to stand up and walk inside, praying to the gods you heard people pray to so that you wouldn’t be dead soon.

A phone came into your vision, it was located outside of the back side. You lifted it up, it worked. There was a chuckle from you at the relief but it disappeared not too long after. You couldn’t call your assistant, he was out of town and you had already given him hell enough times.

You couldn’t call Thomas, he was busy with some bookies and the Italians. You knew he would hold it over your head for some time and being in debt of someone was not something you looked forward to. You sighed, shaking your head while going for the number of the bakery.

You didn’t want to call him.

You were covered in blood and dirt and had just killed two men. The other man was on your side but he’d been the sacrifice for you to stay alive. There was a wait on the other end before he picked up. You at cursed yourself  internally for doing this but he was the only one you could rely on.

You had done business with him a couple times when you were around Camden. Tommy trusted him which made you trust him, he had proven to be reliable and a little too direct and stubborn but nothing you couldn’t deal with.

“‘ello?” he asked on the other end of the line for the third time. You pinched yourself to see if you were actually dead, you calling Alfie for help was something of a decoration of your nightmares. You’d wanted things to go differently.

“It’s me..” you whispered into the line, the cold getting under your skin while you held onto your now bloody coat. It was heavier due to the soaking of the fluid.

He recognised your voice instantly.

Feeding into his playful nature when it came to you, he was about to make a joke but your voice trembled under the clouded spring weather so he stopped. There was no response as you swallowed, hoping that this call wasn’t a mistake you were making due to the adrenaline in your system. You took a breath and spoke up after the long pause.

“Alf-” 

“What the fuck happened?” he asked, you chuckled from the other end of the line.

Despite being a business associate he sometimes saw around, he knew you very well. You were of similar nature, there was a fire within you that had been moulded by sorrow and loneliness. Much like him, you also had to grow up fast and he knew of the ways of this cruel world and what it could do to an innocent youngling.

He knew you well.

“I....um..” you licked your lips as he waited for an answer. 

You didn’t quite know how to proceed. You were not the one asking for help, you were usually the one offering to help. You had built a business of your own in between dirty faced gangsters and independence was all you craved. You didn’t ask for help, not from a friend or a jewish gangster.

“Could you come get me?” your airy voice filled his ear as he stared at the mountain of paperwork in front of him. 

It didn’t matter, nothing did when it came to you.

He had spent many nights trying to bury your sweet face into the depths of his mind. You were everything he envisioned his dreams to be. He had done deals with people around just for the possibility of running into you. You’d spent many nights in his office, trying to finalise a deal you were trying to make with the man but he’d thought of it to be more than that.

You were poised, way too beautiful to be in this line of business and fragile underneath the tough exterior of sarcasm and wit you had. He was old enough to know that women like you didn’t stay until midnight in another man’s work place just because they needed to get a job done.

He nodded his head while speaking, jotting down the address you told him with a shaky voice, the adrenaline was getting to you. He knew of the abandoned house, it was a place marked with death and sketchy business deals but he ignored the skipping of his heart at the thought that something bad might’ve happened to you. He just put on his coat and shouted at Ollie to get the car ready.

-

The trees swayed calmly at the touch of the gentle wind, the breeze was much more calmer than what it seemed due to the cloudy weather. You were still sitting on the entrance step of the house, the cold stone had become warmer with your body heat as you stared at the road, the source of the voice becoming more obvious with the passing minutes.

You recognised his car but stayed where you are. You were sitting on the steps like a child with fabric on your hands but you didn’t look like one. There was blood all over your body, your dress and coat were soaked in it as you eyed Alfie’s approaching figure.

His eyes were wide, the breeze didn’t affect him in the slightest while he walked towards your much smaller form. You didn’t smile at the familiar man like you used to but waited for him to process the image before him instead.

He looked over at you first, worry evident in his eyes as his eyes adjusted to the layers of blood around your body. He opened his mouth to speak but his eyes landed on the three corpses scattered around the house instead. He could make out the things that had taken place but he didn’t want to ask you when you looked like you had been cast in a horror movie just a second ago.

“Pet, Are you alri-” he spoke but you stood up instead and cut him off. You needed to get home as soon as you could and you didn’t want the man to dote on you like he always did.

“I’m fine. Can we go?” you asked, not waiting for an answer and walking towards the car instead.

The driver was horrified which made you smile for the first time that day. Alfie caught you by your arm and made you face him in one swift motion before you could actually walk away. You scoffed at the action but he had the right to be curious. You were looking like a dead bride after all.

“What the fuck happened!” he asked, voice high as he looked at you with way too much focus. You chuckled, why was he so worried?

He knew what you were capable of, he’d seen you working on field before and that was enough reason for him to oblige to your words instead of questioning you but seeing as he was the rescuer in this situation, you decided to play along.

You gave him a shrug, like you hadn’t just killed the men laying out on the field and that you weren’t covered in their blood and yours. He could tell you were wounded so he supported you with his arms around.

“I just...” you spoke, not wanting to admit the little fun you had to yourself.

“A man was messing with me and I decided to show him the cost of doing that..” you spoke against his face, he was staring at your blooded face as you spoke. You let his arms around you, your figure almost engulfed by his as he stared at you.

“It’s okay now. I will have the men collected in an hour. I’ve already made calls.” you whispered, trying to answer any questions that he may have. He didn’t speak, just stared at you in shock and in admiration.

You were covered in blood but your eyes had the same childish tint to them. He hated how weak you made him feel, the only person he went out of his way to help had been a family member and now that he was cradling you in his arms, he found himself caring a little too much about you.

“Luv, Are you su-” he spoke again, you cut him off. You two bickered like a married couple.

“I’m okay. Just take me home so I can clean the wounds.” you spoke, retrieving from his arms and walking to his car again.

He mumbled a low ‘fucking hell’ while watching you lay the fabric on the car so that the blood didn’t get on the surface of the seats. You were on your usual behaviour as he watched you make yourself comfortable on the seat, still covered in blood which made his heart ache but he just told the driver to drive to your house.

His driver knew the address.

-

When you arrived at the house, your house maids were already freaking out. They knew something horrid had happened when you came in with a loud thud, blood covering your face. After the first few steps, you couldn’t carry your body  anymore so Alfie picked you up and carried you to the bathroom.

You murmured a small ‘thank you’ at your low state and he found it hard to leave you until one of the maids came in the bathroom and chased him off with familiar words as she shouted at him in Yiddish.

An hour passed. Alfie had come to your house a couple times for tea and some company so he knew the boys around. They kept him occupied as you cleaned up, the wounds were attended to and you were soon put in a silk gown and comfortable shoes. Walking downstairs with the help of your maid, you saw his car parked out in the front. 

He was still here.

You chuckled, finding it a little painful but his smile made it worth it when he stood up from the sofa he was sitting on. There were biscuits and tea on the small table next to the sofa and you could tell he hadn’t touched them.

You let the maid go as he helped you sit down. You usually hated being babied, needing help from others to do normal things had been something you dreaded for as long as you could remember but you didn’t find it all so painful when his rough skin met yours.

Settling next to him on the large sofa, you looked into his eyes. There was still a hint of fear in his eyes and it made you smile out of the tenderness he was capable of making you feel. You hugged yourself as he watched your small form become even smaller.

“You were scared.” you spoke, as a matter of fact. He wasn’t hiding it and that made you like him even more than you already did.

He chuckled at your words, hands meting over his torso as he watched you put your head on the back of the sofa. “I fuckin’ was, yeah, ‘thought you were a goner, luv.” he spoke, making you smile but you didn’t chuckle as heartily as you would’ve.

You nodded, speaking with a breathy voice as he looked at your eyes like a small kid looked at candy.

“Mariam chased you off?” you said, erupting a sound of approval from his mouth while he watched you reach for a cookie but he helped you the last minute, reaching for the food himself before you could and handed it to you.

“She spits fuckin’ fire, ya know that?” he said, still surprised at the screaming the maid had just done in Yiddish. He knew you were fond of the jews around and a part of him grew softer at the thought of you making sure they had a roof over their head.

“Well, she’s a bit protective when it comes to me.” you said, putting your head back on the sofa as he nodded.

“Can’t fuckin’ blame her, right.” he said, reaching for his beard as you watched him touch the wiry part. “fuckin’ rare, a jewel like you.”

The parts of your face that had been covered in blood an hour ago were now covered in a natural blush color as he looked at you lovingly. He didn’t hide the fact that he was attracted to you, he had made advances from day one but you were hesitant because he seemed too dreamy, a little to unreal for this cruel world you were living in.

“I don’t know about a jewel but I heard they’ve been calling me a damsel in distress.” you said, chuckling at the last words as you spoke. His eyes shot up with anger at your words but you remained as calm as a bird.

“Who the fuc-” he spoke, voice a little too loud as he tried to find out more information about the said people but you knew better than to give the names to him. They would disappear a day after you would tell him and you’d have to watch him act all daft again.

You put your hand on his knee with a soft smile on your lips. There was always word going around about you. You were a woman many lusted after and knowing you hadn’t settled yet, jealous mouths had to make something out of it. You didn’t mind, you were unmarried and a little stressed so it was nothing of a lie, really.

You enjoyed the fire residing in his eyes while he watched your lips move. “I am a damsel..” you nodded and before he could cut you off with a reassuring tone that you were far from that, you continued.

“But I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a damsel doing damage.”

You spoke while his eyes casted an all too familiar look. His face was closer to yours now, you could feel his warmth radiating towards your body. You inched closer, moving your body a little towards him so that your eyelashes were almost touching. You stared at him, a hint of smile on his lips as he reacted to your previous words.

Oh, how he adored you.

He had done way too many awful things, killed far too many souls and had done considerable damage to the good in this world so he wondered. He wondered why you’d treat him the way you did. You were a source of sunlight in this mess of a place you both worked in and the kindness made him inherently curious as to why you did it.

He knew there was a price for having you, that had been why he was so hesitant even though he wouldn’t shy away from how he felt. There was a price to pay if he wanted you around like he did but he was ready to pay it, whatever it was.

You chuckled as he looked into your eyes, more than a few emotions swimming in his blue orbs when your hand found his chest, he was incredibly close now. You didn’t hesitate, it was you thanking him in the best way possible and he welcomed it when he felt your velvet lips against his.

You leaned closer, his hands found your leg as he caressed it. It wasn’t a heated kiss, it felt tender and loving while you moved your lips against his. The kiss was slow, it made you feel safe and secure until you broke it.

Panting slowly as you moved a little far from his face, he cursed at himself for being so weak at the sight before him. He stared at your now plump lips, licking his to savour the sweet taste of you while you let him go, your hand now hugging your body.

A sweet smile formed along the lines of your lips, your voice breathy as you spoke to the man sitting next to you.

“Thank you, Alfie.”

--

Tagging: @clairecrive​  @parkbearum​ @sourirez​ @bicevans​ @mollybegger-blog​

a/n: My finals are on their way and I will be a little less active on here just so you guys know! I still have a couple works on queue but school is kicking my ass so i may not return as soon as i please. also lemme know if you’d like to be tagged.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Not a princess au

N/A: slightly based on Magnus bride with the exception that Ariel is not Chise. Chise is too depressed.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @tieflingteeth @niuniente

In her childhood´s memories, among the smells of sweet pies and other desserts, are the stories her grandmother used to share-everyone coming together near the matriarchy as she often flashes a pearl white smile- and Ariel can recall many of her stories.

And one that stood up the most was the small tale of poor and miserable faes. “Granny” Ariel greets her granny who just closed the window-muttering how the winter finally arrives- and hugs the smaller girl. “Tell me a story, please!” and dramatically begs with her doe eyes. Her granny compliance.

“Ok, ok…since you asked so nicely” she puts the girl in her lap and tells the old story. “Once upon a time…there´s a lovely woman. A fae as only a fae could reach such beauty” she chuckles as Ariel is trying to imagine a pretty fae. “and it was a beauty the Gods offer to her. Beauty is a gift for a fae. And such beauty was meant to marry the Fae prince, a prince from the light court, you know, the typical handsome fae prince” and Ariel is trying to imagine such a handsome man.

“However, the lovely fae falls for another, see, faes can love…but is a rarity in itself, so rare that maybe she wasn´t in love…maybe it was something else” granny tiptoe on the terms. Ariel rolls her eyes and mentions it was lust (it was lust, granny, I get it) “anyway, she decides to e with the mortal…faes must love tragedy stories and their own arrogance because such beauty thought she wouldn´t face the consequences”

“But she did…”

“Oh, Ariel…she did. The prince wasn´t very happy with his bride wanting to marry a human…and patience sometimes can be forsaken in the fae world…so, he put a curse on her” and granny´s eyes turn dark. “after sending some friends to visit this poor human. It doesn´t matter if he was innocent…faes can be cruel and the mortal begs for death in the end…not sure if it was answered”

“Poor silly mortal”

“And the beauty fae …is cursed. She can´t touch anyone or anything ever again” Her granny concludes as Ariel keeps imaging the fate of such poor and foolish fae.

“And her family move away and never talk about it?” Ariel asked. Now, that´s a good question.

“Her brethren were exiled of the court and are freely walking among humans…an exiled fae is common. But a fae who has a cursed relative is as rare as a fae loving a human…bad omen! An extremely bad omen will follow them until the end” and Ariel is hang up on those words.

“And the Gods did nothing?”

“Pretty much”

“What bastards!”

“Kitty!”

“We´re Jewish…we can say that” and winks in the conspiracy. Granny chuckles at this. And the Granny elects herself to be an accomplice. The rocking chair remains a completely unmoving-a paradox for Ariel only- and the tale continues.

“Now, you must be worried…what this means to humans? Exiled faes are dangerous and they will do anything to get your name…faes don´t play fair and exiled faes can break even more rules” The granny continues.

“And …if they have a cursed relative…they have no reason to play nice either” Ariel nods sagely and granny suggests to never give her name until you have absolutely sure the person won´t use against you. _________________________________________________________________________________________

The city is flocking with several mutants and humans. No festival is on the horizon, but, the higher spirits, sometimes, don´t need a holiday to commemorate. Ariel is one of the few people taking the scene with suspicious eyes. As her friend, Bobby is guiding her far away from the number of people.

They´re reaching a yellow path-yellow. Not golden- as Bobby is promising something wonderful down the road. Bobby is chatting away- too freely. Too used to his own voice- while Ariel is merely taking his words still careful. In a moment, Ariel sighs and suspends her moves and utters a few words- with her hand on her pocket- “you know, you can stop acting…I know you´re not him, fae” and she can feel the tomfoolery smile often associated with Bobby is gone.

“How did you notice it?” the tone is more feminine now. Still wearing Bobby´s face with one big difference. The eyes are golden now. Ariel didn´t reach closer of the fae- still, keep a safe distance- and responds.

“You flirt with me and other ladies…Bobby is gay” no apologizes was given nor was expected. The fae snaps her fingers and hissed something. “I forget to see this detail, well, it doesn´t matter…you´ll come with me” is order and Ariel can only frown her expression.

“Why? Why should I willingly go to a trap?”

And the fae offers a cruel smile to Ariel. “If you don´t value your friends´ life. We can keep Jubilation Lee” cold runs through her blood now. Ariel still has her hand in the pocket and has no choice in following the fae.

Faes don´t lie. In the promising space-a pocket dimension stops being a novelty when you live in a world where magic is so convenient- and hanging above on a cage. There is Jubilation Lee.

“Ariel!” she cries. “They trick me. She´s a shapeshifter…I thought…I thought she was Wolverine…I thought she was Laura…” and Ariel can see why Jubilation would fall for this trick. Crushes are a favorite weapon faes like to use against mortals.

Laura, she thought, would be happy to know her crush is not onesided…after she kills the faes.

And Ariel had enough. Taking a knife out of her pocket and twisting her arms- twisting her arms- puts the knife, an iron knife as the blue fae can feel, on her neck. “Bad choice, let Jubs go and you´ll still have a head above your neck!” is a thinly veiled threat. No, is a promise.

Ariel almost gasps as she feels a cold metal. Her does eyes manage to side back enough so the vision of this new welcomer is clear. An azzure man with crimson eyes- a red scar on his right eye- and is holding the sword firmly.

“Let go of the knife and you´ll still have a head above your neck” no one seems to acknowledge the fact those words are being parroted into Ariel´s face.

Flight or fight kicks in. Faes don´t lie…but can deceive.

“And why I would do this?” she tries again. Smirking as the knife stays- grimacing as the sword did too- “so I can watch you torture my friend? pass”

“We don´t want to torture anyone” the azzure man begins. Not the warmest line. “We´re here to make a trade” and she could show more interest if the sword wasn´t so well-positioned and so near her neck.

Ariel looks up to see Jubilation Lee. Ariel has no choice but to listen to their terms. “You work for me and I´ll burn her name out of our memories” and Ariel exhales as she slowly takes the knife away from the azzure lady´s neck.

“Swear by your real name?” Ariel counter-asked.

“Swear by my name” he responds. The azzure lady burns the name, only after Ariel agrees with the terms. “What should I call you?”

“Nightcrawler,” he said somewhat proud.

“Oh, worm?”

“Uhm, not a princess” his eyes travel to his mother- he called her mother when the deal was made- and then tries again. “Kurt”

“So not like a princess” _______________________________________________________________________________________

Looking up at the cottage. Is not the most luxurious place Ariel has ever seen- and to be fair, she didn´t saw many either- however, is not ugly by design.  Ariel could enjoy the architecture in peace if this situation wasn´t so bizarre.

Her hands are quivering ever so slightly. Faes can be deviants. Faes can do unimaginable things and faes value human life as much one would value poop.

Kurt only took one good look at her to know what´s on her mind. “I only need someone to clean my house. Just that” and yes, her hands stop quivering and her eyes take his form completely incredulous.

“Uhm, you could have used the Craiglist” Ariel suggested in a teasing way. “Pretty sure is not that expensive and it is not as complex as using my friend as bait” she states still incredulous.

“What´s a craigslist?” either he´s joking or he has no idea what is a craigslist. Ariel decides for her sake to not press the issue. For now.

She sighs and then inquiries again. “I´ve read many fairytales, and I know there´s always a forbidden room I mustn´t enter or else” she mock an ominous voice here. In front of a fae with crimson eyes. “so, which room I mustn´t waltz at night” she crosses her arms waiting.

“The last door on the second floor. You shouldn´t enter there” Kurt begins. Ariel grins, there´re always secret or forbidden doors humans can´t cross.

“And if I waltz there…” she pries.

And Kurt´s face is a bit too close to Ariel. “Katzchen, what reason could you have to want to join into my bed at night?” and tsked “not what a normal princess would say”

Ariel´s face is heating up. “Sir, how dare make any suggestion…I´m a decent lady” and raise an eyebrow at his last comment. “and princesses are too boring for little old me” ______________________________________________________________________________________________

Friendships among mutants are hard, at least, for Bobby Drake it was. Maybe, it was his immaturity and his silly pranks that prove hard to others to rely on him-Scott said so once. Pranks are nice, but, you need to know when to stop- therefore, the few friends Bobby has…the Iceman tries to be as much of a good friend as possible.

Shaking and swallowing aren´t signals to be ashamed. Not being behind Jubilation Lee. Bobby is not ashamed of anything nor afraid. Jubilation rings the doorbell and Ariel is the one to answer and Bobby-never one to be subtle- breath in utter relief- the two ladies ignore this scene.

“Hey, we come here to see you…” Jubilation tries to put her cheerful facade, but, she´s still feeling guilty. “We´re trying to find a way to take you out…There are many lawyers for cases like this…and Jean even promised to help” Jubilation completes.

“Guys, I´m fine…I´m just his maid here, nothing salacious is happening here” Ariel promised. “Are you alright?”  this question can be direct to Jubilee or Bobby.

“You´re living with a fae…and you ask if we´re fine? Ariel…” Jubilee shakes her head. A change in the subject is in order now.

“How did you found me?”

“Bobby here” she points to the Ice-mutant. “slept with the higher-ups in the Inhuman court and they´re happy to give your location…sadly, they can only do this…for now” she lost bits of enthusiasm.

Iceman decides to break the silence. “Ariel, do you know who this fae is?”

“A fae with red eyes?” is a lucky guess if you ask Ariel.

“No, he´s an exiled fae…and exiled faes are the worst…remember the story about exiled faes? The most famous one is about a pretty fae that should have married another prince fae but well…she had cold feet and well…” he looks awkward now. “no one gets a happy ending”

And this story sounds familiar. ________________________________________________________________________________________

“Uhm, are you sure, handsome?” Ariel reacted to that request as any normal person would. “I´m not the best cooker and I think there´re many on Craiglist who would love to work for a fae with crimson eyes” her tone is teasing. Kurt is not commenting on this.

“Well, unless you´re a princess and you can´t do this chore” and he smiles. No, more like sneers and Ariel has mixed feelings about this. Either Kurt loves princesses or he hates them-the image of him being rejected by a princess plays in her mind- and she notices how he´s expecting a reaction from his words.

“Why this obsession with me being a princess? I told you before, no blue blood in my family” The Prydes lived well, but, no one would look at them and think they´re nobility.

“Every woman wants to be a princess” and adds. “the gods said so”

“Gods are dicks” is her intelligent response. For a moment, Ariel thought he would get angry-faes worship some deities here and there- and maybe Kurt will take offense to her words.

Instead, he smiles too pleased. “They´re. Can you cook?”

And in her mind, Ariel made a delicious meal worthy of a king, of course, in reality, the food is badly burned and too salty. Kurt can´t take a bite and neither does Ariel.

“Yeah…not a princess” he agrees and snaps his fingers as decent food appears at the table.

“You can…you can made food but still needs a maid to clean your house?”

“No”

“Why am I here then?”

“Your food is getting cold”

“Curse you and your delicious magic food”

__________________________________________________________________________________________

How long is Ariel working for this strange exiled fae? hard to know, hard to care. Lately, Ariel is taking each detail of the cottage and from the owner as much she can. For example, the sour azzure man likes to be in his study room, doing gods know what, but often leaves at some time to the woods, and Ariel is left wondering what he does there.

In the study room, she has permission to clean-she blushes as the insinuation of his room and Ariel entering still plays in her mind- when she can notice two things: first and foremost, the room is immaculate. And second, there´s a painting a lovely woman with auburn hair and white streak.

Ariel comes closer and inspects the painting. The name Rogue is written bellow. She almost touches it. Almost. “That´s my sister” his voice draws in and Ariel is too used now. “I had a sister once…” and Ariel can nod in sympathize.

His eyes bore into Ariel. “Aren´t you thinking anything weird about me and my sister…”

“No, you big dummy, you look just like I do when I mentioned my granny…she passed away…she used to tell me stories” Ariel reveals this piece of information.

“Oh, is that….because I´m a fae…mortals seem to think I´ve no sense of family or love” and is the softest tone she ever listens to him responding. “family and faes are different from humans, so, of course, my family is different from the others faes…”

“Is just you and your mother now?”

“Yes, just me and my mother…she didn´t take Rogue´s demise so well…no one did” and he adds looking at her. “she was supposed to marry this prince but Rogue refused and the Gods” Ariel can see him gritting his teeth. Showcasing his fangs. “decide to punish her”

“Gods are jerks”

“Yes, they´re…and you´re not a princess”

“I´ll try not to cry on my pillow tonight. I promise” ________________________________________________________________________________________

Kurt found Ariel doing the laundry-Kurt did help as she berates him saying his hand wouldn´t fall if he did his share- when rubbing his neck Kurt makes a strange request. “Would you like to see my sister?” and Ariel never heard of a tombstone for faes, then again, it doesn´t matter.  "of course…should I bring something?“

Kurt shakes his head.

The walking didn´t take more than 5 minutes. And soon, Ariel is looking at the statue of Rogue-maybe that´s how faes pay respect-and Kurt is the one to break the silence in a weak tone. So different from the first day.

“That´s my sister. She´s blessed with beauty to marry a prince fae. The Gods thought it would be funny to make her fall in love with a mortal…and it would be hilarious to punish her…” and taking a deep breath he adds. “she´s not dead…she´s cursed. The statue is my sister”

Ariel looks at the statue and back to Kurt. “And that´s why I´m here? to break this curse?” inquires back Ariel not seeing how she, of all people, could do this. She has no magic and as she proves time and time again. Not a princess.

“The Gods have a strange sense of humor. Only the tears of a lady that refused any form of being a princess can save my sister. Your tears can restore her life…you more than once rejected the life of a princess” Kurt answers.

“My tears?” she gazes up to the statue and then re-direct her attention to Kurt. “ok, tell me something sad, Kurt, make me cry and I´ll try to save your sister”

Kurt blinks as his mouth opens freely. “I was married once…my wife was devoured as a part of a sick joke” Ariel holds his hand -is really soft like velvet- and he carries on. “my biological father abused my mother in some form…I never asked for details and she´ll never give it to me…I was in more wars than you can imagine…and I miss my sister. My family is smaller and strange, but, is my family and I missed them” and her tears fall right after this admission. Slowly but surely.

Rogue blinks her eyes. Rogue is no longer a statue. _________________________________________________________________________________________

Being turned into a stone and then being brought back to life is a feeling only Rogue can fully understand. Mystique is trying to console as much as she can- Kurt too. The two azzure aren´t very affable, but, are trying- and Rogue asked about the mortal she was forced to love. “he´s no longer alive…I promised” and Rogue takes his word.

He could trap Ariel, couldn´t he? She made no demands nor deals when she cries to save his sister. He could make her stay here forever. “Be careful when doing deals with faes…you´re free to go”

“I´m free…that´s great, and that´s great your sister is back…look” she then whispers as she is about to reveal a secret. “next time, if you really need a maid…use Craiglist and not try to blackmail anyone to help you” Ariel teases him but her eyes have some seriousness to it.

“I´ll try…” is the best he can promise to her.

“Good, and if you want to visit me or if you want me to visit you…no need to tricks…just shows up and say hi, ok?”

“That I can do it”

She´s not a princess by any means and yet, she´s far more interesting than one.

[scorpiosoes]

Friends

Hello internet peoples, I was recently given a writing assignment in my history course and wanted to share the resulting work. I am also including the assignment prompt in case someone else feels inspired to writing something.

Prompt: Assume the role of a fictional character either living during, or perhaps fighting, the Second World War-what might it have been like for a Polish citizen in 1939 during the German blitzkrieg, a Jewish inmate surviving in a Nazi death camp, a British pilot during the air war over London, a member of the French resistance during the Nazi occupation or perhaps an American in the midst of the Ardennes offensive. 

The title I gave to the assignment was Friends, hope you like it and if you see this feel free to leave thoughts or criticism, always looking to improve.

Friends

Do I regret what I did? Others like me would say no, but I would say that I do, with every fiber of my being I regret it. I was seduced by power, fame, and glory and could no longer tell right from wrong. What we did was wrong, what happened to the world was wrong, my hands will forever be soaked in the blood of millions of innocent lives for the part I played.

It had started subtly at first, propaganda posters started popping up everywhere, there were ads run in the newspapers and the media. They were printing and spreading blatant racist lies, I wish that where was it stopped, where we stopped. But we didn’t and before I knew it turned into something worse than anyone could have ever imagined, and millions of people were dead.

“But why?” It was one the first questions that I remember asking my mother; this is also the moment that I mark as the start of one of the worst periods in Germany, in the world, and in my own life. “But why?” It was the first question that I had asked my mother the day that she had hunted my down and demanded that I stop playing with my childhood best friend, I didn’t understand it then but things had started to change, and not for the better. “A good German boy like you should not be playing with the likes of him. He’s unclean,” those words made no sense to me as a child, he didn’t look dirty to me, he looked like he always had, his curtain of black curls partially covered his face and his brown eyes glinted in the sunlight. But my mother still pulled me away from him, that was the last time I ever played with Avi … or saw him ever again. Things were changing rapidly I was just too young to know it, I was innocent in the way that children are, blind to the politics and prejudices of the world, I didn’t know what she meant when she said that Avi was unclean. When asked about it sometime later she never elaborated, I never questioned it after that I imagined that my mother had her reasons. It was not until much later that I realized why she never told me. Avi was a Jew.

In the meantime, war came and went, the Great War as it was called at the time. It was fought because of rising international tensions between nations and because of an assassination that threw the world into chaos. It was the war that claimed my father’s life and nearly claimed my own. Germany had been in the war, of course, we were we had allies to help and we kept our word and helped them. This was a mistake. The consequences of Germany’s interference in the way came swiftly and without mercy. They were unfair to both Germany and her people; I shared this opinion with anyone who would listen. Many agreed of course, but none listened with as much fervor as a man I had recently met in the army, this man and I became close and I began to call him a friend. This man was Adolf Hitler, at the time I had met him I had never known a better man. We joked, laughed, and conspired together.

One day Adolf came to me and urged me to join him at an event he was attending, I didn’t refuse the invitation. It was a meeting, more like a rally really, for a group called National Socialist German Workers’ Party, these people shared my views, so I joined almost immediately. I deeply regret this decision; these people were the people that would come to be known throughout the world as Nazis.

Adolf was far more ambitious than I was, and he spoke more passionately about the issues facing Germany; he also pushed more and more people to join our ever-growing party. Because of this, the party insisted that he become its leader, and Adolf insisted that I be by his side. At the time I thought it was a great honor, I was moving up in the ranks and was granted more power. I didn’t consider what this meant for everyone that wasn’t the Nazis. Later, by a crazy stroke of luck, the Nazis were steadily seizing power, and Adolf and I were the two highest-ranking members in the party. Our power grew still, however, when Adolf Hitler was named chancellor of Germany. This when things went from bad to worse.

Adolf came to his inner circle one day and said that something was to be done about his enemies, his political opponents, and the Jews and communists. I was the first to suggest banishment from Germany, if they were no longer in the country, they would no longer be our problem. He like that idea, but he didn’t want to afflict the Jews upon someone else. “A prison then,” I suggested to him. Somewhere where opponents and communists would no longer be an issue. “An inescapable camp that houses prisoners and Jews,” that was exactly how the man sitting across from me, Heinrich Himmler, pitched the idea. Adolf loved the whole concept, we later decided to call these places concentration camps. At first, it was just for political prisoners and communists, we could keep an eye on them, and they couldn’t spread their disease. That didn’t last long; it quickly became a death camp for anyone who was sent there. This is when I started to have doubts about what we were doing, we had been spouting this rhetoric, but I never thought that we would end up in a position to act upon it. Now that we had I didn’t think that I had to the stomach for it. I remained silent and faithful to my friend.

Soon we had taken the whole of Germany and parts of other countries like Austria. I thought we were going to stop, the Jews and communists and any other who would stand up to us had been thoroughly crushed under our feet and we ruled the nation. However, Adolf was ambitious, he wasn’t satisfied with just Germany. He began to talk of bigger things, things like freeing the world, not just Germany, from the Jewish plague and spreading Nazi influence. I mean we had rounded up a majority of the Jews and put them into concentration camps, we had also crushed anyone who dared oppose us, what more could he want. The world seemed to be the answer. I asked him outright if he was sure, we already had Germany and various other countries; the world sounded a bit too ambitious to me, but he questioned my faith and asked where my loyalties lie. With my friend, of course, but faith was starting to waver, I was starting to find out that I didn’t have the stomach for some of the things Adolf wanted.

All of a sudden, we were at war, I warned Adolf that he was being too ambitious, but he did not listen, now he had gone too far. Other countries had gotten involved and instead of dominance, we were now fighting for survival. I thought that The Great War was bad, the war that followed Adolf’s takeover of Poland was a bloodbath, millions were dying daily to gain barely any ground. Millions of people were laying down their lives to try and stop the thing that my friend had become, I wish that I could do the same. I was blinded by my loyalty and our relationship; he was my oldest friend and I watched with complacency as he became one of the worst serial killers the world would ever come to know. I too had a part to play in all of this, I encouraged him in the early days and I stood silently by as things went from bad to worse, during this time I had many chances to stop him, to end the war early and I took none of them. I tried once, I intended to kill him, I had the gun to his head, but I could not pull the trigger. It did not matter; we would not be alive for much longer.

The might of Germany had been tested and exhausted, the 1000-year Reich was crumbling around us and yet people still remained hopeful that we could win this war that we had been losing for the past couple of months. This was the end, everyone knew it, Adolf most of all. Our last conversation happened in his bunker, a place that he seldom left these days. He asked to speak to me. He said that he was sorry for what he had put me through, but that he wouldn’t apologize for what he, we, had done. I got to be part of something great. We had changed the world, if only for a moment. Shortly following this meeting Adolf took his own life he had taken a cyanide pill and then shot himself.

It’s bittersweet news, look at what we have done, we held an entire nation in the palms of our hands, but at what cost. Look at what it cost to get us here, we slaughtered people because they were different than us. Looking back on it now, in my final moments, I don’t know if I agreed with the anti-Jew messages or if I was just trying to find the easiest way to get revenge for Germany’s mistreatment all those years ago. It’s funny looking back at it now, my first friend, my best friend in the entire world was Jewish and now I have unreservedly slaughtered his people. I don’t know how I ended up here, but I pray to his God, to Avi’s God that he has mercy on my damned soul. 

[moviepower]

Why do people criticize Jojo Rabbit?

We'd say that this is uncharted territory for distributor Disney, but the company did previously give us their futures face. Hmm. I saw Jojo Rabbit in the best place I could for movies, in my opinion.

For this list, we're looking at why Tyco ITTS 2019 black comedy has proven. So polarizing for critics just to clarify the critical reception thus far has been mostly positive and even watch mojo gave the film a rave review following its TIFF premiere.

Nevertheless, we can definitely see why a movie like this. Wouldn't win audiences over everywhere. Hey Joe, Joe, my old friend. Hi adults. Number 10, the controversial premise. I don't think I can do this last. Of course you can simply by reading it synopsis, you can tell why Jojo rabbit has stirred up so much controversy.

In the midst of world war II, a young German boy named Joe Joe dreams of becoming a Nazi upon learning that his mother has been harboring a Jewish girl in the attic though, Jo Jo begins to reevaluate his outlook on life. I tell them you will be in big trouble throughout this coming of age journey. Our titular character is guided by his imaginary friend.

Is it worth to watch Jojo Rabbit full movie

Who just so happens to be a flamboyantly incompetent, Adolf Hitler, as inventive as the premises, it was guaranteed to ignite passionate feelings. Critics are unsurprisingly split as to whether the film's premise is inspired or irresponsible. I wish more of our young boys had your blind fanaticism. Okay.

Number nine, how it stacks up to other satires and this world is ruined for everyone and the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way Jojo rabbit. Isn't the first film to satirize Hitler or Nazis 1940 twos to be, or not to be was criticized upon release for its farcical, spin of Nazi occupied Poland.

But today is viewed as a comedy classic. I know you're quite famous in London kernel. They call you concentration camp Earhart. Yes. Yes, we do the concentrating and the poles do the camping Hitler. Technically isn't the protagonist and the great dictator. It's obvious who Charlie Chaplin was parodying. We can learn more about actress playing mother Jojo on Wikipedia.

Arguably the most famous sendup of Nazi Germany is Mel Brooks. The producers. In which two con men put on an intentionally horrible musical entitled springtime for Hitler. Practically a love letter to this own run a week week. Are you kidding display? It's got the close on page four. Some critics are ready to place Jojo rabbit alongside these revolutionary respected comedy.

What do critics write in reviews about Jojo Rabbit?

Others, however, would claim that the film has more in common with the bridge sit-com Hile, honey I'm home, which was so misguided and tasteless that it only lasted one episode. Oh 10 night. You will make an schnitzel. What a joke. You must be real mad at me, honey. I'm a very, very bad Hitler. Number eight, what's going on in the real world right now?

Fuck man. The house, although world war II is in the past. The same, unfortunately can not be said about bigotry. Nowhere was this more apparent than at the 2017 unite the right rally in Charlottesville, which attracted several hate groups, including neo-Nazis. Since prejudice and discrimination remain prevalent in today's world.

It's obvious why various critics would object to a film that makes light of Nazi Germany. Nevertheless, satire can reflect modern times as well as history in ways that straightforward drama can't. Some might argue that now isn't the right time for a Nazi satire, but others would debate that society needs a movie like Jojo rabbit. A great story about the Irishman is here.

Now more than ever, you're not to nuts. Jojo, tenue kids likes dressing up in front of you. If somebody wants to be part of a club. Number seven, the humor, the best weekend ever.

Soundtrack in the highest level of production

Wow. Your enjoyment of Jojo rabbit will hinder on how hard you laugh. Or of course, if you laugh, the film didn't tickle. Roger Freedman. Funnybone who wrote in his showbiz four one, one review Jojo rabbit is actually borderline antisemitic offensive on many levels and not even funny. Sam Adams of slate couldn't have disagreed more proclaiming for Jojo rabbit comedy.

Isn't a means to minimize, but to analyze wise, to pry at the way, hateful ideologies can be embraced as a comfort and how beneath their promise to. Blame how the world really works is an understanding no more sophisticated than a child's it's time to buy some books. Since humor is subjective, we guess there isn't always going to be a clear line between what's offensively funny and what's just plain offensive.

Oh God. Number six. Jewish jokes. Did you know, Jews can Z to each other's mind. So tell us, you know, who saw one? They could look just like us of Tyco. ITT satire is clearly the Nazis. However, the director who's of Jewish and Maori heritage also pokes fun at Judaism. Hi, well, the real Jordan Rumi was horrified by the audience's reception at the screening he attended.

Writing, you have no idea how it is to be surrounded by thousands of people laughing at jokes, specifically directed at Jews. That being said, Rumi seemed to be in the minority of a group that found the film. Hilarious. As with Borat and South park, many would argue that the humor and Jojo rabbit isn't intended to mock the Jewish faith, but to criticize how ignorant and Semites are a cute number five, the life is beautiful comparison, right?

Jojo Rabbit's reaction to mom's death

Yeah. Critics have stocked a Jojo rabbit up against numerous other films. But life is beautiful. Seems to be the one that's invited the most comparisons this 1997, Italian dromedy also presented world war II through a lighthearted lens, centering on a Jewish man who uses humor and imagination to shield his son from the horrors of the Holocaust. It's interesting what they write about this movie on Amazon.

Well, the film won an Academy award for best foreign language film, and even got nominated for best picture. There were those who found the movies comedic tone, inappropriate. Over two decades later, we will continue to debate if the movie is a life affirming fable or a dated misfire. It's actually eerie how much these two films have in common, especially since both one TIFs peoples choice award.

That is the strongest thing in the world. Number four, is it shocking enough? I was your age. I had an imaginary friend come in so much stuff even before the first trailer dropped Jojo rabbit was being built up as one of 20 nineteens most controversial movies. Weirdly enough though, some critics have expressed disappointment that the film isn't more shocking.

Well, audiences have arguably gotten more sensitive with time. There are still patrons who crave comedy that pushes the envelope to its limits. It's time to burn some books. Brian Talarico of the Chicago sun times felt Jojo rabbit played it too safe. Writing the final scenes of Jojo rabbit are too easy for a film that needs to be dangerous and daring. 

Are the best scenes already included in the trailer?

Even if the film doesn't go all out with its edgy concept. Seeing Tyco, ITT dresses, Adolf Hitler will be more than enough to make a few jobs drop. What am I going to do? No idea. Going down the house in Glen Winston church one, negotiate number three. It's depiction of Nazis. The playlist Charles romesco took issue with the films, humanization of antisemites writing.

YTT concedes that a good percentage of Nazis really do hold hate in their heart. But maintains that at least some of them aren't you two seem to be getting on. Well, it doesn't seem like a bad cost. How much pain and suffering the Nazis caused many audiences will understandably struggle with this message.

However, if Ron Jones proved anything with his third wave social experiment in 1967, it's that even ordinary people can get swept up in the dangerous ideals of fascism. Likewise, Jojo rabbit poses, a challenging question. If we're not willing to acknowledge the bad and the good in people, how can we ever rid ourselves of prejudice?

Nothing makes sense anymore. Yeah, I know. It's definitely not a good time to be a Nazi. Number two it's message. And mother took me. She's kind me like a person, whatever your thoughts on Jojo rabbit, Tyco ITT clearly wanted to spread an anti hate message. YTT also claims that he started writing the screenplay before Nazis regained relevance in the media.

There's little doubt that why TTS intent was noble, whether or not the final product successfully gets his message across is where critics are split. A doubt of the a V club felt that making fun of Nazi Germany had been done before. Thus taking away from the movies, broader anti hate theme. Peter Howell begged to differ in his Toronto star review writing Taika YTT knocks it out of deer park with the meaningful lunacy of his anti hate satire, which is equal parts.

Adolf Hitler's thread in the movie

Mel Brooks, West Henderson, and  own whimsical brilliance growing up too fast. Ten-year-olds and the celebrating war and talking politics. Before we continue, be sure to subscribe to our channel and ring the bell to get notified a better latest videos. You'll have the option to be notified for occasional videos or all of them.

If you're on your phone, make sure you go into your settings and switch on notifications. Number one it's depiction of Hitler. Well, they call me a scared rabbits. Okay. Let's address the giant rabbit in the room. Tyco YTT spends most of his screen time prancing around in a Nazi uniform and toothbrush mustache. If you want, you can read here about preparations for making a movie and other curiosities.

Without a doubt, YTT, didn't set out to deliver a serious or dignified portrayal of Hitler. Rather YTT aspired to make the fewer look as goofy and idiotic as possible. Oh, . Just painting Hitler as a wacky, even likable buffoon desensitized us to the atrocities. He committed though. Some may say yes while others may argue that it leaves audiences more informed and open-minded.

At the end of the day, everyone is going to have a different opinion of Jojo. Let them say whatever they want. People used to say a lot of nasty things about me. Oh, this guy's a lunatic. Oh, look at that psycho. He's going to get us all killed. Do you agree with our picks, check out this other recent clip from watch mojo and be sure to subscribe and ring the bell to be notified about our latest videos.

[lifessentence-blog]

Black History Month: “Through Woke Eyes From Different Sides” Part 2

To start off it’s important for me to explain that although I am mulatto, I consider myself a black woman. I know this isn’t always the case. Now, I can definitely say I am a privileged young woman, I can’t say I’m as privileged as a fully white woman or let alone a white man, but I have my privileges. This, however, does not make me unaware. There have been moments throughout my life so far that have taught me that there is a lot of hate in the world. I think as someone who has had the luxury of being able to fit in with certain groups of people a lot of times due to my skin tone, I have learned that being “light is right” in so many cultures and communities. 

Growing up I struggled with identity, specifically since I did grow up mainly with my white mother- read more about it in part one. This really is not a fault of hers. She always was accepting of every one and taught me the importance of loving all people. However, since she is a woman who loves all people (a white woman at that) she can at times have a blind eye to what her children are introduced to. Now don’t get me wrong I really give it up to those single mothers or fathers of mixed race children (any child/children) who really try their hardest to teach their kids to love their self and their entire self. But as most of us of color know, no matter how much knowledge, compassion or devotion to try to understand what we may go through, a person who is not of color will never understand truly how it feels. 

My mom has always been so great at trying to learn more. She was the one who really engrained in me the importance of loving my natural hair when as a child I was scared to do so because of the reaction of my white counterparts. I spent a majority of my preteen years with my hair up because to me I was so different than the kids I was growing up around. I even went through that phase of always straightening my hair. Now, although I was always accepting of all types of people, whether it was a different skin type, religion, or how much money they made, I can admit I didn’t realize how sheltered I was about racial tensions until my late teens. 

High School. . .

A few things stick out to me in my years growing up as a light-skinned girl and at one point it finally clicked that although I see myself as black, others see me differently than a friend who is darker than me. However I am still black at the end of the day. Two instances resonate with me that can explain both instances. 

As I mentioned above I had the luxury of fitting into many crowds. Crowds of people who I once thought were friends. People who would tell me, “You’re my only black friend,” “I don’t really consider you black,” “Your not like other black girls; you’re so quiet,” and “you’re not. . .black-black,” and so on. I found myself in awkward situations and discussions defending black people to get “reassured” that “it was okay, because I don’t consider you black anyway.” 

That is a perfect explanation of what light-skinned privilege is in action, whether I wanted it or not. Now here is an example where I am still black.

One evening I found myself with a group of friends going to a basketball game in a town which is very well known for being racist. Now remember this is a time when I didn’t know how to speak up for myself, and also a time where I thought it couldn’t be that bad if I mind my own business.  I mean I’ve been to many places full of white people who were not accepting of those with darker skin. I still was very naive. Reality check happened when I found my hair getting stepped on by a guy who was a friend of a “friend” as a “joke.” I will explain this by saying I was in the bleachers and not dramatically beaten or pushed like many black boys and girls have been before because of the color of their skin. I was merely “messed with” out of fun. This night also was full of me and my other friends defending blacks and trying to get rid of stereotypes. Oddly my privilege came back in a bit later when he agreed that “not all blacks” are what he and his friends thought were “bad,” and that I was an exception. Interesting. 

College. . .

Now, far worse happens to people every day and it did. I would like to say I finally became “woke” transitioning from high school to college. In both the colleges I attended I was one of very few brown faces in the room for the first time in a long time. Some of my worst experiences with colorism were in the college classroom. I knew there were people who thought these sort of things, but being that sheltered person I never thought I would come into contact with these situations. 

Once again two experiences stand out more than the rest. There were plenty of small situations that opened my eyes to stereotypes that are given to brown people, but these two are what stay in the back of my mind. 

I specifically remember taking a class about black culture, which was taught by a Jewish woman I might add. Bless her heart, she tried her very best to learn as fast as she taught us. The great thing about her class was it was 7 people at the most and since she was also learning it became a conversation; a safe haven. One day we had began a conversation on the subject of how far colorism goes back in history and amongst so many different cultures. For those of you who are not aware of what colorism is, it is “prejudice or discrimination against individuals with a dark skin tone, typically among people of the same ethnic or racial group.” I probably should have mentioned this earlier. Anyway, a discussion came up from a girl in my class about how popular skin bleaching is in her family. She was a beautiful, deep mahogany skin tone that anybody with eyes should be envious of. That day I sat there and listened to how as a teenager she had a light-skinned best friend, who would always make it a point to talk about how dark she was and make fun of her for this. At this point, I’m already upset that this girl even had this best friend – who am I to talk right? So she goes on to explain how her grandfather would only carry around a picture of her light-skinned best friend in his wallet, and then tell people that it was his granddaughter. This man of the same deep skin tone as his granddaughter, was embarrassed of her because of her skin tone. So much that he would lie to people about what his family really looked like. This man, a dark-skinned black man, viewed her skin tone as ugly. Now let me tell you if you don’t know yet, I am a very emotional person and get very passionate about things I care about. So when I was told this story I spoke without thinking. You know those angry tears you get when you can’t even vocalize how you feel? That was me in that classroom that day. I immediately spoke how I felt,”Are you serious? and how could you be best friends with some one who spoke about you this way?” Of course all eyes were on me at this point. I usually am pretty quiet, but at this moment I was infuriated and became even more upset when I saw that she defended these two people in her life. As I look back at this moment, all I could say is how dare I? We both talked about our perspectives of race but who am I, this light-skinned girl, to question her about what to do in times of hatred towards her skin tone, when I live in a world that glorifies being light. A world that has light-skinned black people representing all black people in media and movies. A world where if you’re too dark you are thought of as lesser than the next man.

This was only the beginning. 

As I find myself in classrooms of little to no color, I began to pay even more attention to things that I never had focused on before. I had the privilege of growing up in schools which were very diverse. So this was new to me. I would start to see how some of my own teachers would assume things about my fellow students and myself due to their race, accent, or skin tone. Now I was the one who was paying attention to things that often get ignored.  I saw when a teacher was surprised that a South American student’s mother was a working woman. I saw her state her opinions on how her ideas of “trends” within ethnicities- with a concentration on hispanics, blacks and asians- are facts out loud to a classroom full of people. I saw how only people of color spoke up. Now I was looking at people watch a teacher tell a Muslim student that there was no higher power or God and by the end of the class we would all believe him. I was now the one defending stereotypes and not letting religion be belittled. I know, newsflash Chelsea, this happens everyday. But now I was in the environment and more importantly the mindset to pay attention. 

As these situations come to mind where people of color are belittled because of their skin tone, all I can thinks is, why are we fighting each other? Why is there an argument of “Light Skin vs. Dark skin,” when we all fight the same fight. Now I and other light-skinned people may not ever have the same type of experience my fellow classmate had with her grandfather, or we may not get told we are “pretty for a dark-skinned girl,” but we can use our privileges to improve these types of things. We all will experience a point where we are told we are less, why not work together to uplift each other. 

At the end of the day, I find that there is no better color, skin tone or religion, but what really makes you a good human being is your heart and compassion for others. I believe if we each used our skills and voices together, it would truly be magic. 

Please remember this only a portion of growing up around colorism; my experience only. This is part one of a five part series with Desiree Dossen. So please always read the other side each part, by going to my dear friend Desiree’s blog, Stylista In Mind, to experience it through her eyes as well. Don’t forget to read part one as well if you have not yet! Thank you!

I have a new Instagram too! So follow me there to be updated on the new article schedule for this month on the blog!

-Chelsea Krieger

[38-planes]

The Love Story Behind Come From Away

Intermission [November 24, 2016]

The important thing to remember about Come From Away, now playing at the newly restored Royal Alexandra Theatre through January 8 prior to its Broadway opening, is that it’s a love story

On one level, it’s the story of the mutual devotion that erupted between 6579 airline passengers from around the world when their planes were grounded in Newfoundland in the aftermath of 9/11 and the people of Gander who took them in. And in another sense, it’s about Toronto lawyer Michael Rubinoff’s infatuation with this story and his desire to bring it to the musical theatre stage.

But most of all, it’s about the husband and wife team of Irene Sankoff and David Hein, who picked up Rubinoff’s challenge to write the show, researched it exhaustively, and then saw it through numerous workshops and productions before landing it safely here.

Most people have been so busy telling the story of the show itself that they’ve left out the more intimate but equally winning saga of Irene and David.

But we’re righting that balance today, early on a crisp autumn morning—not too early because that’s not how Sankoff rolls.

“I don’t like mornings,” laughs Sankoff.  “In fact, when I was pregnant with our daughter Molly, we joked that I never got up early enough to have morning sickness.”

Molly, now three and a half, is at school on this particular day, so it’s just Sankoff and Hein in their bright, cheery home in the East York area of Toronto.

They’re a comfy couple who look as happy as they are, combining the best qualities of romcom and sitcom.

What do they look like? Hein has the classic “charming dad” look of a beloved TV series, with an endearingly rumpled air reminiscent of Dick Van Dyke’s iconic Rob Petrie. But Sankoff is more like Valerie Harper’s Rhoda Morgenstern, with a warm smile, a husky voice, and a ready way with a quip.

How did this pair get together? Hein tries to explain.

“We met on the first day of university at York in the theatre program. That we agree on. But we disagree on precisely when.”

“I’m sure it was the welcome BBQ,” says Sankoff in a tone that brooks no disagreement.

“She’s wrong,” Hein dares to venture . “It was the welcome pancake breakfast.”

Sankoff’s jaw sets just a bit. “They didn’t even have a pancake breakfast that first week. It was the opening BBQ. Drop your stuff in the dorm, come on down, have something to eat and meet the man you’re going to marry.”

Hein throws up his hands in submission. “She actually has a much better memory than me.”

Regardless of where and when it happened, was there instant chemistry between them?

“I’m not sure if it was love,” suggests Hein, “but it was something at first sight.”

Sankoff sets the record straight. “We were both seeing other people at the time and continued for about a year and a half. But we were very good friends and we got along instantly.

“I was very serious about getting terrific grades. I had a double major in psychology and theatre. I remember I came fourth in my first-year psychology class and got very depressed.”

“I was a good student, too,” insists Hein sheepishly.

“Yeah, but you went out,” counters Sankoff, spitting the word out like a malediction. “I hadn’t seen a movie since, er, The Little Mermaid.”

So her heart belonged to Disney musicals?

“I always loved all musicals. The first one I ever saw was Guys and Dolls. And Les Mis was a huge influence on me. My mom took me to it twelve times and then we stopped, because I thought thirteen was unlucky in those days.”

While Sankoff was storming the barricades, Hein was on his own musical journey.

“My mom took me to the Winnipeg Folk Festival. And I loved Newfoundland music too. Great Big Sea. Figgy Duff. The world of the singer-songwriter. I think I wanted to be Jim Cuddy.”

Sankoff has her return volley ready. “I wanted to be Donna McKechnie. God, when I saw A Chorus Line at Stratford this summer, I wept all the way through it. I knew it by heart.”

Her mention of the classic musical leads Hein to a sort of playwriting epiphany. “You know the dramatic bones of Chorus Line and Come From Away are really very similar. The anecdotal structure, the interviews that shaped it. The whole thing.”

But then it’s back to their slow-growing romance.

“It wasn’t one thing that brought us together,” reasons Hein. “We just started hanging out a lot.”

Sankoff shakes her head ruefully. “David was very goofy. I got my first B after we started hanging out together.”

He laughs. “Yeah, we started hanging out. And then we started…” His voice drops an octave. “… HANGING OUT!”

They look at each other fondly. “No one in my life was like David,” admits Sankoff. “They were all so focused and serious and he was so, well, goofy.”

“You use that word to describe me a lot,” says a slightly hurt Hein.

“But you were, David,” insists Sankoff gently. “You were.”

After their time at York, Sankoff went to New York City to work on her masters in theatre at NYU and Hein followed, landing an internship making music for The Muppets. (His undergraduate major was set and lighting design.)

They were living at International House, a residence for foreign graduate students attending NYU, which Hein describes as “a kind of dress rehearsal for what happened to Gander in Come From Away.  There were people from 110 countries all around the world. An amazing community. Every month there would be celebrations. We’d dress up like characters from our country. Irene was Anne of Green Gables, I went with a friend as Bob and Doug Mackenzie.”

But then came 9/11. Even after all this time, the two of them grow quiet remembering it.

“My cousin was working in one of the towers,” says Hein softly, “but she got out.”

They both remember how life went on a few days later—especially theatrical life. “I was acting in an Ionesco Festival at the time,” says Sankoff, “and David was designing a play called The Dreamer Examines His Pillow.”

They had gotten engaged and were planning to eventually tie the knot in Toronto, but one night, Hein said “let’s get married now.” So they eloped to City Hall, four blocks from Ground Zero.  They had a larger, more formal ceremony in Toronto the next year.

After they returned to Toronto their lives just kind of chugged along for a while, with Hein recording several albums of his songs and designing over sixty shows, until he “got burned out painting the set overnight for no money.”

Sankoff kept busy “as a receptionist, as a tutor for kids, and as a member of the cast of The Mousetrap at the Toronto Truck Theatre.”

But they weren’t spending much time together.

“So in 2009, we said ‘Let’s hang out this summer and write a show.’”

And they did. The result was My Mother’s Jewish Lesbian Wiccan Wedding, based on true events in Hein’s life.

They discovered their own personal writing dynamic. “David is the one who puts things down on paper first,” says Sankoff. Hein counters with: “And Irene is the editor who tears it apart and makes us rewrite it fifty times until we get it right.”

Sankoff smiles. “I don’t know how you write with someone you’re not married to.”

Hein replies: “I heard someone say that writing is fighting.”

“No. WE say that,” snarks Sankoff.

“Yeah,” agrees Hein. “We like to write in a coffee shop. Because there are witnesses.”

The show found a berth at the Fringe, proved to be a huge popular hit, then got picked up by Mirvish Productions for a successful transfer to the Panasonic.

Enter Michael Rubinoff, well-known theatrical lawyer and associate dean of Performing Arts at Sheridan College, which is known for its highly regarded musical theatre program.

“He asked to meet us,” Sankoff remembers, “and we were so nervous. It was like an interview. Very formal, and he just asked us a lot of questions. We didn’t think it went very well.”

But it didn’t end there. Hein points out that they met again over mac and cheese in Kensington Market and got to know each other a lot better.

“He told us his idea about writing a musical about the events in Gander when all the planes landed there after 9/11,” Hein enthuses. “I loved it. I loved the story of Gander being this giant airport where the world used to come to refuel, then planes got bigger and the world stopped coming. And then, the world came back again.”

What Sankoff loved were the individual stories: “Like Bonnie, who took care of all the animals that wound up there.” Rubinoff was warmed by the show’s overall humanist message. But despite their different points of view, they all agreed on one thing. Hein sums it up: “This wasn’t a 9/11 story. It was a 9/12 story.”

From that point on, it kept moving steadily, with a lengthy research trip for Sankoff and Hein to Gander for the tenth anniversary of the event in 2011, two student workshops at Sheridan College in 2012 and 2013, and then a whirlwind courtship by the American musical theatre scene, from the National Alliance for Musical Theatre, through the workshop process at the Goodspeed Opera House, to a trifecta of record-breaking productions at regional theatres in LaJolla, Seattle, and Washington, D.C, with unanimous rave reviews at every stop along the way.

How did Sankoff and Hein cope with this crazy ride?

“I’ve always compartmentalized this,” shares Sankoff. “I’d say, ‘Now we’re in Seattle, let’s take Molly to play in the fountain. Now we’re in LaJolla, let’s go look at the ocean.’ But when I saw on Facebook that all our cast and designers were coming into Toronto, then I thought my worlds were colliding.”

The regular moms and dads that Sankoff and Hein hang out with can’t quite understand that, depending on the response to the show when it opens on Broadway, they might either be very wealthy, or have to scramble to make a living.

“Our Muggle friends think what we’re doing is so risky,” allows Hein. “They think it’s like playing slots with your life.”

But for this couple who are as in love with their chosen profession as they are with each other, there’s no turning back.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do anything else,” admits Sankoff. “It’s that I couldn’t do anything else. I was no good working in the real world. No good at all.”

“We used to argue whether or not theatre could change the world,” says Hein. “I think it can.”

“I don’t,” snaps Sankoff. Then she softens. “Or I used to think it couldn’t.”

[funface2]

28 of Katherine Ryan's most cutting jokes and put-downs – iNews

DistractionsJokes

Tuesday, 20th August 2019, 09:40 am

Updated Friday, 6th September 2019, 14:48 pm

Katherine Ryan is one of the world’s most daring comedians, her comedy bridging the gap between cheeky and offensive, and delivering truths wrapped up in scathing put-downs.

With the Canadian recently tracking down her ancestors for BBC Ones here are some of her most scathing jokes.

[Warning: contains adult humour]

On women and dieting: “We want you to be smaller so that you take up less space. That’s not your space. What if a man wants to golf in it?”

“Beyoncé is so powerful, she reinvented ‘sexy face’. Remember what it used to look like, girls? Little smile? Wrong! ‘Sexy-face’, thanks to Beyoncé, is: there is a bad smell and you’re angry about it.”

“I don’t blame Americans for wanting to come to Canada. I’m very proud to be Canadian. Some have said we should build a wall, the way Trump suggests doing, to keep them out. And Americans are of course larger than Mexicans, the wall wouldn’t even need to be very high.”

On a popular Disney film: “Do you want to build a snowman? Do you want to have the words to ‘Let It Go’ in your head all the time until you die? Then come see Frozen. I dare you!”

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(Photo: BBC)

“Nobody starts something hoping it will fail – maybe a suicide bombing?”

“Would you trade you life with a teenage girl’s life? Do you remember what it was like when we had no power, no money, and when we did our own eyebrows? No thank you!”

“I think I’m a nice girl but my comedy has been described as kind of nasty. They say I’m Joan Rivers but older, and that hurts!”

“You know that guy who got done for taking a 15-year-old to Paris? Anyone who’s been on holiday with a teenager knows that man deserved a medal, not prison.”

“Joan Rivers got exactly what she wanted from that final surgery – to stop ageing. Finally she nailed it.”

“God bless the British panel shows. They’re the reason I eat!”

“My name is TV’s Katherine Ryan. I used to be an unwelcome surprise on a mixed bill, now I can see that at least a third of you have come to see me on purpose.”

“I’ve lived in England now for 10 years with my lovely daughter. I love having a British child. It’s like having a tiny and ineffective butler at home.”

(Photo: BBC)

“I’m 32-years-old, and I love getting older. I think we grow in value with every day, not the other way around. Ageing just means you didn’t die!”

On Katie Hopkins: “She’s Britain’s most hated women. Does anyone like her? I meet people like this on the street. ‘She came across really well on the TV.’ So did Bill Cosby.”

“You will see women with younger men, but I promise that happens by accident. We’re not out in the club like ‘Ooh, who can I find to do everything for and teach everything to?!”

“Barack Obama, he can sing and he’s, like, cool. And, you know, I experience some climate change when I look at him, I’ll be honest. When he talks about the national debt, my budget gap widens.”

“I recently went home with a 25-year-old. I’ve never been with a 25-year-old since I was… well, 14…”

On Cheryl Tweedy: “‘I am the nation’s sweetheart.’ No you’re the answer to the question how beautiful do you have to be to make the nation forget about your racial assault charge.”

“I’m like Taylor Swift. But with a soul.”

(Photo: BBC)

On what scares her: “Primark on a Saturday. The biting and the blood.”

On her daughter’s father: “He’s a man I loved once. He will always be her dad. I can’t change that – I tried!”

On having an older boyfriend: “People say you must like teaching him things. Yeah, the other day I taught him that Titanic is a real story.”

On Jurassic Park: “The dinosaurs are killing everyone! Why do we keep reopening this park? Who keeps giving us public liability insurance?!”

“Ed Miliband was trending on Twitter, but so was Kim Kardashian’s arse. I don’t know about you, but I know which one I’d rather watch eating a bacon sandwich.”

On cross-religious dating: “‘If you were just converted and you were Jewish as well, maybe we could be together.’ I considered it, and I said: ‘Well, would that mean giving up Christmas?’ He’s like, ‘yeah Katherine, obviously it would.’ And I’m like: ‘You think you got a d*** better than Christmas?!”

“Men are like dolphins – best enjoyed on holiday!”

On her time ‘running out’: “I have more time than you do because I don’t have to find 14 tiny shoes every morning and I don’t have to sleep with your husband.”

“Celine Dion’s husband met her when he was 38 years old and she was 12. Now, I do have to say, he met her when he was 38 and she was 12, and they worked together. He was her manager. And nothing sexual happened between them until the magical evening of her 18th birthday when they fell in love. That’s the legal bit for Netflix.”

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from Funface https://funface.net/funny-quotes/28-of-katherine-ryans-most-cutting-jokes-and-put-downs-inews/

[cabiba]

I do not like Islam very much. This is a dangerous thing to write these days. I do not believe that whatever benefits Islam brings outweigh the costs. I do not like that the West cannot reconcile that it too, does not like Islam very much- and pretends that it actually does.

Our leaders bleat on about a religion of peace and diversity while our newspapers avoid reporting that the Quilliam Foundation found that 84% of the perpetrators of gang rape in the United Kingdom are Pakistani.

Some of these men quite blatantly tell us that their reasoning was that they chose their white, teenage victims- who number in the many thousands- because they are white. Little white slags, they say. The British Police did nothing, for years. Why? Because they were afraid of being called racist if they arrested racist rape gangs.

A failed improvised bomb attack at New York’s Port Authority Station is yet another opportunity for a multitude of New Yorkers to prove their fortitude. Ah, he didn’t stop us from going about our daily lives, this is New York. Fools!

“You got to live your life,” she said. “You got to work. You can’t stay locked up in your house all the time.” — Portland Authority Bombing Witness

Yes, but what does your life mean? What is your life worth to your political masters? What is it worth to you?

The bomber, from Bangladesh, cited that the United States had recognised Jerusalem as the capital of Israel as his motive for trying to assassinate civilians. Blue check verified Twitterati instantly took to the internet to stand in solidarity with Muslims, as we all know blowing your own testicles off while trying to murder people going to work is nothing to do with Islam.

The newspapers report that the bomber is actually from Brooklyn. They lied. He is not from Brooklyn. He is a Muslim from Bangladesh who hates Jews.

This issue transcends the petty bourgeois squeals of racism that emanate from the wealthy left, who never seem to live in the areas enriched by diversity. The conflict with Islam, this centuries-old clash of civilisations- it will outlive us all.

It will outlive us all because whether we like it or not, the dreaded Alt-Right has got at least one thing absolutely right. People of European descent are slowly but surely

being replaced.

As we are replaced by migrants from the Islamic World, we might find ourselves asking the question why? Why must we be replaced? Why don’t I recognise my country anymore? Why does the crescent moon of Islam rise where the Cross of Jesus stood? What did we do so wrong that we must die?

Fortunately, the advocates of unending immigration have the answers for us.Colonialism

Communists and groups calling themselves ‘Stand Up To Racism’ (actually just Neo-Marxist activists) will tell you it is because of our colonial past. We must pay for the sins of our evil ancestors- but nobody says to the Turkish;

“Hey, Turk- your grandfather drove the Armenians into the desert. That is genocide. Hey Turk, the Ottoman Empire was an imperialist, conquering power for six hundred years. You must pay for those sins.”

The argument that people should make reparations for colonialism is only applied when the colonialists were White, or Jewish. That Israel today is accused of being imperialist and genocidal is nothing short of a disgrace to anyone who says it- and I have said it myself when I thought in Neo-Marxist ways. How sick.

Duty

It is the responsibility of the West to allow all people to enter our nations and become citizens because we are liberal and everyone is equal. To question this means you are a racist. Other countries are poorer than us, so we must allow their peoples to benefit from our wealth. We should share with them. We should give to them.

Why? With all due respect to the peoples of the world, why should the West, which has ascended through great hardship, merely hand others our spoils? If you are to respond like this, you will be called selfish. It is selfish to want to maintain your culture, it is selfish not to want to pay for others to live and contribute nothing.

It is not selfish to go to another country and demand they look after you, even though you are not a refugee. Even though you are in a multitude, even though you harbour terrorists among you, even though you are unable to comprehend that women are free people. Even though you find yourself having a sexual emergency and raping a child, or a mother, or a teenager, or an activist who works for your interests. Even when you murder her. Even when you lie about your age to gain sympathy and leniency from a nation that is altruistic to a fault.

That is not selfish. No, it is the Westerners who are the selfish ones. It is our duty to accept you all.Culture

Cultural enrichment has become a meme. Every time another truck of peace murders our children we joke with gallows humour about how we are culturally enriched. Proponents will argue that we have such great cuisine now. How dare you oppose unending, ceaseless, brutal, civilisation destroying migration.

You ate a curry last night.

It is preposterous to think that we are unable to follow a recipe to produce food from other countries- coming to think about it, do not Neo-Marxists accuse people of cultural appropriation for doing just that? All the more reason to enliven ones’ taste buds with exotic foods, then. No, this line of reasoning makes no sense- not only this, it reveals the asinine and frankly racist belief prevalent among many that the only thing the immigrant can do is make food for us. It should not even be an argument, but here we are, discussing whether we should accept off-duty soldiers being beheaded in the street because the perpetrator comes from Nigeria, and the Nigerian migrants bring whatever food they eat in Nigeria for us to enjoy.

Don’t complain about migration. We have an international food fair.

Multiculturalism is just better.

We live in a Multiculture. This means there is no British culture. As Lauren Southern discovered, all it takes to be British is a British passport. However, it is not so that we can go to China and become Chinese. That’s ridiculous. We are told that we have always been nations of immigrants, but that is also a lie.

So prevalent is this narrative that despite not having any major immigration for nearly 900 years between 1066 and 1945, most Britons believe we are a nation of immigrants. Of course we are! Angles, Jutes, Saxons, Norse, Norman, and so on. So pervasive is the idea of an immigrant nation that the most recent article I found in the mainstream media refuting this lie is over ten years old.

The idea that a multicultural society is better than one dominated by a single culture would have merit if there was give-and-take between the cultures. Now, the leftists out there will bleat colonialism! And I will say, no. We’ve covered colonialism. You only care when white people do it- you are a bigot. In a multiculture, we have seen only that the host nation must give up parts of its culture to accommodate the interlopers. The cultures that move in have to give up nothing. We host nations will provide housing, money, education- protection. All for free. What are we given in return? What benefit? Over 17 years, migration to the UK from outside the European Union cost the nation over £120 billion. The report that showed these statistics was effectively buried by the British Government.

If there’s no financial benefit, no cultural benefit, no ethical or moral compulsion, and by any metric immigration from outside the West has simply made our lives worse: What argument is left?

We are getting old.

Now we come to the bones. We all know that we live in so-called ageing societies. We are told it every day, that we are getting older; so we need migrants.

This is a lie, brought about by an addiction to Neoliberal Capitalism. Let me explain.

Neoclassical economics -which is the underlying theory of Neoliberalism- essentially requires permanent growth. This is why we are in a Boom/Bust economy; capitalism is imperfect, and the imperfections in the economic system lead to catastrophic failures every now and then. Capitalism is still the best system we have- I contend however that Neoliberalism has outlived its purpose.

During the banking crisis of 2008, the banking cartels demanded money from nation states to pay for their mistakes. The nations, being funded by the taxes of the people, paid the ransom. That is a fundamentally socialist act. Neoliberalism was subverted to cover up the failure of neoliberalism. Under truly capitalist methods, the banks should have been allowed to fall. Yes, it would have caused chaos. Yes, it would have been hard. But we would have been freed from this sick mentality of permanent, unending expansion.

Neoliberalism cannot comprehend resources. It deals only with manpower and end product. This means that in order to deal with the demographic effects of capitalism, which are long life and low birthrate, it needs immigration. Without population growth, there will not be enough taxation raised to provide the state pensions.

The world’s governments know that the plebians will accept many things. We will not accept the disrespect of our parents, as Theresa Mayfound to her cost. There would be a revolution if people were taxed and worked like churls their whole lives, and then receive nothing but a raised middle finger from the tax man when it comes time for us to retire.

To avoid this eventuality, our leaders have gambled that huge migration is a better bet than fixing the system. It is better. For them. Not for you. Not for me. For them.

All that replacement migration does is kick the problem of elderly care down the line for a few years while importing the enriching qualities of the third world. The present political class cares about nothing but retaining power, right now. Not good governance or the future of the nation. Replacement migration is barely even an understood policy- it happens because these imbeciles are too dense to consider the ramifications.

But this also is not enough of an answer; if it were solely about replacing our elderly, the richer European nations could have encouraged migration from poorer ones. Spain. Greece. Poland. Italy. All of southern and central Europe suffered in the aftermath of the banking cartel’s thievery, in the form of huge youth unemployment. These people were left to rot on the workless streets of Valencia, Athens, Warsaw. The richer nations of Europe did not even think to encourage their immigration.

We could make starting families easier, through governmental policy. Most people in the West want to have children, despite being assaulted with propaganda that we are committing a planet-destroying evil if we do.

Because here is a startling fact. You need money to migrate. You cannot emigrate from the ghetto while you earn a ghetto wage. So where are all these migrants coming from, and how? Money talks. Always. So the kids of Portugal did not come to London. The young Greeks did not go to Berlin.

Instead, we imported Islam.

Either our leaders did not know the consequences, or they did not care. In any case, replacement migration to prop up neoliberal capitalism is a band-aid. It can only be temporary, as the migrants, if they work and contribute, will be entitled to be cared for in their old age, just like any other citizen. So what happens then? We will need even more migrants. Every year the Germans become less German. Every year the French are less French. Every year the Britons wither. Every year the Swedes are dying out.

The only conclusion is that there is some other ideological reason at play, or we are being led by the most ignorant buffoons imaginable. Either we need to stop having babies to save the planet, or we need more people to support the ageing society. It cannot be both.

It is a Neo-Marxist tactic to destroy us to claim that this is so.

The betrayal of our culture by our elected leaders is why the West is lost. We can find it again. We can change the path we are on, but none of us can do it alone. It is time that we take responsibility for our future and our own minds. It is time for you to learn about what your culture is and what is happening to it. What is being done to it.

And when you see what is happening, and what is being done, will you not feel sick? Will you not feel betrayed? If you think that what is being done to Paris, to London, to New York, to Barcelona; if you think that is enriching, then we are enemies. I do not wish to live in a world where my children are slaves. I will not accept that we Europeans are worthless people who are somehow inferior to other races, and it doesn’t matter if we become extinct.

Do you see how the Alt-Right grows? It’s because people who are centrists will not engage this problem. The evidence for this to be true is insurmountable. If you want to fight the Nazis in your closet, you have to accept that these people are not incorrect on this topic- at least in the assessment of the situation.

If you disagree with the concept of an ethnostate, I’m with you. If you disagree with pogroms, we’re on the same side. What we have to figure out is how to avoid the future certainty that we, as a civilisation, are going to experience sectarian violence that will make Northern Ireland look like a royal wedding street party.

It is inevitable unless we act. We must Make The West Great Again.