#in case you're new here know that the president and his secretary are having an affair

[fallen-gabrielle]

Someone: The First Lady is out of town for an ecological project. Kuki Sanban, knowing the President will be alone:

It's free real estate

[darkmaga-returns]

Trump’s Cabinet. Polish PM: ‘New world order’ coming. Le Pen’s presidential bid at stake. Israel preparing Lebanon ceasefire plan. WHO Pandemic Agreement. Guterres: We Are In The Final Countdown

Lioness of Judah Ministry

Nov 14, 2024

Trump’s Cabinet: Here Are His Picks For Key Roles—Matt Gaetz, Tulsi Gabbard, Marco Rubio And More

President-elect Donald Trump on Wednesday nominated Rep. Matt Gaetz, R-Fla., for attorney general, and named former Democratic Rep. Tulsi Gabbard as director of national intelligence, the latest in a flurry of appointments to his Cabinet and White House staff in the days since Trump won the election.

Trump has reportedly chosen people for a handful of Senate-confirmed Cabinet-level jobs, and he’s picked a White House chief of staff and a national security adviser, two key roles that don’t require confirmation. Attorney general and secretaries of defense, state and homeland security are top priorities for Trump, according to The New York Times, citing people familiar with his thinking who said he is keen on candidates who will remove career bureaucrats Trump considers to be part of what he refers to as the “deep state.”

REPORT: CNN’s Scott Jennings Angling for Position of Trump White House Press Secretary

Scott Jennings, the lone conservative voice on CNN, is reportedly trying to position himself as a candidate to fill the role of White House press secretary for President Trump.

Over the course of the last year, Jennings has emerged as popular media figure on the right, as he regularly confounds his CNN colleagues while calmly explaining various issues to them from a conservative perspective. As someone who already works in media, he would be a logical choice. He has proved that he knows how to speak to liberal journalists.

Trump Returns to White House for Meeting With Biden on Transfer of Power

WASHINGTON (Sputnik) - US President-elect Donald Trump is meeting with President Joe Biden at the White House on Wednesday to discuss the transition following the November 5 election.

"Congratulations and I look forward to having a smooth transition," Biden said as the two were seated by the fireplace. Trump told Biden that "he very much appreciates" the current president's pledge of smooth transition. "It will be as smooth as it can get and I very much appreciate that, Joe," Trump said. "Politics is tough and in many cases it’s not a nice world but it is a nice world today," he added.

Trump Expected To Appoint Ukraine Peace Envoy 'Soon': Fox

resident-elect Donald Trump has long promised to immediately negotiate an end to the Russia-Ukraine war upon entering office. Fox News is reporting Wednesday that toward this end he may "soon" appoint a Ukrainian peace envoy to head this up.

"You're going to see a very senior special envoy, someone with a lot of credibility, who will be given a task to find a resolution, to get to a peace settlement," one of several sources told Fox. The person previewed that the appointment will happen "in short order." Fox notes that "The job is not expected to be a salaried role - from 2017 to 2019, Kurt Volker had served as special representative to Ukrainian negotiations on a volunteer basis."

[cksmart-world]

SMART BOMB

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

September 24, 2024

NO BIOLOGICAL CHILDREN? YOU LOWLIFE!

Hey Wilson, you got any children? No? In that case you're not fit to be president — of anything. You see, it's like this: People without children, even if they've adopted a brood, are, well, what's the right word... icky... trashy... scummy lowlifes. They are “childless cat ladies who are miserable at their own lives and the choices that they've made." That according to J.D. Vance, the Republican nominee for vice president. He forgot to mention Taylor Swift is in that category, but he's still got time. It's worse than you think 'cause even though Vice President Kamala Harris has two adopted children she's a lowlife, too, explained Sarah Huckabee, the governor of Arkansas and former Trump spokeswoman. It's a frightening anti-children ideology held by sad, pathetic people. Look at Kamala, Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg (two adopted children), and New York Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (AOC) who run the Democratic Party. No Children. Holy hell. The Founding Fathers could never have imagined it, otherwise they would have put something in the Constitution like this: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice and insure domestic Tranquility, do ordain that all people will have children or else...”

WHY PEOPLE STAY AND LEAVE ZION aka UTAH

People love Utah and aren't leaving. People who used to love Utah are looking for the exits. The Salt Lake Tribune took a look at why some people stay and why others don't. Toxic air, lawmakers, hypocrisy make people want to leave, according to the report. Community, outdoors, climate make people want to stay. The staff here at Smart Bomb determined that we should take a deeper dive on what folks think:

1 – Staying: We just love the gerrymandering here.

2 – Leaving: Skiing and the parks are too crowded.

3 – Staying: We love the fact that this state is a theocracy.

4 – Leaving: We can't take another losing Jazz season.

5 – Staying: We love that the state liquor stores are closed on Sunday.

6 – Leaving: We hate Mike Lee and Burgess Owens.

7 – Staying: Because state government doesn't interfere with the Great Salt Lake.

8 – Leaving: Before the “sports/entertainment” district ruins downtown.

9 – Staying: Because of the “wholesome” people who love Donald Trump.

10 – Leaving: Because of the “wholesome” people who love Donald Trump.

UNDECIDED VOTERS & THE FATE OF THE NATION

Hey Wilson, did you ever get the sinking sensation that undecided voters aren't exactly the sharpest bunch. Donald Trump and Kamala Harris are about as different as night and day. How could they possibly be undecided. Trump is Mr. Masculine Tough Guy. Harris is a strong, articulate woman. Trump lies like a rug. Harris has to explain why groceries are so expensive. Trump led an unsuccessful coup against the United States. Harris was the California Attorney General and U.S. Senator. Here's what some undecided voters said:

“I like Trump because he tells it like it is, but his ties are too long and his hands are small.

“I like Kamala but she smiles too much. And that laugh. Ugh.”

“Trump was cuckoo for saying Haitians eat dogs and cats but he's a good golfer and we need presidents who can golf.”

“Kamala would bring a woman's touch to the White House but her husband is totally creepy. I don't trust him.”

“Trump is a good businessman but he's gone bankrupt a whole bunch of times.”

“Kamala made the price of groceries and gas go up but she's got much better hair than Trump.”

Sad to say Wilson, but the fate of the country is in their hands. Start packing. They say Canada isn't so bad — and they speak English there.

Post script — That's a wrap for another totally insane week here at Smart Bomb where we keep track of the equinox so you don't have to. Wilson, did you know the ancient Greeks believed that on the autumnal equinox the Goddess Persephone returned to the darkness of the underworld to be with her husband Hades. The pagans called the September equinox Mabon, after the Welsh god of Celtic mythology. According to legend, Mabon was stolen from his mother, Modron, three days after birth, plunging the land into sorrow and darkness. For us Americans and a lot of folks in Europe and elsewhere, the 2024 presidential election threatens to plunge us into darkness — at least that's how it feels. The Nov. 5 election is coming at us like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. You can say what you want about Stonehenge and the druids but they didn't have nasty, lyin' websites, influencers and two-year election campaigns. In fact, they didn't have elections at all. Trump might like that but he probably wouldn't fit in too well. What would he sell druids anyway, Bibles? Not exactly. They might go for his gold sneakers — the “Never Surrender High Tops.” Any druid could be the toast of Stonehenge with a pair of those babies. Or maybe they wouldn't be caught dead in them.

We don't know about you Wilson, but that pagan, druid stuff sounds kind of cool. Maybe we can just let our imaginations go and hope for some kind of magic spell that will somehow pull us through. So wake up the wiccans in the band and take us on outa here:

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night And wouldn't you love to love her? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight And who will be her lover? All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win? She is like a cat in the dark And then she is the darkness She rules her life like a fine skylark And when the sky is starless All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win? Will you ever win? She rings like a bell through the night And wouldn't you love to love her? She rules her life like a bird in flight And who will be her lover? All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win? Will you ever win? Rhiannon, Rhiannon Taken by Taken by the sky Taken by Taken by the sky

(Rhiannon — Fleetwood Mac)

[the-firebird69]

Jan. 6 Testimony Fleshes Out Account of Trump’s Demand to Go to Capitol - The New York Times

We have a film if it actually happened and others do too using satellites you can see Trump's mouth moving you can see his hands and you can see what he's doing let's say that and it's high tech silver and unfortunately these days cases like this they admit tapes and they have to refute what happened and study the tape. Because of what he was doing and his actions and attitude that day Donald Trump is going to court many cases are against him because of his attitude because he was launching attacks on people and because of what he was saying about people and people here too and he was trying to kidnap her son and it's illegal no matter what you're doing and we heard him saying he's in it with Brian and they heard him say his name and he's the vice president and he heard I'm not in on it to kidnap myself with him or to take over the country like you are and he said I mean in on something else other than what you're doing here and he said yeah other than what we're doing here and people in the vehicle said why don't you shut your f****** mouth so you can't shut his mouth is a f****** homo who has to respond to everything I say. All of a sudden this idiot Trump hindsight is 20/20 and you failed and you start screaming and he was actually he raised his voice and he's yelling for his people that do something and to get out there I said they're going out there to take information what do you want so he goes what is this for anyways that's to prove you're a weekly and so he gets on the phone cuz he said it's to prove you're a weakling and he starts yelling orders about here and as soon as saying no no thanks and you are stupid and said all sorts of s*** and he goes like this I don't think I'm getting through to him and most of these people are not listening at all and just like you said I'm wasting my time calls up his people and it says it in code I ordered this and I ordered this and his people started saying we don't have any time for this and they start getting mad so people have transcripts of what transpired and what he was saying and he's screaming it so our son says no president has ever done this it is true and no president ever should and you should never be allowed to run for election and nobody wants him in there but he's going to get desperate and start threatening a lot more and we should release the transcripts to the United Nations the UN Secretary general and NATO and other world leaders who actually rule empire and a pseudo empire it's probably what they have but we put in a format that is easy to understand and it's true too you have these packets and it says he's saying this and he's verbalizing this to these groups and it goes to these areas and he's instructing just to happen there and show that we know but they know it too if they don't know it by now but still the way we organize it it's easy to look at and we have sent it to them before and what it means and we send them to signals and it's all this Freemason stuff and they want to buy him our son's clans. He says that it's the order of the Rose and it is the clan to a degree and it's more like JC and we know what they're doing too and these people are clueless and they're running around like little assholes doing everything they want and the max have a code in there too but still we're going to go ahead and do that cuz we're sick of this I'm going to see what the reaction is cuz it's just those big horse dick dance and or annoyed and who wants them out we want them out but there's a s*** about this stupid crap I'm sick of them

So he was sending a code to start and cause an insurrection and we sent back we will get you. And a son forgot that he didn't pay a quarter but he was going to get one anyways and someone handed it to him and they knew about it and because he says the Wise cracks these days are horrible and hopefully people can ring them in but the evike you cargo one night they turned them into mopeds and it's not too hard I heard you get solid lithium batteries and she said wow I'm going to try it and you have to mess the computer up so she goes I can use the battery that comes with it for the lights and get solid one and put it where the other battery goes and that's perfect and she's got a little business because people make money doing it and don't forget the brakes calipers and she said oh yeah and I don't think they're pneumatic on a bike no she said she'll love it and they need them all over any traveling groups so they're going to do it and it's that particular model he's suggesting is the lectric cargo bike.

To make a long story short this article is about Donald Trump and it's a lie and it's fabricated and is for the public consumption and we are going to send the tapes to people

The attorney general for example and not Donald Trump or his guy

Thor Freya

Olympus

We don't want your tape we've seen it we have our tape and we know about it there's a few people that don't know about it and they need to see it and we do need people to calm down but really people are going to send the tape anyways

Mac daddy

This is how we need assistance and nobody's helping us and he says the foreigners are supposed to but their competition and it's your business fighting your own people and we get that and they're saying it now

Daniel

You said it going up there I'm going to try and make the peace I don't want people to see what they can figure out and we see them looking and studying and I'm saying I'm selling to everybody and you're hogging it that's fine and things like that but wait a bunch of mean bastards they're angry all the time and I said this it won't end now and they said why that's nothing to do with your attitude which is completely terrible and they said yeah we know it's the islands

Justin

Olympus

[back-and-totheleft]

Returning the Fire

The CNN makeup room is crowded. Moviemaker Oliver Stone drops happily into a chair to have his face wiped. He's just done "Larry King Live," and King has called his new film, "JFK," which revisits every grisly detail of the assassination just in time for the holidays, "a full-blown operatic conspiracy tale" that has critics "raving and historians … raving mad." Stone is elated. One of his worst nightmares -- and he has many -- is not being taken seriously in Washington, but this seems to be fading somewhat in the glare of the public relations blitz arranged by Frank Mankiewicz of Hill and Knowlton, who was once Bobby Kennedy's press secretary and who now stands in the doorway wearing a white shirt and bow tie and with a huge belly hanging over his belt like a guy who's just stacked his 18-wheeler and walked into an all-night truck stop in Kansas.

But there's a hitch. In the chair next to Stone is columnist and commentator Robert Novak, a conservative affectionately known around town as the Prince of Darkness, perhaps for his dark-eyed glances, who knows. In any case, Novak is wearing a bright red Christmas vest and doesn't seem to be in a great mood.

"How come you wouldn't let us in the screening?" he snarls at Stone.

Stone winces visibly. Actually manages to crouch down in his chair.

He has no idea who Novak is. "How come we didn't let this gentleman into the screening?" he implores of Mankiewicz in his soft wounded little-boy voice.

" 'Cause you're only making trouble!" Mankiewicz growls directly into Novak's face.

"Well, I'll make trouble anyway -- I'll be worse now," snaps Novak. "I thought you were smarter than that, Frank. I really did."

He exits in disgust.

Silence.

Then Stone smiles. "That was a good moment," he says.

Stone has been working Washington hard on this one. Been here several times in the past few months. Off-the-record lunches with the tweedier editors and correspondents. Deep-background chats with folks on the Hill. Op-Ed pieces. Appearances on "Nightline," National Public Radio's "Weekend Edition," this and that. And yesterday, a private screening for a bunch of mass media types deemed acceptable by Mankiewicz, followed by a press conference and luncheon.

"It's not the normal procedure," admits Stone, settling on the couch in his suite at the Four Seasons the other day for a quickie interview before taking off for a benefit opening of the film in Dallas. "But it seemed to have to be done, because there was so much being written that was destroying the credibility of the movie before it was made, and it's wrong. When Dan Rather editorializes against you on 'CBS Evening News,' you know you have a problem."

Stone's problem is this: The film's hypothesis, based on former New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison's unsuccessful prosecution of businessman Clay Shaw, is that a huge conspiracy -- including the CIA, FBI, Dallas police force, the Mob, the military, LBJ and possibly the Tooth Fairy -- brought off the murder of President John F. Kennedy on Nov. 22, 1963, as his limousine, having slowed for a curve, entered the carefully prepared "killing ground" at Dealey Plaza in Dallas at a speed of 11 mph.

In this view, there were three shooters, a deadly triangulation of fire. The perfect ambush, with the marksman on the grassy knoll having time for a couple of leisurely flat, straight shots right into Kennedy's face -- "he didn't even need a scope," as Stone puts it. And the motive? It was political. Not just because Kennedy was going to get out of Vietnam (a view that most scholars say is simply unsupported speculation), but also because "he was trying to wind down the entire Cold War. In Kennedy we see a form of an early Gorbachev, a sort of a political conformist politician becoming more of a statesman, reaching out for a detente."

In Stone we see a form of a brilliant, passionate filmmaker reaching for larger and larger themes, who flunked out of Yale and signed up for heavy combat in Vietnam because he was so "unhappy" and filled with "self-loathing" that he "had a strong suicidal wish {but} I didn't want to do it myself." Who then transmuted his "rage" into art -- the scripts for "Midnight Express" and "Scarface," then his direction of the Oscar-winning "Platoon" and "Wall Street," "Born on the Fourth of July," "The Doors." And now "JFK." Here's a 45-year-old filmmaker who has taken much of the rage and disillusion of the '60s, ripped it out of his own guts, put it on the screen.

And everybody's quibbling! At least that's what Stone thinks. Heck, he says, he hired 15 or 16 "experts" to study the assassination, keep the movie straight. So when Newsweek comes out with a cover story calling the film "Twisted Truth" and warning that "Oliver Stone's New Movie Can't Be Trusted," he is deeply hurt. The criticism, he tells Larry King, "comes from older journalists, political journalists who have a stake in their version of reality."

Like Tom Wicker of the New York Times, who called the Garrison/Stone thesis "paranoid and fantastic," and George Lardner of The Washington Post, who quipped that its "baseless claims come like fastballs." Stone, faced with criticism from people like these, who have spent their careers in the gritty journalistic search for truth, is able to take refuge in the age-old mandate of the artist. In the Dallas Morning News he compared himself to Shakespeare shaping for all time the image of Henry V, and it is quite possible that years from now, when the work of Wicker and Lardner has gone to fish-wrap, Stone's film will be viewed as just about all anyone knows or cares of the truth.

"The artist's obligation, in my opinion, is to his conscience only," Stone says. "If he accepts the concept of social responsibility, it smacks of censorship. The Soviets told their artists that they had a social responsibility to realism. What is realism? It becomes social realism. The Nazis told their artists you have an obligation to fascism, and they had to represent Nazi art. You cannot tell an artist what to do. It's the First Amendment."

So why did he hire all those experts? Why Frank Mankiewicz?

"I believe an artist has to do his homework, but that's my personal belief. Another artist may not have to do his homework. I did my homework… . We did a lot of fact-checking. We openly admit that the film has quite a bit of speculation in it."

Which is exactly why a lot of folks are so upset about it.

Yet who's to say? A Washington Post poll shows that the American people, by an overwhelming 56 percent, with 24 percent undecided, believe that a conspiracy of some sort was behind the killing, and not the lone, crazy gunman Lee Harvey Oswald, as the Warren Commission concluded. And in the summer of 1979, the House Assassinations Committee reported that Kennedy was "probably assassinated as the result of a conspiracy" involving an assortment of gangland figures and anti-Castro activists.

All Stone is doing, he claims, is pointing out a possibility. "I'm not making this movie to yell fire in the theater," he insists. "I'm not. It's too taboo a subject and it's too sacred a subject. It doesn't do me any good to make a movie that stirs and boils everybody's passion up, because that doesn't necessarily lead to critical and financial success. Controversy can hurt you, it can backfire. You're playing with fire here."

Not a first for Stone.

In fact, this whole media battle is reminiscent, for him, of Vietnam. His adrenaline is up. "I feel like an infantry unit," he says, "where I'm basically low in the bunker and the bullets are flying over."

The thought makes his dark eyes twinkle, and he laughs aloud.

A State of Rage Stone is a charmer, there's no getting around it. A teddy bear, boyish and moody, with bushy dark eyebrows. That soft voice. He wears one of those Hollywood sport coat combinations where the jacket is just -- perfectly -- a little too big, so that when he sits at a table with his hands folded, for example, you can't see much of his hands. And when he moves he sort of flops around, gracefully though. You don't automatically think of him as a family man, though he and his wife, Elizabeth, are the happy parents of two young sons. Not infrequently he's been known to drink a lot, and at breakfast one day with some journalists at the Jefferson Hotel he begins the conversation by moaning melodramatically, "Oh God, I'm so hung over!"

He says he's very worried about being discredited as just another crazy Vietnam veteran, and yet the portrait he paints of himself is of a man full of terrible pain and angst, who is ultimately "saved" through his art in the classical and familiar romantic scenario. The son of a stockbroker who married his French sweetheart during World War II, Stone was a child of privilege -- the Hill School, vacations in France, Yale.

He hated it all. In 1965, still a teenager, he went to Saigon as a teacher. "I wanted to change my reality," he says. "I had a turbulent adolescence. My mom and my father were divorced and there were a lot of social problems and family problems, and I wanted to get out of this country. I didn't like Yale. I felt that there was another world out there. I felt like I was being processed like a socioeconomic product into a world that I had no interest in."

His literary heroes were Jack London and Joseph Conrad, who painted "this vision of the Far East as a salvation, as a second world, an orphan world in a sense. So I went out there, I saw it, I was really mesmerized and sucked up into it." Then he went into the merchant marine, wrote a book, went to Yale, dropped out. "Emotionally distraught" and with "suicidal tendencies," he enlisted in the Army as a private, frantic that the Vietnam War would be over before he could get into combat there.

"As the Charlie Sheen guy says in 'Platoon,' " he recalls, "I wanted to experience the bottom of the barrel… . I can't respect myself -- if I can go to the bottom of the barrel, I can start over. I didn't want any privileges. I wanted to be anonymous. I wanted infantry, and I wanted 'Nam." He got it all, serving with the 25th Infantry Division out of Cu Chi and then Dau Tieng, seeing heavy combat, getting wounded, seeing the "disgusting" corruption in Saigon, "the PX system, these fat cat sergeants with their liquor, the prostitution of the Vietnamese people."

When he returned through Fort Lewis, Wash., he realized that "the country was booming. The vast majority of people were totally indifferent to the war. I started to hide my uniform right away, tried to disappear into the crowd." He split for Mexico, "to escape. I couldn't stand it. California seemed like Mars. I went to Mexico and got into some trouble right away. I was in jail eight or nine days after I got back from Vietnam."

Drug charges. "The jail immediately told me what was going on in America -- with a capital K… . There were 5,000 kids in a 2,000-bed jail in San Diego. I saw right away the problem, the civil war… . I saw the potential for revolution and the brewing underside, that the war was not just in Vietnam."

The next few years were "a very dark period" for Stone. He lived in New York and worked on screenplays, went to film school, married his first wife, who managed to keep him somewhat glued together. "I had a very hard time in terms of my mental state," he recalls. "During that Woodstock thing, I felt like a rage, I felt like, an anger inside that they were not serious about this counterrevolution, that if they really meant it, they had to get serious in order for it to work, that it had to be militarized and politicized.

"I felt like, stop screwing around with Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Yuppie or whatever his name is, Jerry Rubin… . If the war is being fought in Vietnam, then let's bring the war home, because you know, power comes from the barrel of a gun. I was into that concept. If you're going to do it, do it! Get together a cadre of tough soldiers, people who had been over there, and the jail population, and try to make the revolution."

He was "serious" about all this at the time, but realizes now that it was "an internal state of rage. Eventually, I mellowed, and it was integrated … and I went to New York University film school, where I had the good fortune to be able to really funnel my anger and my rage into movies."

Whew!

Of course, the anger -- whatever it was -- kept smoldering away in Stone as he read, and listened, and watched. The Pentagon Papers helped him "understand the degree of duplicity of the government, with the fake body counts, the corruption, the immorality of the way we fought the war." There was Watergate. The revelations about the Phoenix program. Deception after deception by the government.

"By the time the mid-'70s rolled around," he says, "my screenplays were 'Platoon,' 'Born on the Fourth of July.' They took on an increasingly political tone." The eventual success of these two movies, he told Larry King, in a sense "gave me permission to attack another taboo subject," the Kennedy assassination.

But is "JFK" fact, or is it fiction? "The conclusions that we reached may seem to some to be hyperbolic," he says, "but I think once you grant that there may be a political motive for Kennedy's murder -- the winding down of the Cold War -- if you accept that assumption, then my conclusions about who and how are not so hyperbolic."

How come he doesn't help the viewer distinguish between the archived footage (the Zapruder film etc.) and the fictional, speculative scenes? "What am I supposed to do," he answers, "put a disclaimer before each scene, like a prescription drug label? … I think people are very smart. I think the point of the movie is to get you into the movie, get you past that looking glass so that you're part of the event, so that you can feel it and understand our hypothesis. You're free to walk out of that movie and say this is baloney. You don't have to accept it."

How could such a big conspiracy hang together -- hundreds of co-conspirators? "I see a cellular organization, much like the battle of Algiers," he answers. "Two or three hundred people can give silent assent, or 20 people. I never got up to 200 or 300. I mean, it says clearly in the movie, 'It's in the wind, it's in the air. Nothing is on paper …' A lot of people hated this president, a lot of people in powerful positions. That doesn't necessarily mean that they all meet in one place and say we're going to cut the head off the snake at such-and-such a place.

"No, I don't think it happens that way. I say it's in the air. It's in the wind. Calls are made. Discussions are had. At one point, at one secret point -- the most secret point -- a call is made. And there is a shot of a call being made to a man in silhouette. That person, whoever he be, is a technician. So there's one call, to one technician. One technician activates. How does he activate? Same cellular structure, moving down! … You don't know who you're working for… . You have no evidence."

Stone, leaning back into the sofa, talks on and on, apparently mesmerized by his inner vision. And given what we've seen these last few decades, who dares call him crazy?

Working Washington Meanwhile, Stone has apparently enjoyed his lesson in How to Work Washington. Has even learned a thing or two. Maybe there's a movie in it somewhere, or a scene anyway.

After the King show, he crowds into the elevator with Mankiewicz and others at CNN headquarters downtown.

"Novak," mutters Mankiewicz without completing the thought, "is sort of becoming the Robin Hood of …"

"I didn't know, I called him Mr. Evans!" says Stone.

"That's even better," says an aide.

Stone: "Is it Rowland and Evans? Novak and Evans?"

Aide: "Evans and Novak."

Stone: "And they're both on the right, is that correct?"

Mankiewicz: "Oh yeah."

Stone continues the questioning, about their column, their television appearances. Then, as the elevator door opens, he says brightly, "You missed the grimace he gave me!"

-Phil McCombs, The Washington Post, Dec 21 1991 [x]

[rainybubbles]

Imagine knitting with Izuku

•You were just entered in this knitting club because of your grandma.

With her puppy eyes, she convinced you that you were a bad grandchild who let their grandma lonely.

•« I didn’t know that « fluffy knitting » include fluffy boys,» you said looking at Midoriya who blushed.

« I...I didn’t see you before. »

« I’m new here. I mean, if you look at my knitting I think you can guess that. »

• He observed your art.

« Hmm it’s interesting. » He tried

« Penisteresting you mean. My easy mushroom looks like a dick. »

He laughed gently.

• « You tell that, not me. »

« So you think it too ! God, I thought I was doing the good thing. »

« No you’re wrong. Let me show you. »

He sat next to you.

• « You need doing that and this after. »

« And I get strong arms like you ? »

« What ? »

« I was wondering if it’s the knitting which gave you those biceps, because if it’s the case I will make that seriously. I want to have those mighty arms ! »

« I... No ! I mean maybe ? I also trained. »

« At the gym ? »

« At the beach. »

« How… ? »

« I carry some garbage and fridges. »

« Fridge ? »

« Yes and some tires. »

« ...Clark Kent I know you exist. »

« No ! I mean, it’s normal. »

« It’s not normal to carry fridge. It’s normal to carry your mom if you want or two grandmas or just a butterfly but not a fridge. »

« Guess I’m unnormal. »

« To end in a knitting club while you carry fridge, yes. But guess what; I’m weird too. I love pineapple pizza, listen to Mozart, Ramstein and Olivia Rodrigo in the same playlist. I wear crocs shoes every morning annnnnnnnd I’m in a knitting club while I hate knitting. »

« Welcome to the weird club. »

« Yes, you’re the president. No choice, I choose for you. »

« So you're my minister ? »

« No, your secretary. »

« Why ? »

« In the stories the secretary sleeps with their boss, and I want to sleep with you. »

« ...YOU... » He blushed and stopped his knitting

« Sorry, I...didn’t want to sound that lewd. And my competence in flirting are equal as my competence in knitting so... »

« Penistereseting ? » He guessed

« yeah. I will just….move next to my grandma. You know, after this and...forget this. It was awkward. »

« I will make you the first lady. »

« What ? »

« I don’t want to have a secret relationship if I was the president, I want to have you next to me. So the first lady. »

« Are you... »

« I was trying to talk with you because I’m interested too. »

« Oh... »

« So...are you free Saturday ? »

« Sure. »

« The cinema, at 10 AM ? »

« Okay, but not knitting. »

« Why ? Your mushroom now looks like a... »

« A big ass. »

« A peach. »

« Same thing. »

« I don’t think so. »

« You can eat both, they have hair and if you slap them it becomes red. »

« ….i won’t see the peaches the same as before. »

« Thanks to me. »

He laughed.

« Yes. »

« So I will let my wonderful mushroom to you, with my number and see you Saturday fluffy boy. »

« If I’m fluffy, you’re cute. » He said in a whisper with his red face

« I...yeah »

You stood up and leave.

Finally, the knitting club was more interesting that you thought, certainly when you make penis mushroom and talked with an Izuku Midoriya.

[accidentally-a-writer]

If you want, could you write "Verbal Abuse", "Suicide Attempt", and "Tearful Smile"? You're gonna make us all cry with your stories so lets take up a notch and make us sob

It was a beautiful day. The sun had risen and painted the skies in pinks and golds, without a cloud in sight. The air held the crispness of morning dew without suffocating the rising men and women, who woke up with the expectation of rain, as clouds had shrouded the city until that day. 

Such was the case for Alexander Hamilton and his family. He woke with a grimace, wishing for a few more moments under the covers with Eliza’s body warmth enveloping him, before seeing the delicate rays of light filter in through the curtains to their bedroom. 

He rolled over, placing a gentle kiss against her hair before setting his feet against the floor. Eliza groaned, and turned over, still mostly sleeping. 

There weren’t any true babes in their home at the moment, all being old enough to sleep through the night. It’d been ten long years of disrupted sleep for his wife, Hamilton figured he could gift her this a morning to stay in bed just a little bit longer. 

His bare feet padded down the hallway to the nursery, where most of his children slept. (Phillip, being the oldest, had garnered himself his own room and study for his schoolwork.) As if it were some sort of miracle, most of his children remained asleep as well. 

Alexander regretted his work hours, and the impact it had on his family life, he did; but the work he was doing for the President, and therefore the country, outweighed his own desires. 

He kissed the tops of each child’s head, careful not to disturb them in sleep, and left the nursery. Getting ready for work was a dull affair, it usually was, but today felt different somehow. There was an anticipation in the air that Hamilton could not place but welcomed all the same. 

When he left for work the painted sunrise had dimmed, but it was replaced by a sea of light blue and warm sunlight, so Hamilton didn’t count it as a loss. 

Hamilton enjoyed the walk to work, it was a part of his routine, rain or shine. It was almost like he was loyal to the route, depended on it to stay unchanging, no matter what the circumstances. 

It was a beautiful day, so he should have expected that it would go wrong. 

When Alexander Hamilton arrived at work all conversations came to an abrupt halt. The staff stared uncaringly at him, before resuming making whispered remarks. Hamilton furrowed a brow; he’d had some controversies yes, but nothing to incite such treatment. He tipped his head to the staff nevertheless and made his way to his personal office, trying not to let the rapid whispers that followed upset him.

Getting lost in his writing, that was what Alexander loved about his work everyday. The way the quill seemed to flow his its own volition, etching words that only came to his head after they were on paper. It was not enough to stave away his growing anxiety at whatever was being said about him behind his back. 

He knew of the gossip, of course he did, but that was gossip. This seemed… bigger than that. 

This seemed like a scandal, and he had done nothing scandalous (barring his scrappy attitude and controversial plan for the National Bank,) to warrant his colleagues’ attention. 

Jefferson, Lord help him, knocked on Hamilton’s door, which was already opened. 

“What can I help you with, Jefferson,” Hamilton sighed, not glancing up from his work. 

“Just wanted to congratulate you, Hamilton.” Jefferson was smirking, Alexander could hear it, but that wasn’t his main concern. The cold tendril of anxiety began to fill his veins as he finally put the quill down and looked at his adversary. 

“Congratulate me on what, Jefferson?” 

“Why, your rise out of poverty of course. You had us all fooled, bastard, that you were an orphan from a poor, but proper, family. But my God, that is an exaggeration isn’t it? You come all the way from the trading colonies, and your mother was no better than a two-bit whore.” Cold and absolute terror filled Hamilton’s core at Jefferson’s words. The blood drained from his face as he sat speechless and listened to him go on. “Did you not know?” Jefferson went on, “your whole life’s story was published this morning in a paper. Shame, that seems like something you’d want to stay under wraps, yes?” 

With a triumphant smirk Jefferson parted, leaving a hyperventilating Secretary of Treasury in his wake. 

Hamilton ripped out of his seat, rushing towards the only place he could think to go. He knocked and the door opened instantly, as if Washington were expecting him. 

Well, if he’d read the fucking papers he probably was. 

“Hamilton…” The president hadn’t even finished his greeting before Hamilton had shoved into his office unceremoniously. Washington sighed and shut the door behind the boy, praying to the Lord for strength for the next few minutes. 

“Did you know?” The man (boy, he’d always be just a boy) asked, already starting a pace infant of Washington’s desk. 

“I’d wondered - guessed, I suppose, that was back during the war. I never gave it much thought, son.” 

“I’m not your son,” Hamilton bit back. He stopped his pacing and gave a breathy chuckle, his head whipped and met Washington’s gaze. Washington felt his breath sucked away from his chest as he realized Alexander had tears in his eyes. “I’m not anyone’s son, as everyone now knows, don’t they?”

“I’m sorry about the article, Hamilton. They had no right to publish such personal information of you as they did.” 

“It’s not like it matters anymore, what’s done is done. Everyone knows, and we can’t make them forget. Dear God, my children, my children will be in disgrace with my misfortunes. I’ve ruined the family.” 

Washington watched in despair as Hamilton’s breathing become shallower and shallower, the hysteria in his eyes growing more and more pronounced. He wanted desperately to say something to make this okay again, to offer some sort of comfort to his former aide. But what could he say to this? This news, being released to the public in such a fashion… Washington couldn’t even imagine. 

No one deserves this. 

“Your family loves you, no matter your parentage. Did Eliza know before she married you?” Hamilton nodded jerkily. “Then what difference does it make to your family? You’re still Alexander Hamilton.” 

“Hah, Alexander Hamilton; bastard, orphan.” 

“Anyone who’s opinion is worth listening to will not give it a second thought.” 

“So you didn’t stop and reevaluate whatever the Hell this is? When your ‘suspicions’ were confirmed after all these years?” 

“I-” and of course Washington was going to deny it vehemently, because it doesn’t matter to him, it doesn’t, but there was a moment when he saw the article and felt his entire system grind to an abrupt halt. 

The pause was all Hamilton needed to infer a rejection. 

“No, Alexander, wait!” Washington called after the boy as he rushed from the room, his whole body jerking in an effort to catch him before he was out of his grasp. 

Once again, Hamilton’s entrance was met with sudden silence over the staff, paired with accusing and mocking stares. 

Bastard 

Haven’t you heard? Hamilton’s a bastard to some whore on the islands. 

Old habits die hard, is that how he secured his position? 

With the general? 

Who else? 

Maybe he’s the president’s bastard 

Scum

Dirty 

Half-breed

It went on and on and Alexander just wanted it to stop. The door slammed behind him with some force, he pulled the lock and let himself sink to his knees. This couldn’t be happening, why him? What had he done in is life to deserve this? It wasn’t his fault, James Hamilton abandoned him and his mother, it wasn’t his fault. 

So why was God punishing him? 

“Hamilton?” Someone was knocking on his office door. He didn’t want to see anyone, especially not the president. “Hamilton, open the door.” 

Twenty years, that’s how long he’d stayed in Washington’s service; twenty years of Washington guessing and wondering and pondering the tragic backstory his aide had divulged one night. He said that now he knew the truth it didn’t make a difference, but Alexander could see in his eyes, it did. It always made a difference, no matter where he was or what he did, or what he helped to build, it always made a difference. 

Shaky hands pulled a pistol, almost forgotten, from his desk. 

The pounding on the door was still here. 

“Go away.” Hamilton’s voice was weaker than he’d meant it to be. He tried again, “I said go away, sir, I don’t need you here for this.” 

The pounding stopped, but only for a stunned second. 

“For what? Alexander, for what? What are you doing?” The president was yelling, he was making a ruckus, surely someone on the staff would notice. He didn’t want anyone to notice him ever again. 

“Stop!” Hamilton cried, fighting for control of his breaking voice. “I can’t- I can’t do this. I’ve lived through so much, built my way up, built a life, and for what? It all comes crashing down for the same reason I built it in the first place.” 

Alexander didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a tear hit his shaking hand. 

“No, no, no, no, Alexander, listen to me, okay? We can move past this, no one will give a thought to it in a few months’ time. Your writings, they inspire people, you have that spark in you son, your writings make it so that it doesn’t matter who your father is. I’ve known that from the moment I met you, this country has known that from the moment you burst into motion. I need you to open the door Alexander, please, open the door.” Washington’s voice was becoming more and more frantic, the jiggling of the doorknob more and more pronounced. “I cannot lose you, please open the door.” 

It was enough for Hamilton’s shaky hand to glide the lock undone. Washington burst forth instantly, relieved eyes finding their way to Hamilton’s. Then they found the gun and a hysterical breath ripped its way out of his throat as he tore the metal away from Hamilton’s grip. 

His next motion was to simply cling to Hamilton, wrapping him in his arms as the boy broke down. They stayed like that for a while, not caring about the outside world for that little moment in time. 

Because they both knew the world would be waiting when they separated. 

[reading-writing-revolution]

"Time for a history lesson:

I intended to write this as soon as Donald Trump began to vilify this latest migrant caravan from Honduras, but my busy season as a farmer and political activist prevented me from doing so. Now that the anti-immigrant and anti-Semitic roots of the massacre in Pittsburgh have been revealed, it's even more critical for us in the United States to learn the truth.

The horror of life in Honduras is our fault.

This is not an exaggeration. It's not "blame America first" hyperbole. It's a simple truth.

In 1901, the writer O. Henry (real name William Sydney Porter) coined the phrase "Banana Republic" to describe Honduras and neighboring Central American countries. The term has lost most of its punch today (what with being appropriated by a clothing company), but at the time it described a supposedly democratic country fully controlled by foreign corporations. In the case of Honduras, the main company in charge in 1901 was the United Fruit Company (still ubiquitous on supermarket shelves, but now known as "Chiquita").

Big Banana was responsible for coups against Central American governments, for horrible mistreatment of workers, and even for massacres against communities where they did business. They installed favorable governments and then signed 99-year-leases on huge tracts of land for both plantations and railroads. They murdered opponents with impunity. Central Americans called United Fruit "el pulpo", the octopus, because they had their tentacles in every facet of society. And all of this was encouraged by the U.S. government. It was the definition of economic imperialism.

The "Banana Republic" label stuck to Honduras through most of the 20th Century, even as other industries (especially clothing manufacturing and resource extraction) took hold. Again and again, Central American democracies were destroyed by a series of military dictatorships.

Now jump forward to the 1970s and 1980s: Economic stagnation and the legacy of decades of imperialism led to leftist movements (both non-violent and violent) fighting against their corrupt and ineffective governments. The backlash led to the notorious "contras" in Nicaragua, U.S.-backed right-wing militias tasked with preventing leftists from taking power by whatever means necessary. Our government used neighboring Honduras as the base of operations due to a favorable relationship with the military dictatorship in charge (and we still have a major military base there).

An American by the name of John Negroponte arrived in Honduras in 1981 to serve as Ambassador for Ronald Reagan. Known today mainly as George W. Bush's Director of National Intelligence, Negroponte made his career in Honduras covering up the military's campaign of abductions, torture, and murder in service to the Cold War. Little was known of the depth of his cynicism at the time, but the release of documents over the past decades has made it all too clear (there are reams of such documents available online if you're interested). A CIA-backed unit of the Honduran military known as Battalion 316 became particularly notorious for extrajudicial killings and disappearances of leftists, including labor unions, student leaders, and indigenous people.

In 1982, following the Honduran military's handing power to a new civilian government, Honduras crafted a new Constitution. By all accounts, Honduran military leaders, with John Negroponte whispering in their ear, played a large role in that process. The end result was a document that ensured Honduras would remain a weak country in thrall to the United States and global corporations in perpetuity. One of the keys to this was insisting on a single 4-year term for the Presidency, which inevitably led to instability. Another key was the provision that certain parts of the Constitution (including the Presidential term limit) could never be changed, and that anyone in government who so much as proposed changing them could no longer serve in government. It was that Constitutional article that resulted in the 2009 coup against the center-left elected President, Manuel Zelaya (kidnapped by the military in the middle of the night and left on the tarmac of an airport in Costa Rica), after he proposed a non-binding referendum on the subject of holding a Constituent Assembly to potentially amend the Constitution.

A few months after the coup I had the honor of visiting Honduras as part of a human rights delegation led by the Christian organization Witness for Peace. We met with leaders of the non-violent resistance, including many (like the organization COFADEH) who had struggled for justice since the 1980s. I met young people who had seen their friends and comrades murdered or disappeared just days or weeks earlier.

We visited San Pedro Sula, the 2nd largest city in Honduras (after the capital, Tegucigalpa), an industrial port city in the north of the country, which at the time was the most dangerous city in the world. Despite the war in Iraq, it was a deadlier place than Baghdad. Due to its location and the nearby deep-water port of Puerto Cortes (the largest in Central America), San Pedro Sula is the most important city in Honduras for imports and exports, both legal and black market.

American fast food companies had recently taken hold in Honduras, thanks to tax-free "free trade zones" set up to encourage American businesses to locate there. Across the country we saw newly installed strips of American fast food, a shiny new Domino's next to a Wendy's next to a Popeye's, looking just like they would in New Jersey -- even with all signs and slogans in English. We were told that these franchises arrived ready to install in container ships coming from Houston (the nearest major US port) into the port at San Pedro Sula. Hidden among the styofoam containers and milkshake mixes would be flat-screen TVs, high-end clothes, and even luxury cars, all smuggled in tax-free. What's worse, the same containers would then be sent back "empty," but would actually be full of illegally harvested tropical hardwoods, jaguar pelts, and even bulk loads of earth to be processed in the United States for valuable minerals.

On top of all this corrupt economic activity, Honduras became a key drug trafficking center between Colombia and the US, leading San Pedro Sula to become a shooting gallery as various gangs sought to gain control.

Against the advice of locals, a few of us decided to take a stroll through the city after dark. What we found was surreal. What had been a bustling central square a few hours earlier was like a ghost town. The few people we did run into either eyed us up and down menacingly, or told us to get off the streets as they hustled to do the same. We soon returned to our motel, a decrepit two-story building with about 20 rooms and a rifle-bearing guard in the lobby.

Not long after we returned to the United States, deposed President Zelaya snuck back into the country riding in the trunk of a car. He sought refuge in the Brazilian embassy as the interim government prepared to hold whitewashing elections in an effort to turn the world's attention away. For a little while the Obama administration maintained the correct stance (that what happened was a coup, and that Zelaya should be restored to power), but a few weeks before the election we changed our position and sided with the coup regime. It's no coincidence that this happened after Honduras' fraudulent leaders hired Lanny Davis to lobby for them in Washington. An old friend of Hillary and Bill Clinton, it was apparently easy for him to get the then-Secretary of State to change her position. And once again Honduras slid back to Banana Republic status.

Now, a few right-wing Presidents later, Honduras remains a weak country, just as we intended. The government is irredeemably corrupt, just as we intended. And the people lack opportunity, just as we intended.

The Honduran people are not ignorant of this history, as most of us are. On the contrary, they know exactly what we've done to their country. I have no doubt this is one reason why so many of them want to come here now. Their hopelessness is our fault. They have every right to feel we owe them.

The people in this caravan are not simply immigrants or migrants seeking a better life. They are asylum seekers looking for sanctuary. And they are victims of over a century of American imperialism looking for redress, following the only path we've left for them.

Shame on Donald Trump for vilifying these suffering people. Shame on the Republican Party for falling for his lies. Shame on the media for failing to report the whole story.

And shame on all of us -- and our parents, and theirs, and theirs -- for allowing any of this to happen in the first place."

Nate Kleinman

[pocharryfics]

HI CAN U PLEASE DO A DRABBLE ABOUT BLACK HISTORY MONTH WHERE YOU JUST STARTED DATING HARRY AND YOU'RE EDUCATING HIM ON HOW IMPORTANT IT IS TO YOU AND WHAT IT SYMBOLIZES AND STUFF LIKE THAT? THANK YOUUU BTW I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BLOG!!

I’d like to preface this by saying that this drabble is, without the shadow of a doubt, the worst thing I think I’ve ever posted on this blog. If it weren’t for the fact that I wanted to get in at least one Black History Month blurb before February was over, this disgrace would not exist in any form on any platform. Vey self-deprecating, I know, but I had to give a fair warning and let you all know in case you wanted to turn back. This is 10/10 a snake habitat, please turn around. There are much nicer drabbles in my masterpost that you can read instead.

You had absolutely no explanation nor rhyme or reason, but one Tuesday afternoon you felt compelled to ask Harry what he knew about Black History Month.

“Not too much, m’embarrassed to say. Didn’t really celebrate it in school cause it was considered an American thing.”

“What about when you got out of school?”

“Not much then either. See some fans tweeting a few things about it in February, but that’s about it. S’kinda embarrassing now when I say it out loud; feel like a proper git,” Harry sighed, mildly ashamed at his lack of knowledge.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s never too late to start learning, is it?”

He nodded glumly before allowing you to continue.

“In fact, I helped my baby cousin with the same thing a few years back. They weren’t really teaching her much Black History in school so my mom and I tried to bridge that gap; every weekday in February when we would drop her off to school we would tell her one Black History fact and encourage her to share it with her friends at school. No idea if she actually told anyone, but she left the car knowing it so I guess that’s good enough,” you reminisced, thinking back and smiling at the fond memory of your family.

“S’cute. Already flexing those teacher muscles and you weren’t even in the program yet.” Harry chuckled, nudging you and gesturing towards the colander on the cabinet.

He accepted it with a nod and set it down into the sink, reaching over your head for the sea salt to prep the pasta noodles for draining. It had been your turn to cook, but impending midterms had monopolized all of your focus and you had forgotten to stop by the store - coming right home after class and pouring over one of many study guides. When he had turned his key into the lock all of your neglected responsibilities came flooding back.

Harry had pretended not to notice and urged you to resume studying, but you had felt too negligent to comply and insisted on whipping up something yourself. You met each other halfway and decided to cook the meal together. Lucky for you, there was an adequate amount of pasta noodles left in the pantry and a can of Ragu so an emergency trip to the grocery was avoided.

“You’re not an eleven-year-old girl though, so I won’t be as nice to you as I was to her. In fact, how about this - you’ll give the facts to me?”

“Giving me homework, are yeh? Not a teacher yet, pet,” Harry surmised, pulling you in closer and nearly dunking his fingers in the tomato sauce as he reached over the pot to take your hand in his.

“New fact each day, Harry. And I want good ones too, not the same ones that get regurgitated every year. I don’t wanna hear anything about peanut butter or traffic lights.”

“New fact every day. Got it.”

You’re not sure if you really expected Harry to follow through with it; impending examinations had captured your full attention and if he had said anything at all  you likely wouldn’t have even noticed. But just as agreed upon, Harry greeted you that Wednesday morning with a fresh mug of coffee and the first of many facts.

“Hiram Rhodes Revels was the first Black man elected to the US Senate in 1870. Only got to serve a year, but still,” Harry recalled, handing you a mug of fresh coffee before pouring his own. “Right in the middle of Reconstruction and in Mississippi no less.”

And so a routine fell into place between the two of you. Each morning Harry would share a new fact that he learned over breakfast and you would discuss it at length before you had to go to class and he left for his meetings.

“A teenage girl called Claudette Colvin refused to give up her seat on the bus nine months before Rosa Parks did.”

“Mmmm hmmm. That’s cause everyone thought Rosa would be a better spokesman because people would be able to sympathize more with a tired little old lady than a pregnant teenager. Poor Claudette.”

“But she wasn’t some little old lady at all, she was a secretary for the local NAACP chapter! The whole bloody bus boycott was a setup! Crazy. I always thought it just sorta happened organically. I had no idea that it was a big protest planned fo’ months.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know Harry,” you teased.

Harry gave an offended pout and snatched a piece of your toast, sinking his teeth into the buttery bread before you could grab it back.

“Did yeh know that Shirley Chisholm was almost assassinated three times when she was trying to run for president in 1972? That’s fucking mental, innit?”

“She’s an inspiration, all right,” you hummed in agreeance while blowing the steam from your coffee.

“You ever think of changing majors? Maybe go into politics?”

“I never really thought about it too much. If I ever changed majors, I’d probably switch to criminal justice and go to law school. Why? Think I’d be a good politician?”

“Think you would make a good president. Follow up in her footsteps and win it for old Shirley.”

“I think you just wanna be the First Husband.”

“Think they’d let me?”

“I don’t know, but could you imagine? Former pop star turned First Gentlemen.”

“Former?”

“I don’t think they’d let you keep performing if you were the First Husband; it would be a major security risk. If you think you have it bad know, you’d really have to have a security detail around you 24/7.”

“Good point. Maybe yeh should just stick to teaching.”

“W.E.B Du Bois.”

“What about him?”

Do yeh know that he -”

“Co-founded the NAACP? I sure did.”

“But did yeh also know that he was the first -”

“The first African-American to receive a PhD from Harvard? Absolutely. He’s very well known for his academic achievements.”

Harry heaved a long sigh at the interruption and you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his pouty bottom lip. “Gonna let me finish or aren’t yeh?”

“I’m sorry, Harry. Please go on, I’m all ears.”

“Anyway. He wrote this amazin’ book called The -”

“The Souls of Black Folks. It’s a literary masterpiece that … oh I didn’t even mean to do it that time. Wait, come back! Harry!

Harry was sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, contemplatively sipping his coffee when you found him that morning. Long shadows and dark circles haunted his face and it looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. You flicked the light switch on the wall when you made your way in.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin? And why are you sitting here in the dark?”

He took a long and plaintive sip of his warm beverage before he spoke. “Are you aware of the monetization of incarceration and the exploitation of minorities in this country’s prison-industrial complex?”

That took you for a loop and you didn’t know what to say for a moment so he took your stunned silence as an opportunity to continue.

“Did you know that Ronald Reagan brought crack into inner city neighborhoods during the War on Drugs to fill up privatized prisons?”

“I thought you were gonna wait so we can watch 13th together?”

Harry only shook his head and stared forlornly out of the kitchen window. When it had finally clicked in your mind, you had to cover your mouth to keep the giggles at bay. The dark circles underneath his eyes, the withdrawn demeanor, and the yawn that broke from his berry red mouth gave everything away. You had anticipated that all of this newfound information would have an effect on him, but you couldn’t possibly have predicted this.

He was literally tired from being so woke.

I’d like to apologize to @milkmeharry @mendaxtheuser and anyone who sat through this.