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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 22 days ago

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Matt Davies

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 24, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Mar 25, 2025

Today the editor-in-chief of The Atlantic, Jeffrey Goldberg, dropped the story that senior members of the Trump administration planned the March 15 U.S. attack on the Houthis in Yemen over Signal, a widely available encrypted app that is most decidedly not part of the United States national security system. The decision to steer around government systems was possibly an attempt to hide conversations, since the app was set to erase some messages after a week and others after four weeks. By law, government communications must be archived.

According to Goldberg, the use of Signal may also have violated the Espionage Act, which establishes how officials must handle information about the national defense. The app is not approved for national security use, and officials are supposed either to discuss military activity in a sensitive compartmented information facility, or SCIF, or to use approved government equipment.

The use of Signal to plan a military attack on Yemen was itself an astonishingly dangerous breach, but what comes next is simply mind-boggling: the reason Goldberg could report on the conversation is that the person setting it up included Goldberg—a reporter without security clearance—in it.

Goldberg reports that on March 11 he received a connection request from someone named Michael Waltz, although he did not believe the actual Michael Waltz, who is Trump’s national security advisor, would be writing to him. He thought it was likely someone trying to entrap him, although he thought perhaps it could be the real Waltz with some information. Two days later, he was included in the “Houthi PC small group,” along with a message that the chat would be for “a principles [sic] group for coordination on Houthis.”

As Goldberg reports, a “principals committee generally refers to a group of the senior-most national-security officials, including the secretaries of defense, state, and the treasury, as well as the director of the CIA. It should go without saying—but I’ll say it anyway—that I have never been invited to a White House principals-committee meeting, and that, in my many years of reporting on national-security matters, I had never heard of one being convened over a commercial messaging app.”

The other names on the app were those of Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Vice President J.D. Vance, Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, Brian McCormack from the National Security Council, Central Intelligence Director John Ratcliffe, Trump’s Middle East and Ukraine negotiator Steve Witkoff, White House chief of staff Suzy Wiles, perhaps White House deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller, and Trump’s nominee for head of the National Counterterrorism Center, Joe Kent.

Goldberg assumed the chat was fake, some sort of disinformation campaign, although he was concerned when Ratcliffe provided the full name of a CIA operative in this unsecure channel. But on March 14, as Vance, for example, took a strong stand against Europe—“I just hate bailing Europe out again”—and as Hegseth emphasized that their messaging must be that “Biden failed,” Goldberg started to think the chat might be real. Those in the chat talked of finding a way to make Europe pay the costs for the U.S. attack, and of “minimiz[ing] risk to Saudi oil facilities.”

And then, on March 15, the messages told of the forthcoming attack. “I will not quote from this update, or from certain other subsequent texts,” Goldberg writes. “The information contained in them, if they had been read by an adversary of the United States, could conceivably have been used to harm American military and intelligence personnel, particularly in the broader Middle East, Central Command’s area of responsibility. What I will say, in order to illustrate the shocking recklessness of this Signal conversation, is that the Hegseth post contained operational details of forthcoming strikes on Yemen, including information about targets, weapons the U.S. would be deploying, and attack sequencing.”

On the chat, reactions to the military strikes were emojis of a fist, an American flag, fire, praying hands, a flexed bicep, and “Good Job Pete and your team!!,” “Kudos to all…. Really great. God Bless,” and “Great work and effects!”

In the messages, with a reporter on the line, Hegseth promised his colleagues he would “do all we can to enforce 100% OPSEC,” or operations security. In a message to the team outlining the forthcoming attack, Hegseth wrote: “We are currently clean on OPSEC.”

Two hours after Goldberg wrote to the officials on the chat and alerted them to his presence on it by asking questions about it, National Security Council spokesperson Brian Hughes responded: “The thread is a demonstration of the deep and thoughtful policy coordination between senior officials.”

When asked about the breach, Trump responded: “I don't know anything about it. I'm not a big fan of The Atlantic. To me, it's a magazine that's going out of business. I think it’s not much of a magazine. But I know nothing about it. You're saying that they had what?” There is nothing that the administration could say to make the situation better, but this made it worse. As national security specialist Tom Nichols noted: “If the President is telling the truth and no one’s briefed him about this yet, that’s another story in itself. In any other administration, [the chief of staff] would have been in the Oval [Office] within nanoseconds of learning about something like this.”

Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth is evidently going to try to bully his way out of this disaster. When asked about it, he began to yell at a reporter that Goldberg is a “deceitful and highly discredited so-called journalist who’s made a profession of peddling hoaxes time and time again.” Hegseth looked directly at the camera and said: “Nobody was texting war plans.” But Goldberg has receipts. The chat had “the specific time of a future attack. Specific targets, including human targets…weapons systems…precise detail…a long section on sequencing…. He can say that it wasn’t a war plan, but it was a minute-by-minute accounting of what was about to happen.”

Zachary B. Wolf of CNN noted that “Trump intentionally hired amateurs for top jobs. This is their most dramatic blunder.” Senator Jon Ossoff (D-GA) told Brian Tyler Cohen: “My first reaction... was 'what absolute clowns.' Total amateur hour, reckless, dangerous…. [T]his is what happens when you have basically Fox News personalities cosplaying as government officials.” Foreign policy scholar Timothy Snyder posted: “These guys inherited one of the most functional state apparatus in the history of the world and they are inhabiting it like a crack house.”

Many observers have noted that all of these national security officials knew that using Signal in this way was against the law, and their comfort with jumping onto the commercial app to plan a military strike suggests they are using Signal more generally. “How many Signal chats with sensitive information about military operations are ongoing within the Pentagon right now?” Senator Adam Schiff (D-CA) posted. “Where else are war plans being shared with such abject disregard for our national security? We need answers. Right now.”

National security journalists and officials are aghast. Former commanding general of United States Army Europe and the Seventh Army Mark Hertling called the story “staggering.” Former CIA officer Matt Castelli posted: “This is more than ‘loose lips sink ships’, this is a criminally negligent breach of classified information and war planning involving VP, SecDef, D[irector of the] CIA, National Security Advisor—all putting troops at risk. America is not safe.” Former transportation secretary Pete Buttigieg, who spent seven years as an intelligence officer in the Navy Reserve, posted: “From an operational security perspective, this is the highest level of f**kup imaginable. These people cannot keep America safe.”

Rhode Island senator Jack Reed, the top Democrat on the Armed Services Committee, said: "If true, this story represents one of the most egregious failures of operational security and common sense I have ever seen. The carelessness shown by President Trump's cabinet is stunning and dangerous. I will be seeking answers from the Administration immediately." Armed Services Committee member Don Bacon (R-NE), a former Air Force brigadier general, told Axios that “sending this info over non-secure networks” was “unconscionable.” “Russia and China are surely monitoring his unclassified phone.”

That the most senior members of Trump’s administration were sharing national security secrets on unsecure channels is especially galling since the people on the call have used alleged breaches of national security to hammer Democrats. Sarah Longwell and J.V. Last of The Bulwark compiled a series of video clips of Marco Rubio, Stephen Miller, Tulsi Gabbard, John Ratcliffe, and especially Pete Hegseth talking about the seriousness of handling secret information and the need for accountability for those who mishandle it. When they were accusing then–secretary of state Hillary Clinton of such a breach, they called for firings, accountability, and perhaps criminal charges. Indeed, Trump rose to power in 2016 with the charge that Clinton should be sent to prison for using a private email server. “Lock her up!” became the chant at his rallies.

Today, for her part, Clinton posted a link to the story along with an eyes emoji and wrote: “You have got to be kidding me.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Foreign policy #epic screwups #incompetence #malice #unqualified #Dept of Defense #non-secure networks #American History #Matt Davies #The Atlanta #Jeffrey Goldberg

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 1 month ago

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Infatuation - Chapter 3

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe's never had too much trouble adapting.

Warnings: NONE HERE.

My motivation hit a new low. I’m trying to find time for my projects, but it’s become increasingly difficult with what I can only assume to be a form of depression looming over my head. Despite it all, here is a new chapter that’s been sitting in my drafts!

My next shift at Anavrin is slow, long, and haunting. I attempted to occupy myself with a list of possible themes for future book displays, things that Calvin and, more importantly, Forty would approve of. With my phone, I scrolled through socials, observing new trends, watching what was and what could become the new popular fad with the mainstream crowd. I hated it.

My reprieve should’ve come in the form of our little app – the one I can snoop on your texts with – but you hadn’t messaged Love since yesterday. I assumed you’d called her back after I had left, but I didn’t have access to that nor to anything beyond your lacking exchange of messages. I looked about the store, watching an older woman as she perused the biography section with her basket of tangerines. As she slotted a book back into place, she smiled at me. I smiled in return, but quickly turned my attention back down to my phone. I hadn’t heard you come in – the bell on your bag a ghost to my ears �� and lunch was well over.

“Can I get this wrapped?” I shut my phone off and pull it, along with my list, under the counter. I smile at the older woman as her shaky hands set down her selected book.

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua.

“We don’t gift wrap, but we do have gift bags. Is that alright?”

She smiles tightly and nods her head. I reach down and pull out a folded bag, alongside a single recyclable sheet of tissue paper. I scan the book and the bag. I never had to gift wrap anything at Mooney’s.

“I’m getting this for my daughter-in-law. She’s giving me a lovely grand daughter this month,” She beams. I don’t care. “Thought I’d get her a parenting book.”

“This book is a memoir, It’s not really meant to be followed as a parenting book.” I say, folding the paper over the book.

“Huh, well. Maybe she can learn something anyway. Life has lessons, too.”

I nod, slide the wrapped book into the bag, and ring her up. She pays with a tap, glancing my way every so often, but takes the bag from my hands and shuffles away a moment later. By the looks of it, she didn’t seem too happy with my response.

Before I pull my phone back into view, I catch sight of Love by the open kitchen window. She has her phone to her ear, pacing. Talking. She bites her lip when her mouth shuts. It seemed I caught the end of the conversation as she tears away from her phone, ending the call. Love taps away at the screen, biting her thumb. I quickly look down to my phone again, app open, but no ping. I feel my phone buzz and I open my own messages.

‘Dinner tonight?’

I look up again and catch Love smiling at me, warm, inviting, a hint of something more. She waves. I smile, delirious, hot, some bitter feeling creeping up. I wave back.

—

By the time we arrive at Love’s place, it’s late. Love drops her grocery bags onto the counter and I follow in tow. She stretches her arms to the sky, flexing her fingers. I take her purse from her shoulder and set it aside.

“Sooo… How was lunch today, Lovey?” I tease. Love gives me a pointed glare, a smile peeking through before she punches me in the arm. I feign a pained hiss, laughing when she rolls her eyes. She turns her attention to the groceries.

“You’re funny,” She says, humourlessly. “My lunch was fine. A little lonely, but fine.”

“Didn’t Y/N keep you company?”

“No, actually. She didn’t show. I called her and she told me she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Maybe I don’t know her too well, but it doesn’t really sound like her to cancel without warning.” I remember the app – no messages were exchanged.

“No, it’s… not like her at all. But it’s alright,” Love huffs. “She’s been stressed lately.”

“You wanna know what I think?” I ask as she hands me a bag of fruits.

“Mhm? Toss those in the freezer for me.”

I turn to put them away as I continue.

“I think you have a tendency to quite literally Love-bomb,” When I turn back around, Love looks at me unhappily. I laugh and raise my hands in defence of my point, gingerly stepping to her. “Heyy – She just came back to LA and you’ve been practically non-stop poking her for attention. Now, I’m not saying she hates it… I just think you need to ease up a little. Back up. That’s all.”

“I don’t know,” She tries. My fingers find her shoulders and glide down the sides of her arms. I slowly grasp her hands as she relaxes into the affectionate touch.

“But I do.” I reassured. She sighs.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Always am,” I arrogantly say. Love playfully jabs me in the arm and huffs. “Hey!”

“How about home made pizzas?” She suggests, turning back to the grocery bags and continuing to unpack them like she hadn’t just stabbed her finger into my shoulder. She doesn’t particularly enjoy being teased like this, but I can’t help it.

“Sounds good, Lovey.”

She gives me another pointed glare, but the creeping smile she attempts to suppress continues to say it all.

“Help me unpack, will ya?” I kiss her cheek and reach across to the bags.

“Anything for you, Lovey.” I whisper by her ear. Exhausted, she only huffs.

I take hold of the neck of a bottle and slide it out of a lone bag. Love watches me as she places a bag of naan on the counter.

“Artisanal vodka?” I ask, shifting the bottle in my hands as I read the label.

“Saw it at the store, thought I’d pick it up. It can go in the cupboard,” She lazily points behind her as she takes out the fresh bag of tomatoes. I make my way over to the cabinet, opening the door and placing it among partially drunk bottles of wine.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask.

“Well, seeing how Y/N is doing with everything, I wanted to get her something nice to encourage her.”

“Didn’t seem like the artisanal vodka type,”

“Oh she’s not, but I wanted to get something that could double as, you know? Decoration?” She laughs and I imagine the bottle sitting on a mantle, sticking out among cheap decor. I haven’t known many people to keep their full, unopened bottles of alcohol out as decoration. It’s something you see in rich households, and usually only ever in the movies. They’d more realistically find themselves collecting dust at the back of a cupboard, anyway. “Anyway…”

I turn back around as Love beckons me over, folding the now empty grocery bags.

“It’s late, so I don’t think I’ll make the dough tonight… we’ll use naan instead. Is that alright?”

“Love, it’s more than alright. It’s perfect.”

—

When I arrive at the apartment on my next day off, a moving truck is parked in front and the front door is wedged to be kept open. I decide not to hit the buzzer as I scoot on by, making room for the men carrying boxes and furniture up the stairs of the building. I hop up the steps eagerly, watching the movers march down to pick up more loot from the truck.

When I get to your door, I go to knock – but set my hand against the door handle in one last change of mind. I twist it open.

Inside, I spot you on your floor, fumbling with the dining table. It’s on its side, and you’re vocally sobbing as your hands work some screws – only to pull on the leg and find it hasn’t loosened one bit.

“Hey,” I say, and you jump. You turn to me and wipe your eyes. Your delicate features are red and heated by the crying. “Are you okay?”

“Will, I –” You sniff, turning back to the table. “Oh my god.”

“I think you have new neighbours moving in,” I say. “Everything good?”

“No,” You grunt, pushing the table back and running your fingers through messy strands. “I’m just trying to take apart this – this stupid Ikea table. It’s a nightmare.”

“Won’t it fit through the door regardless?”

“Thats not –” You hiccup. “That’s not the point. The buyer wanted it taken apart.”

“Yeah? And how much are they buying it for?”

“Thirty dollars.”

“That’s hardly a reasonable price for the labour. Hey – look at me. Put the screwdriver down.”

“But they won’t buy it unless I take the table apart first – I just want it out of here. Please.”

“I’ll help then. But you should know there are definitely people out there who would buy it the way it is. Putting together Ikea furniture can be pretty daunting.”

“And taking it apart is a pain in the fucking ass!”

“Definitely, but I’ll help. Here –” I take my boots off and make my way to you. I sit down with a grunt, not often finding myself seated on the floor. I reach my hand out and smile to you.

You drop the screwdriver into my awaiting palm, and try to smile back. You wipe your eyes again, sniffling.

I turn my attention onto the leg of the table you’d been trying to pry off.

“So… how are you feeling?,” I shift my position as I start screwing the legs off.

You scoff.

“Like shit.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” You start, and I keep quiet knowing you’ll fill the silence that follows with an answer. You sniff again, your nose stuffed. I hardly believe you’re only crying over a table. “I’m just… I’m feeling… I’m kind of sad.”

“Why’re you sad?”

“Jesus, Will. You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” I defend. “It’s not every day you find someone you know curled up on the floor and crying over an Ikea table.”

“Fair,” You huff in a similar fashion to Love, I think amusedly.

“So…?”

“It’s my mom,” You finally answer. Chewing on your lip as you watch me turn the table to deal with the next screw. “I feel like I never had a mom. But I’m still left cleaning up after her. She was real, you know? The amount of shit she hoarded – all the pictures – it proves it. But not… she’s not really my mom. I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“That’s okay, take your time.”

“Maybe I’m just being ungrateful.”

“You don’t owe your mom anything. Not even gratitude.”

“I know that, but… I just – It’s hard. I feel like my mom died years ago, but I didn’t cry then. I’m crying now.”

When the next screw falls into my hand, I place it with the others. I take a second to look at you, but you shrink away. Hiding. You don’t like when people stare, I can tell you feel transparent.

“Grief hits us all differently. I think you’re mourning the person she could’ve been. It’s sad to think, but some people aren’t built to appreciate the lives they had. They’re just like that,” You hide behind your hair. “They don’t always deserve their families,” Without thinking it through, my free hand finds your cheek, grazing my thumb across it and pushing straying tears out of the way. When all you do to react is look down, I allow my fingers to brush the hair out of your shyly hidden eyes. You gulp, and I watch the familiar bob of your throat. You look up to me, then. I burn hot at the close proximity, the intimate action becoming all too real the moment you set your eyes on me. You don’t say a word, and I tear my attention – and my hand – back to the table.

I hear you let out a deep breath, shaky almost.

“Thank you,” It comes out different. You wipe your tears away – or, rather, you wipe my touch right off your cheek. I don’t overthink it. I try not to. You lift yourself up a second too soon, and I immediately regret putting my hand on you. I feel shame flood my system, growing in a dark consuming pit. I grind my teeth and drop more screws onto the rolling pile. When you come back, you surprise me by sitting in the same spot you had left – maybe a tad bit closer.

“Do you want one?” You ask me, and I look over to find the familiar metal tin facing me; open and eager. The same number of cookies we’d left, minus the one in your free hand. You hadn’t had a cookie since you shared them with me last. The shame that attempted to overtake me a moment ago drains out as I reach in. I smile at the cookies, bringing one between my teeth.

#joe goldberg #joe goldberg x love quinn #joe goldberg x reader #love Quinn #love quinn x reader #x reader #you x reader #netflix you #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere joe goldberg #yandere love quinn

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bvckbiter · 3 months ago

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like if im gonna be honest one of my last straws that wasnt about the show with the twitter fandom was how blatantly misogynistic and bad-faith reading everyone was towards her character on top of the fact that the fucking makers of val//grace smaus ALWAYS WITHOUT FAIL make her the unreasonably bitchy or even abusive gf and its just so unbelievably gross because its done for contrived angst rather than anything well-explored

i am a calypso pjo defender til the day i die fuck rick fuck hoo and fuck the fandom

#lmao that one smau i read where she was actually pretty entitled to be bitchy towards leo because he’s sleep over with jason n piper #like every other day #then the narrative treated her like she was an unreasonable joe goldberg type for if #CRAZY!!!#ngl i started to hate vg a bit bc of this like a lot of the twitter shippers give me ‘this is the good approved wholesome uwu correct ship’#fandom wank #pjotwt salt

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misfitwashere · 21 days ago

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March 24, 2025

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

MAR 25 READ IN APP

Today, for her part, Clinton posted a link to the story along with an eyes emoji and wrote: “You have got to be kidding me.”

—

#heather cox richardson #letters from an american

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monsterswithimagines · 7 months ago

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Undisclosed Desires - Part 16

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1436

Masterlist

You told me you were insecure, but I didn't really believe you.

Girls - women - say they're insecure because they think being confident is the same as bragging. They see a woman walk confidently down the street, and they consider it being slutty.

Don't believe me, (Y/n)? Just think. When an insecure woman gets raped, she is a victim. Her life is ruined. But when a confident woman gets raped, she asked for it. She ruined the man's life. Women really think like this. It's all #girlpower and #badbitches until somebody gets hurt.

But you? You don't think like that.

And you really were insecure. I can tell because you're finally gaining some confidence, and it makes a world of difference. You give your opinion to your coworkers. You go outside without spending an hour staring at yourself in the mirror (you rarely wore make-up anyway, but you used to worry about your hair).

And you're writing. A lot.

You say you're not ready for me to read your stories, but you use Google Docs, which means everything is right there on your phone. You can't blame me for sneaking a peak when you go take a shower. Really, you want me to.

I don't know what you were talking about when you said you couldn't write. Your stories are amazing. You are wasting your talents, working in marketing.

The story you're writing right now is about a glass labyrinth. A girl has been walking through it for as long as she can remember. She can't find the exit. Then one day, she meets a boy on the other side of the wall. They try to walk the same route, hoping to eventually find a way to be together, but they never do. At least not where you're at, yet.

But I know they'll find each other eventually, (Y/n), because the story is really about us. All of your stories are about us. About being distant, and then coming together.

You're writing about us being from different countries, and then finding each other. You have to be. It's all one big metaphor.

I love your stories.

You're not fighting with your mom anymore, which is good because it means you are in an infinitely better mood lately. Even when you're grumpy, you don't shut me out anymore - you want me as close as possible, all the time. When I'm working and you're not, you even hang out at the bookstore.

You also want to see my apartment. You think it's weird that you haven't before. So one night, I clean up and I invite you over. I cook for you. It turns out bad, but you praise me because it's been forever since you ate anything homecooked.

You love my apartment. You love my old typewriters (you learn all their names in less than an hour) and you love that even though it's one room, it still feels like the living room, bedroom and kitchen are seperate rooms. You love that all my stuff is secondhand and old. You even love Paco, who comes over halfway through the dinner which I failed to cook.

His mom and Ron are fighting again, and you tell Paco that Ron sounds “like a dick”. But when Ron comes banging at my door, you smile sweetly and say you think Paco's just the nicest kid and get me out of a lecture because Ron thinks it's just fine for Paco to be here if there's a girl like you around, apparently.

I meet your grandparents. Not in person, of course. One day your grandma facetimes you while I'm over at yours, and you turn my phone and tell me to wave, and then your grandfather asks me a thousand questions. You don't have a dad, but your grandfather is like one. And I think he approves of me.

Basically, everything about our relationship is falling into place. But then:

“I'm going home for Christmas.”

My world shatters.

“Home?” I ask. Maybe, just maybe, you mean something other than what I think you mean.

“To The Netherlands,” you say. You pause. “My grandmother really wants me there.”

This is the worst. This is insane. You can't just go that far away from me. Anything could happen to you!

I say: “isn't Christmas three months away? Why are you telling me already?”

Like I don't care. Like I hadn't even thought about Christmas.

“Well, I don't want you to make plans for us, or anything.”

I already made plans. We were going to have dinner with Mr. Mooney. It would have been incredibly depressing, but you have to meet him at some point because he's the closest thing I have to family. Then, I was going to take you on a carriage ride, and we were going to watch Shakespeare in the park because you've read Macbeth, but you didn't get it and really, (Y/n), I love books but Shakespeare was a playwright and his words weren't meant to be read, they were meant to be experienced.

It's how you claim you don't like romantic comedies, but really you just don't like romance novels. I know if you watched Hannah and her sisters with me, you'd love it. You'd recognize that romantic comedies are art. But you are stubborn.

“When are you going?” I ask.

“December ninth.”

“How long are you going?”

“Until January third.”

I have to live without you for almost an entire month?!

“And you can just take that much time off?”

“I’m using all my days at once,” you say. “Plus some unpaid time. And I promised not to take any vacation during the summer next year. So.” You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you have to go be with your family,” I say. “I get it.”

And I do get it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not also the worst thing you could have done to me. Because you are not inviting me.

And I swear, sometimes it’s like you read my mind:

“Next time I go to The Netherlands, I’m inviting you, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just that if I invite you now, my grandparents are going to think it’s way too soon. They’ll think I’m just like my mother, and I’m supposed to be different, you know?”

You talk about your grandparents like they are your parents, and your mother like she is a sister who set the wrong tone within your family. Someone you have to outdo. I don’t understand the dynamic within your family and I don’t pretend to understand it. I just stare at you until you continue:

“She’s, like, a serial dater. She’s only with a guy until he loves her, and then she fucks him, and then she leaves him. When I was a kid there was a new man around basically every week. It’s more like every month now, but still.”

You are not like your mother, (Y/n). I know because I love you, and here you are. And also, we’re not having sex. It’s not because you say no, anymore. Now, I’m the one putting it off. I have a plan for us.

“That sounds like it was hard.”

“My grandparents tried to get custody of me,” you say. “It was a whole thing.” You take a deep breath. “But yeah. So I really thought about inviting you, but I don’t want them to get the wrong idea. They’ve seen you now. I want them to hear about you more. To think of you as a guy who’s sticking around. Before they meet you in person, I mean.”

And you know what? I love that. I understand why you’re not inviting me.

I still hate it, but it does make sense.

“Okay,” I say. “Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed that we’re not spending Christmas together, but I get it.”

“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Not really,” I say. Mr. Mooney doesn’t believe in Thanksgiving and you’re not American, so it’s not like I have anybody to celebrate with. And anyway, it’s a holiday meant to deify white people invading a country and killing most of the population through semi-accidental biological warfare. What’s there to celebrate.

“Let’s make Thanksgiving our Christmas this year,” you say.

“Okay.”

It won't be the same. There is no Shakespeare in the park on Thanksgiving, because everybody will be watching football. But I'll just have to come up with something else.

“I can't believe we're making plans for Thanksgiving two months in advance.”

“I'm Dutch,” you say. “Be glad we're not having the Christmas conversation in March.”

#joe goldberg #penn badgley #you netflix #joe goldberg imagine #joe goldberg x reader #imagine #joe goldberg x female!reader #joe goldberg x y/n #joe goldberg x you #x reader

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palestinegenocide · 1 year ago

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Biden ‘quietly’ gives massive bombs to Israel — even as establishment voices say, Stop the genocide

The devastating news from Washington this week was that in spite of lip service against Israel’s war on the people of Gaza, the Biden administration “quietly” approved the transfer of more massive bombs to Israel.

Biden is sending along more than 2000 one-ton bombs and 500-pound bombs, the Washington Post reported (per Common Dreams).

“This is cowardly,” Yousef Munayyer wrote. “If you are going to be full backers of genocide, own it. We see you and history sees you as well.”

“This is obscene,” Bernie Sanders wrote. “We must end our complicity: No more bombs to Israel. The U.S. cannot beg Netanyahu to stop bombing civilians one day and the next send him thousands more 2,000 lb. bombs that can level entire city blocks.”

We can only imagine how horrifying such armaments are here in the West. Gazans don’t have to imagine. These instruments of annihilation have generated a neverending nightmare. Even the Washington Post says these bombs “are almost never used any more by Western militaries in densely populated locations due to the risk of civilian casualties.” But Israel has used them extensively.

Which is why more than 31,000 Palestinians have been killed, the vast majority women and children. Israel justifies the slaughter of civilians by arguing that a majority of Palestinians approve of Hamas’s attack of last October. So, collective punishment is policy.

At least Biden’s hypocrisy is being reported in the Washington Post. And we are seeing a broad movement in progressive circles to end Israel’s immunity to international law.

Harvard Law School’s student government voted for the university to divest from Israel. The global activist network Avaaz has got half a million signatures calling for a cutoff of U.S. aid to Israel.

America is Israel’s biggest arms dealer. You are giving American weapons to a government that is blocking life-saving aid and violating international law. This will only stop when you demand it stops.“

Public opinion is also horrified. A Gallup poll finds that 55 percent of Americans oppose Israel’s months-long military campaign (while 36 percent approve). “A mere 18% of Democratic voters approve of Israel’s effort.” And 75 percent disapprove.

Gallup poll published March 27 shows that American Democrats’ support for Israeli actions is plummeting over three months.

Biden is not only defying his base. The liberal political establishment has now turned against Israel’s war. The head of the Democratic party think tank, the Center for American Progress, called for a cutoff of aid.

The United States, by its own imposed standards, cannot heedlessly deliver offensive weapons as the Israeli government continues to bombard and starve innocents on a mass scale. These actions have nothing to do with self defense; they are clearly intended as collective punishment and are resulting in the complete devastation of Palestinians as a people.

The former top State Department human rights officer told NPR that it is time to apply the same rules to Israel as other countries. Charles Blaha:

[T]he State Department has said publicly that the same policy applies to Israel as apply to every other country. In practice, Israel gets special treatment…. You may recall the Biden administration suspended items that could be used in offensive air-to-ground operations for Saudi Arabia because they were causing civilian casualties. Those civilian casualties are nowhere near the civilian casualties that Israeli air-to-ground operations have caused so far. Yet unconditional transfers of air-to-ground munitions continue.

Joe Rogan called it “genocide” and a “holocaust” this week. German Chancellor Olaf Scholz said Israel was going too far. Atlantic Editor Jeffrey Goldberg, trying to run from his own past, ran a piece saying, “U.S. Support for Israel’s War Has Become Indefensible.”

And at the Stimson Center this week, when Barbara Slavin said it’s not genocide because it’s not equivalent to the Hutus and the Tutsis in Rwanda or the Nazis killing 6 million Jews, Lara Friedman of the Foundation for Middle East Peace shot down that defense.

The definition of genocide under international law does not require it to meet that bar… It does not have to rise to, Trying to kill every member of a race in the world [to be a genocide. The idea that] ‘it can’t be genocide if it doesn’t kill everybody.’ That isn’t what it means under international law.

So the genocide is having consequences, even in the cowardly seat of empire.

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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Tucker Carlson went to Moscow last week and had an absolute blast. He rode the subway and marveled at its clean cars, the fancy tilework in Kievskaya Station, and the lack of booze-drenched hobos. He went to a grocery store and was astonished by what ordinary people could apparently buy. He even managed to meet a local history buff and sit down for tea and conversation. Carlson, who had never previously visited Moscow, declared himself “radicalized” against America’s leaders by the experience. He didn’t want to live in Moscow, but he did want to know why we in America have to put up with street crime and crappy food when the supposedly bankrupt Russia provided such a nice life for its people, or at least those people not named Alexei Navalny.

My former Atlantic colleague Ralph Waldo Emerson called travel a “fool’s paradise,” but not all forms of foolishness are equal. Many commentators have guffawed at Carlson’s Russophilia and pointed out that Russia’s murder rate is roughly that of the United States, and that its citizens are dirt poor, about a fifth as wealthy per capita as the citizens of the United States overall. “I don’t care what some flagship supermarket in an imperial city looks like,” The Dispatch’s Jonah Goldberg tweeted. “Russia is far, far poorer than our poorest state, Mississippi.” Bloomberg’s Joe Weisenthal suggested that Carlson instead visit the grocery stores of the “10th or 50th” richest Russian cities, and see how they compare with America’s.

In 2019, I visited several large and small Russian cities, and I went grocery shopping at least once in each. Would you believe that Tucker Carlson is on to something? In Moscow (the largest) and St. Petersburg (No. 2), the flagship supermarkets are indeed spectacular. The Azbuka Vkusa branch next to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Moscow is more luxurious than any grocery store within 100 miles of Washington, D.C. Other branches in Moscow vary in quality, and they are usually smaller than American supermarkets. But to some extent that’s just a matter of culture: The U.S. has fewer supermarkets, but each one is big enough to feed the 82nd Airborne Division for a month; in Europe, supermarkets are more numerous but tiny.

Makhachkala (22), the capital of Dagestan, followed a similar pattern to Moscow. One supermarket downtown was amazing, the equal of an upscale supermarket in Washington or Dallas. On the outskirts the quality varied, but not drastically. Local residents were not eating soups made from grass clippings. In Murmansk (71), the cramped bodega near my rented flat had a good wine selection and enough fresh staple foods to prepare a different meal your mom would approve of every day of the week. Only in Derbent (134) did I start to wonder whether the bad old days of the Soviet Union were still in effect. But even that would be an exaggeration. In Derbent, for $15, you could get champagne and caviar with blini and velvety sour cream. If you want to flash back to Cold War communism, go to Havana. There the grocery stores stock only dust and mildew.

With apologies to Emerson, travel can disabuse you of foolish notions just as often as it plants them in your head. An idea ripe for dispelling among Americans at this particular moment is that life in Russia must suck because the frigid depression of the Cold War never ended. In those days ordinary citizens were spied upon and tortured and killed, and the shops were empty, save for substandard goods at prices few could afford. Now Russia is different. The state repression is much more limited, though no less brutal toward those who attract its attention. Until the Ukraine war added a huge category of forbidden topics, the main ones that you could get locked up for discussing were war in the Caucasus and the personal life and finances of President Vladimir Putin and his inner circle. Most other topics were broachable, and you could whine all you liked about them.

Equally in need of updating are American expectations about Russian economic misery. Those whose visits to Russia stopped 20 years ago tend to have outdated views of the best the country has to offer. My visits started 24 years ago. Back then, I spent days at a time on the Trans-Siberian, crammed into railway cabins with little to do but talk with Russians and see how they lived. Life was not beautiful. The men busied themselves with crosswords and sullenly browsed pornography. When not in motion, I stayed with Russian friends in single-room flats that looked straight out of a New York tenement building 100 years ago. No one I met was starving, but women sometimes approached me in train stations hoping to rent out their homes or bodies, or to sell me family heirlooms. That type of desperation seems to have subsided, although I would be shocked if any of those people are able to buy the jamón ibérico at the Smolenskaya branch of Azbuka Vkusa yet. On the roads between the big cities, there are still villages so ramshackle that they look like sets from The Little Rascals. Evidence suggests that the Russian military’s frontline troops tend to come from these depressed and benighted lands, the places that really are stuck in the 20th century.

Certain aspects of life remain dismal even in the cities. My flat in Murmansk had surly drunks tottering outside its entrance, and its stairwell smelled like every cat, dog, and human resident had marked its territory there regularly since the Brezhnev era. But the playgrounds were decent, and you could get a delicious smoked-reindeer pizza at a cozy restaurant for $7. Remember, this is in a small, depressed Russian city—not somewhere stocked with goodies just in case an American wanders out of the lobby of the Radisson and needs to be impressed. The “useful idiots” of yesteryear were treated to fake Moscows, which evanesced as soon as the next Aeroflot flights took off. The luxuries of Moscow that Carlson sees, and that I saw, are not evanescent, and they are not (as they are in North Korea, say) a curated experience available only to those on controlled visits.

The stubborn belief that all good things in Russia must be illusory can in turn warp one’s analysis of the country, and in particular of Putin’s durability in power. After all, why would anyone remain loyal to an autocrat who delivered only hunger, penury, and the reek of cat piss? Putin rules by fear but not only by fear. Most Russians will tell you that Russia today is better than it was before Putin. They compare it not with the Soviet era but with the anarchy and decline of the 1990s. Life expectancy has risen, public parks are better maintained, and certain fruits of capitalism can be tasted by Russians of all classes. Who would risk these gains? Like every autocrat, Putin has ensured that his downfall just might destroy every good thing Russia has experienced in the past two decades. This risk is, from the perspective of regime continuity, a positive feature, because it keeps all but the most principled and brave opposition quiet, and content to shut up and enjoy their cheap caviar. Those like Navalny who object do not object for long.

Carlson’s videos never quite say what precisely he thinks Russia gets right. Moscow is in many ways superior to New York. But Paris has a good subway system too. Japan and Thailand have fine grocery stores, and I wonder, when I enter them, why entering my neighborhood Stop & Shop in America is such a depressing experience by comparison. Carlson’s stated preference for Putin’s leadership over Joe Biden’s suggests that the affection is not for fine food or working public transit but for firm autocratic rule—which, as French, Thais, and Japanese will attest, is not a precondition for high-quality goods and services. And in an authoritarian state, those goods and services can serve to prolong the regime.

I confess I still enjoy watching Carlson post videos of Moscow, wide-eyed and credulous as he slowly learns to love a country that I love too. I hope he posts more of them. One goes through stages of love for Russia, often starting with the literature and music, then moving to its dark humor and the personalities of its people, which are always cycling between thaw and frost. Inevitably one reflects on the irony that this civilization, whose achievement is almost without equal in some respects, is utterly cursed in others—consigned to literally centuries of misgovernment, incompetence, and tyranny. The final stage is realizing that the greatness of Russia is part of the curse, a heightening of the irony, as if no matter how much goes right, something is deeply wrong. Maybe when things go right, the more deeply wrong it is. Carlson seems to still be in one of the early stages of this journey.

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rebelrayne · 2 years ago

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what my husband thinks of the casa amor boys (plus toby as a bonus)

Under the cut

Andy

His earring looks like a little fucking handsaw. He has a handsaw on his ear. Who told him to stand like that? His 12 year old sister? Looks like one of those awkward guys that says “what do I do with my hands?” The way he holds his feet, he probably has a foot fetish. You could almost miss his nipples cause they’re not a natural color. He’s got a weird bump on his foot. And his left foot is way fatter than his right foot. What the fuck? He has a size 13 one foot and 9 on the other. What the fuck it looks like he’s wearing a ring on his left hand??? He’s a bottom. A sub bottom. Like a very submissive bottom. He looks like he has daddy issues. If you stan Andy, I will laugh at you and not take you seriously. Anything you say is not canon. Between him and Francis, they should be the most hated. I almost hate him as much as I hate Lewie. Probably has tea parties with stuffed animals. They call him “sir short stick”.

Francis

He looks like the fucking guy from ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’ like the one that Sarah Marshall goes to Hawaii with. Does he go to the hair stylist 3 times a week to get his color right? No, that’s not a real beard he drew it on. Did he steal his grandma’s coat and sandals??? AND BRACELET??? Oh my God, JESS! He’s got a small hand like the guy from scary movie- “grab my strong hand!!” Looks like he’s into paranormal shit like he’s a ghost chaser. The AI did a fucking terrible job, it tried to mix scary movie small hand guy, a grandma and Russell Brand. I can’t tell if he had a belly button. Is he an alien??? This guy creeps me out. And his posture- just the way he holds himself. He’s creepy. He’s a version of Joe Goldberg that stole his grandmas sweater that’s his undercover outfit. The sweater is literally his baseball cap. Is that enough? Or should I keep going about his grandmas sandals she got during 1 AD? Those sandals saw Jesus they were there on resurrection day. Practices celibacy as a religion. If he was born in Spartan times, they would throw him to the wolves or over a cliff. I kind of wanna spartan kick him myself. See a special meme made by Jessie’s husband below:

Hamish

That’s fucking Tom 2.0 mixed with Zac Efron. He looks like he came out of fucking Baywatch. Been staring at Pamela Anderson’s tits. Got a knock-off Rolex. Not much to make fun of- this guy seems mostly normal. He doesn’t have any qualities I can laugh at. Even his posture and how he holds his hands is manly. Looks like he’s ready to punch Lewie in his asshole lips. I brought up he has small feet and he defended him. He has an average size dick, probably like 5.5 inches. He’s the guy everyone should want to get (unless he is a closet asshole). But even then, there’s a binary code of how much of an asshole he can be. He looks like he has a Christian Grey mentality. Probably has a red room and it’s hidden. Fuck now there will be fanfics of him doing BDSM… his nickname would be “Lord Ladies Man”. JESSIE’S HUSBAND STAMP OF APPROVAL - first and only one this season.

Marshall

Starts laughing that he has a butterfly on his chest. Why did he get a tramp stamp on his chest?? These tattoos are almost as bad as Will’s. Captain Jack Sparrow if he was a hipster. Most definitely swings both ways. I want to cut off his manbun when he’s sleeping… like half these tattoos don’t make any sense. He probably has shorty tattooed on his dick and it probably still says shorty when it’s erect. At least his chin isn’t square like Ozzy’s. This guy is weird looking and his tattoos give me the heebie jeebies. He’s a fucking dumpster rat. He’d be the king’s jester and wear clown makeup. Tries to juggle three balls- can’t find them. He looks like he enjoys his venti Starbucks drinks: “Can you froth the milk please sir?” Looks homeless, searches the road for pennys or whatever British cheap change is. Probably has OnlyFans for his feet.

BONUS: Toby

He literally looks like the kind of guy that is used as the main character in the game— he looks like a default setting lol he’s a random fucking palette. Looks like Vin Diesel’s baby brother I’m going to call him baby diesel. Why are his arms so short? At least he didn’t skip leg day. If you chopped off his head, he’d look like the perfect speciman of a man. Head looks like it should be on a crackheads. It’s small. Looks like he should be on prison break. Surprised he has no tattoos - looks like he’s been to prison a few times. Kind of sad he’s the last one… I wish Francis was the last one instead. Toby’s skin tone is off… his color is different from his head to feet. The AI said “lol not my fucking problem.” It said “make perfect man body with generic ass head.” Bro is gonna be NPC for life. (“You sound like Elliot” “shut the fuck up”). He’s so bland they gave him white swim shorts.

A/N to my fans: I love you degenerates. I work very hard at this to entertain and give you guys a full insight to what these characters really are. I appreciate your constant gratitude and thank you for allowing me to be your roast king. All other attempts are failures and they can come find me if they have something to say. I hope you all read this and then go back to read it again because it makes you happy. That is all.

PS: the AI really helped with these roasts this season because the character designs sucked. They made it very easy for me. I’d also really like to thank my top supporter, @caitkaminski . She’s been a fan for a long time (Apparently I am not a supporter). Here’s to next season. I will miss doing these til then. In the wise words of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, aka Maui: “You’re welcome.”

#litg #litg double trouble #litg Andy #litg Francis #litg Hamish #litg Marshall #litg Toby #he was sad it’s over #the boys are more fun to laugh about #he really said I need to leave a note to my FANS

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f3mcelbambi · 1 year ago

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need her in a way joe goldberg would approve of

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bllsbailey · 19 days ago

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A Reporter Asked AG Bondi About the Signal Story During an MS-13 Presser. He Didn't Expect This Answer.

Attorney General Pam Bondi and FBI Director Kash Patel oversaw a successful law enforcement raid that captured one of the nation’s top leaders of the gang MS-13. This person, 24 years old, had been in the gang for ten years and quickly sharked his way to the top. Based on the documents recovered upon his arrest, he was one of the prominent leaders of this criminal operation. This individual was arrested by federal agents yesterday morning in Northern Virginia.

During a press conference, however, Attorney General Bondi was asked about the Signa story involving top Trump officials, including CIA Director John Ratcliffe, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, and National Security Adviser Michael Waltz. The latter accidentally added The Atlantic’s Jeffrey Goldberg, who claims this chat on the encrypted messenger app that’s government-approved discussed top-secret war plans against Houthi terrorists.

Why Bondi asked this question during an MS-13 presser is anyone’s guess—you already know why, though. It was to get a soundbite, maybe knock her off message, but she’s seasoned liberal media. You’re not going to stump her. Bondi noted rightly that the information in those chats was not classified, that we should be celebrating the successful strikes against the Houthis, and offered no further comment.

“If you want to talk about classified information, talk about what was at Hillary Clinton’s home that she was trying to bleach bit, talk about the classified documents in Joe Biden’s garage that Hunter Biden had access to—this was not classified information,” she said before ending the press conference.

Ms. Bondi rehashing all of the Democrats' egregious breaches and disclosures of classified information, which never led to any charges, was fantastic.

Perfect response, general.