#save me warren with a mustache save me

[sarahs-secrets2]

oh my god???

[andreabaideas]

New Recasting of Warren Rojas - My personal fave ❤️

Yet another Recasting of Warren Rojas (for djats fandom) made by me.

As I said before, I loved the concept of an hispanic/latino Warren, they made for the show, so i'm recasting with actors without SA allegations that are both 1- hispanic and 2 - have a cool rocker vibes.

And as i said...As good actors they can learn to drum tbh, I mean Sam Claflin and Riley Keough fucking learned how to sing like angels!!!

This new one Its my fave so far :

Aaron Domínguez

1994

6'0 ft or 1'83 cm

American of Latino ethnicity. Unknown country origins as of yet (i'll search more).

He IS more know as Óscar the Tie dye Guy at Only murders in the building, he was Selena Gomez's love interest.

He has the ethnicity, the cool flow rocker vibes, good age, he IS Hot. He has the Big deer Brown eyes, the dark curls and the beard and mustache...Even some show gifs that doesnt show Warrens face directly could be used with him as FC.

He looks similar, but like super hot "yassified" version, and also he doesn't have SA allegations so... Hotter than assholes (at least for me, good people = Hotter)... Chef kiss 👌.

Here some photos (thank you Pinterest©®™, Life saving web Page tbh)

[breaniebree]

ASC Playlist

This is for tim2604 on ff.net who requested a list of my playlist from my story A Second Chance.  Some of them are individual songs that are also mentioned on the album, but they are all listed here as being mentioned whether by song title, lyrics, or album name.  The ones at the bottom are still to come at a Halloween party ;)

Here it is!

It’s Only Rock n’ Roll But I like It - The Rolling Stones

All You Need is Love - The Beatles

Stand - Rascal Flatts

Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynyrd 

A Night at the Opera (album) - Queen

Death on Two Legs (Dedicated To …) 

Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon 

I’m in Love With my Car 

You’re My Best Friend 

39 

Sweet Lady 

Seaside Rendevous 

The Prophet’s Song 

Love of My Life 

Good Company 

Bohemian Rhapsody 

God Save the Queen 

Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - Cyndi Lauper

I Will Survive - Gloria Gaynor

Respect - Aretha Franklin

Blackbird - The Beatles

PS I Love You - The Beatles

The White Album (album) - The Beatles

Back in the USSR 

Dear Prudence 

Glass Onion 

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da 

Wild Honey Pie 

The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill 

While My Guitar Gently Weeps 

Happiness is a Warm Gun 

Martha My Dear 

I’m So Tired 

Blackbird 

Piggies 

Rocky Raccoon 

Don’t Pass Me By 

Why Don’t We Do it in the Road? 

I Will 

Julia 

Birthday 

Yer Blues 

Mother Nature’s Son 

Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey

Sexy Sadie 

Helter Skelter 

Long, Long, Long 

Revolution 1 

Honey Pie 

Savoy Truffle 

Cry Baby Cry 

Revolution 9 

Good Night 

Rubber Soul (album) - Beatles

Drive My Car 

Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown) 

You Won’t See Me 

Nowhere Man 

Think For Yourself 

The Word 

Michelle 

What Goes On 

Girl 

I’m Looking Through You 

In My Life 

Wait If I Needed Someone 

Run For Your Life 

The Game (album) - Queen

Play the Game 

Dragon Attack 

Another One Bites the Dust 

Need Your Loving Tonight 

Crazy Little Thing Called Love 

Rock it (Primo Jive) 

Don’t Try Suicide 

Sail Away Sweet Sister 

Coming Soon Save Me 

Birthday - The Beatles

Led Zeppelin III (album) - Led Zeppelin

Immigrant Song 

Friends 

Celebration Day 

Since I’ve Been Loving You 

Out on the Tiles 

Gallows Pole 

Tangerine 

That’s the Way 

Bron-Y-Aur Stomp 

Hats Off to (Roy) Harper 

You Like Me Too Much - The Beatles

In My Life - The Beatles

G N’ R Lies (album) - Guns N’ Roses

Reckless Life 

Nice Boys 

Move to the City 

Mama Kin 

Patience 

Used to Love Her 

You’re Crazy 

One in a Million 

Don’t Bother Me - The Beatles

I Saw Her Standing There - The Beatles

I’ll Cry Instead - The Beatles

I’ve Just Seen A Face - The Beatles

I’m A Loser - The Beatles

I Am the Walrus - The Beatles

Act Naturally - The Beatles

Hold Me Tight - The Beatles

Carry That Weight - The Beatles

With A Little Help From My Friends - The Beatles

Across the Universe - The Beatles

While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles

Something - The Beatles

Eight Days A Week - The Beatles

Can’t Buy Me Love - The Beatles

Because - The Beatles

Let It Be - The Beatles

Strawberry Fields Forever - The Beatles

Dream On - Aerosmith

Innuendo (album) - Queen

Innuendo 

I’m Going Slightly Mad 

Headlong 

I Can’t Live With You 

Don’t Try So Hard

Ride the Wild Wind 

All God’s People 

These Are the Days of Our Lives 

Delilah 

The Hitman 

Bijou 

The Show Must Go On 

Presto (album) - Rush

Show Don’t Tell 

Chain Lightning 

The Pass 

War Paint 

Scars 

Presto 

Superconductor 

Anagram (For Mongo) 

Red Tide 

Hand Over Fist 

Available Light 

Working Man - Rush

Blow Up Your Video (album) - ACDC

Heatseeker 

That’s The Way 

I Wanna Rock N’ Roll 

Mean Streak 

Go Zone 

Kissin’ Dynamite 

Nick of Time 

Some Sin for Nuthin’ 

Ruff Stuff 

Two’s Up 

This Means War 

Bleach (album) - Nirvana

Blew 

Floyd the Barber 

About a Girl 

School 

Love Buzz 

Paper Cuts 

Negative Creep 

Scoff 

Swap Meet 

Mr Mustache 

Sifting 

Big Cheese 

Downer 

New Jersey (album) - Bon Jovi

Lay Your Hands On Me 

Bad Medicine 

Born To Be My Baby 

Living in Sin 

Blood on Blood 

Homebound Train 

Wild is the Wind 

Ride Cowboy Ride 

Stick to Your Guns

I’ll Be There For You 

99 in the Shade 

Love for Sale 

Like A Prayer (album) - Madonna

Like A Prayer 

Express Yourself 

Love Song 

Till Death Do Us Part 

Promise to Try Cherish 

Dear Jessie 

Oh Father 

Keep It Together 

Pray for Spanish Eyes 

Act of Contrition 

Wide Awake in Dreamland (album) - Pat Benatar

All Fired Up 

One Love (Song of the Lion) 

Let’s Stay Together 

Don’t Walk Away 

Too Long A Soldier 

Cool Zero 

Cerebral Man 

Lift ‘Em On Up 

Suffer the Little Children 

Wide Awake in Dreamland 

Whiplash Smile (album) - Billy Idol

Worlds Forgotten Boy 

To Be a Lover 

Soul Standing By 

Sweet Sexteen 

Men for All Seasons 

Don’t Need a Gun 

Beyond Belief 

Fatal Charm 

All Summer Single 

One Night, One Chance 

Dark Side of the Moon (album) - Pink Floyd

Speak to Me 

Breathe (In the Air) 

On the Run 

Time 

The Great Gig in the Sky 

Money 

Us and Them 

Any Colour You Like 

Brain Damage 

Eclipse 

I Will - The Beatles

We Will Rock You - Queen

Toto IV (album) - Toto

Rosanna 

Make Believe 

I Won’t Hold Back 

Good for You 

It’s a Feeling 

Afraid of Love 

Lovers in the Night 

We Made it 

Waiting for Your Love 

Africa 

Back in Black (album) - ACDCHells Bells

Shoot to Thrill 

What Do You Do for the Money Honey 

Givin’ the Dog a Bone 

Let Me Put My Love Into You 

Back in Black 

You Shook Me All Night Long 

Have a Drink On Me 

Shake a Leg 

Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution 

London Calling (album) - The Clash

London Calling 

Brand New Cadillac 

Jimmy Jazz 

Hateful 

Rudie Can’t Fail 

Spanish Bombs 

The Right Profile 

Lost in the Supermarket 

Clampdown 

The Guns of Brixton 

Wrong ‘Em Boyo 

Death or Glory 

Koka Kola 

The Card Cheat 

Lover’s Rock 

Four Horseman 

I’m Not Down 

Revolution Rock 

Train in Vain 

The Boys Are Back in Town - Thin Lizzy

You Shook Me All Night Long - AC/DC

Cherry Pie - Warrant

Baby, I Love You - The Ramones

Insomniac (album) - Green Day

Armatage Shanks 

Brat 

Stuck with Me 

Geek Stink Breath 

No Pride 

Bab’s Uvula Who? 

86 

Panic Song 

Stuart ant the Ave. 

Brain Stew 

Jaded 

Westbound Sign 

Tight Wad Hill 

Walking Contradiction 

I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You - Elvis Presley

Octopus’ Garden - The Beatles

Who Wants to Live Forever - Queen

Blaze of Glory - Bon Jovi

Waiting for a Girl Like You - Foreigner

Night Visions - AJ McLean

Jagged Little Pill (album) - Alanis Morrisette

All I Really Want 

You Oughta Know 

Perfect 

Hand in My Pocket 

Right Through You 

Forgiven 

You Learn 

Head Over Feet 

Mary Jane 

Ironic 

Not the Doctor 

Wake Up 

These Are The Days of Our Lives - Queen

Follow You Down - Gin Blossoms

Fastlove - George Michael

A Long December - Counting Crows

It’s All Coming Back to Me Now - Celine Dion

How Bizarre - OMC

Thriller - Michael Jackson

Lovefool - The Cardigans

Un-Break My Heart - Toni Braxton

Wannabe - Spice Girls

I’ll Be There For You - The Remembrandts

Dance Like a Hippogriff - Weird Sisters

I Put A Spell On You - Annie Lennox

Open Your Heart - Madonna

The Earth, The Sun, The Rain - Color Me Badd

Everything I Do (I Do It For You) - Bryan Adams

Saturday Night - Whigfield

Mamma Mia - Abba

Waterloo - Abba

You’re My Best Friend - Queen

Ride of the Valkyries - Richard Wagner

[dragonshost]

Max/Laki prompt 11 of that #20 ask meme thing

Next time she saw Cana, she was going to tell Gildarts exactly where to find her.  It would be a fitting punishment for pushing her into this incredibly uncomfortable situation, from which Laki could see no clear way out.  All Laki had wanted was a little advice from her friend, someone who was more used to expressing interest in other people than Laki was.  Or rather... someone who had a better handle on being understood by the other party.

“So...” her companion began, clearing his throat mildly.  “How are you doing, Laki?  I don’t think we’ve had the chance to talk since the guild got back together.”

“Normal.  Stayed with Kinana and summoned a lot of new projects to whittle away the leaf turnings.  How about you, Max?” Laki informed him.  So long as she kept her sentences short, this shouldn’t be an issue.  “Haven’t seen you at the guild for a couple of days, though.  You been watching money fly and vanquishing the hordes?”

Max nodded with a smile plastered across his face.  “I’m glad to hear that you kept busy!   And yeah, I’ve been putting more hours in at the shop lately.  With the guild’s reinstatement, the demand has increased for more merchandise.  Not to mention Warren’s new lacrima devices are getting pretty popular so it’s been brisk business.”  He paused to take a drink, his eyes never leaving Laki’s over the brim of his tankard.  “You know...” he stated, lowering the tankard and leaving a bit of foam behind on his lip.  “I’m a bit surprised you asked.  Most people don’t pay attention to my comings and goings that much, or they’d assume I was out on a job.  I’m honestly shocked you noticed I wasn’t around, but even more so that you guessed where I was correctly.  How did you know?”

That she spent an unhealthy amount of time watching him was probably something best kept to herself.  “I’m more observant than most people extend to me.”  He had been sorely missed.

A short laugh burst forth from Max, the sight filling Laki’s head with brightly colored bubbles.  “I guess you’re right, we don’t give you nearly enough credit!”

Laki tapped her lip with a fingertip.  “Bream.”

Visibly startled by the action, his eyes widened and Max swallowed thickly.  Then he quickly wiped his upper lip.  “T-thanks for catching that!”  Picking up his tankard, he took another swig, depositing the froth mustache right back where it had just left.

Laki decided to just let it be.

His smile returning, Max gestured at Laki with an upturned palm.  “I’m glad that you’re doing well.  You said you had worked on a lot of carpentry projects over the last year, right?  Can you tell me about any of them?”

Brightly, she did just that.  She had tried to downplay the last year’s doings at the start of their conversation, but the truth was that there was a lot she wanted to tell him.  Like when she’d helped Blue Pegasus with the platform for Wendy and Chelia’s performances, or when the royal family themselves had commissioned her for some detailed paneling work at the winter residence.

It had been during that year without the guild that she had come to realize some things.  Things about herself... and things about her relationships with her then-former guildmates.  Or maybe just about one, in particular.

At first it had been small.  When the guild had first disbanded, she had been uprooted in the flash flood that had ensued.  Lost in the darkness of her future, she had found comfort in the thought of “I wonder how Max is handling this?”  The very next day, she went out and procured a carpentry apprenticeship.  It was what she had always wanted, why she had turned to wood-make magic in the first place, why she had scrimped and saved her money from her guild jobs.  It was something that she’d had in common with Max, who had joined to earn expenses for business school.  It had felt good to finally pursue that dream, and to share her progress with him now.

It had been far from the last time she’d asked herself that question over the year, but it had been the most important one.  And it had led her to an answer to a question she had never even asked.

‘I realized I was in love with you when all of my decisions began to revolve around you,’ she thought to herself.  But like his frothy mustache, that was something best kept to herself.  At least... for now.  The night was going good so far, she’d hate to ruin the fair weather for them with heavy admissions.  Her nervousness was finally draining away as they continued to talk into the night.

And since it was going so well... maybe she wouldn’t have to hold services for Cana, after all.

[ayellowbirds]

42 Webcomics Keshet Reads

I was recently reminded that I currently read a lot of webcomics, or have done so in the past. Here’s an incomplete list, linking to the first page where i can (which will usually mean the worst art). Organized thus:  Title, Author. Genre. Format (long-format stories, short-format & single-page stories, or mixed). Description.

The Adventures of Dr. McNinja, by Christopher Hastings. Comedy, Parody, Action. A man from a long line of Irish ninjas has devoted his own life to saving lives as a doctor, disappointing his family. His staff includes a sentient but non-speaking gorilla receptionist, and eventually a boy sidekick who grew a fabulous mustache out of sheer determination. Recurring threats include fast food mascots, ghosts, wizards, ghost wizards, and a disease that turns people into giant lumberjacks. Completed.

BACK, by Anthony Clark and KC Green. Comedy, Adventure, Absurdity, Weird West. Long-Format. A cowgirl comes back from the dead with no memory of who she was or how she died, and is told by a trio of “Cool Witches” that she has to bring about the end of the world—though what exactly that means remains a mystery. Consistently excellent visual storytelling from masters of sequential art; at least one WLW pairing among the characters. 

Bite Me!, by Dylan Meconis. Comedy, Horror, Historic Fiction. Long-Format. A young woman becomes a vampire amidst the chaos of the French Revolution. Featuring immortal angst, a Jewish werewolf, and sacré bleu, the chickens. Completed (website can be slow to load).

Broodhollow, by Kris Straub. Horror, Weird Fiction. Long-Format. By the creator of the original creepypasta that inspired Channel Zero. A young man abounding with neuroses and compulsions comes to a strange little town in order to settle a late relative’s estate. Themes of unreliable memories and differences of perception.

Chainsawsuit, by Kris Straub. Comedy. Short-Format. Three-panel gag comic.

ChaosLife, by A. Stiffler & K. Copeland. Slice of Life, Autobiographical. Mixed-Format. The life of a queer couple and their pets: humor, lgbt issues, mental illness (K. experiences paranoid schizophrenia), cats, and occasional puppets.

Crunchy Bunches, by Scott Warren. Comedy. Mixed-Format. Cereal mascot parody focused on snaggle-toothed feline mascot Munchy and his friends. 

Dead Winter, by Allison Shabet. Action, Horror, Comedy. Long-Format. Zombie apocalypse story with occasional partially-animated scenes, and a relatively low focus on the actual zombies. Infrequent updates, but has a Patreon with weekly content.

DRIVE, by Dave Kellet. Sci-Fi, Comedy. Long-Format. Humanity has taken to the stars, led by a second Spanish Empire that controls the secrets of FTL travel. When the crew of the Machito recover their science advisor and accidentally pick up a mysterious amnesiac alien at the same time, they become embroiled in intrigue that affects the whole of human space and beyond, caught between secret police, mind-controlling invaders, and a species dedicated to invention who have a grudge against humans.

El Goonish Shive, by Dan Shive. Adventure, Sci-Fi/Fantasy, Superheroics, Slice of Life, Mad Science. Long Format. Difficult to pin down, once described as “the most squeaky-clean fetish comic online”—lots of characters undergoing fantastic transformations of their bodies. Starts out weak but gradually grew into one of the most progressive webcomics out there as the creator started to really think about the meaning of someone wanting to transform from a nerdy boy into a busty girl. I’ve said more about it, here. Significant LGBT content, including canon gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, genderfluid, and asexual characters.

Family Man, by Dylan Meconis. Historic Fiction, Horror, Romance, Libraries. Long-Format. A learned man of Jewish ancestry takes a position as a lecturer at a small Christian university in the middle of nowhere in the Germanies of the 18th century, and falls in love with the daughter of the head of the university—who has some secrets relating to her mother’s family  On hiatus as of July 2017.

Freefall, by Mark Stanley. Comedy, Sci-Fi, Furry. Long-Format. A larcenous alien and his naive robot pal living on a human colony world acquire the services of an uplifted humanoid wolf as their ship’s engineer under less-than-legal circumstances. As time goes on, the crew becomes caught up in the struggles and politics of the artificial intelligences of the colony. Binge-reading page here, colored strips here.

Girl Genius, by Phil & Kaja Foglio. Gaslamp Fantasy (Not-Steampunk), Action, Comedy, Mad Science, Alternate History. Long-format. A young woman discovers that she is the latest in a line of mad scientists including the vanished heroes of Europa as well as some of its most terrible villains.

Goblins, by Ellipsis Hana Stephens. Fantasy, RPGs, Action, Body Horror. Long-format. A tribe of goblins go from being mere MOBs to taking levels as adventurers themselves, facing ambiguity about alignment, morality, and the place of "monsters” in a world that seems to favor humanoids. Can get very gory at times. Light LGBT content including a prominent gay male character; transgender creator.

Goodbye to Halos, by Valerie Halla. Fantasy, Adventure. Long Format. Forced through a gateway to another world for her own safety, Fenic finds herself in the “run-down queer district” of a city of animal people—and spends a few years coming into own identity as a trans lesbian, forging a new life. But the reasons she was forced into this world are catching up to her, and she’ll need to turn her protective streak towards defending herself. Heavy LGBT themes; often not safe for work. The only work i can think of where a trans girl’s underwear bulge is treated as a completely nonsexual and innocent thing.

Grrl Power, by Dave Barrack. Superheroes, Sci-Fi. Long Format. Probably Not Safe For Work. Comics nerd Sydney Scoville winds up becoming a superhero herself after circumstances force her to reveal her powers and join up with an agency providing training and oversight. While consistently funny and clever with the use of powers, it can be very centered on the male gaze; the art starts out being pretty . I actually first started reading it because I recognized one of the characters from years prior when the artist was posting softcore smut to furry websites.

Guilded Age, by T. Campbell & Phil Kahn, art by John & Jason Waltrip and Erica Henderson. Fantasy, RPGs, Action, MMOs. Long-Format. A group of adventurers face off against threats to their world—such as the CEO of the company that programmed their world in the first place. Strong themes of intrigue, the nature of violence, and the concept of good and evil in fantasy settings. Completed, now running extras & side stories, including annotated repeats of the original pages.

Gunnerkrigg Court, by Tom Siddell. Fantasy, Sci-Fi. Long-Format. A young girl attends a strange boarding school specializing in matters of the supernatural and obscure, making friends with classmates, a ghost, robots, psychopomps, living shadows, fairies, and eldritch horrors in the form of silly woodland creatures while exploring the mysteries of the school and her own ancestry. Shows remarkable art progression; the style of the first storyline is unrecognizable from the present. Especially rewarding if you’re into alchemy. LGBT content, including prominent WLW characters. Warnings: unreality is a recurring theme, and there is a bit of “suicidal” fairies desperate to be reincarnated as humans. Boxbot is rubbish.

Johnny Wander, by Yuko Ota & Ananth Hirsh. Autobiographical, Fantasy, Humor, Mixed-Format. A mix of slice-of-life autobiographical pages, and short stories, including the longer format “Barbarous” and “Lucky Penny”.

Kevin & Kell, by Bill Holbrook. Comedy, Slice-of-Life, Furry. Mixed-Format. Extremely long-running strip (daily updates since September of 1995). In a world of anthropomorphic animals where predatory species can legally & without repercussions hunt & consume other species, a businesswoman wolf (Kell) and her uncommonly large rabbit husband (Kevin) make their blended family work in spite of social stigma against predator/prey relationships. Far more light-hearted than it sounds, though it often touches on social issues and drama. Light LGBT content from some minor recurring characters.

Kill Six Billion Demons, by Abbadon. Fantasy, Metaphysical, Martial Arts. Long Format. A college student’s attempt at heterosexuality is interrupted by the arrival of a legendary king of all reality. Thrust into a battle over the greatest power of all worlds, Allison faces devils, angels, and the city at the center of the 777,777 universes. It’s a lot to take in. Occasionally not safe for work. Frequent LGBT content, including WLW.

Love Me Nice, by Amanda Lafrenais. Comedy, Hollywood. Long Format. Set in a world shared by cartoon characters and ‘real’ people (think Roger Rabbit), where TV star Mac T. Monkey Jr. struggles between his irresponsible instincts and his attempts to build a life as an adult and a relationship with fellow protagonist (and manager) Claire. Some LGBT content; infrequent updates. Occasionally Not Safe For Work. 

Manly Guys Doing Manly Things, by Coelasquid. Comedy, Videogames, Parody. Mixed-Format. The staff of a temp agency for “ludicrously macho guys” tries to help the protagonists of video games, TV, and movies deal with their testosterone-addled brains in a constructive fashion. Occasional LGBT content—mostly MLM, naturally. Keep an eye out for the fluffy little velociraptors, and Mr. Fish the Gyarados. On indefinite hiatus since June of 2018.

Narbonic, by Shaenon K. Garrity. Comedy, Sci-Fi, Mad Science, Gerbils. Mixed-Format. Comp Sci. grad Dave needs a job. Helen B. Narbon, cute blonde mad scientist with a gerbil fixation, is hiring. Story arcs feature action-packed forensic linguistics, a worldwide conspiracy of guys with the same name, rodents uplifted to sentience, time travel. Some awkwardness around gender transformations, light LGBT content. Completed, with author annotations.

Nedroid Picture Diary, by Anthony Clark. Comedy, Absurdity. Short Format. Short comics that very quickly come to focus on the antics of the anomalous ursine orb Beartato and his friend/roommate Reginald, a bird who is just terrible. 

Not Drunk Enough, by Tess Stone. Supernatural, Action, Horror. Long Format. A survival horror styled webcomic by a creator with a history of exceptionally dynamic page composition and lettering. Expect lots of magnificently weird body horror.

O Human Star, by Blue Delliquanti. Roboticist Al Sterling died. Al Sterling woke up an android body mimicking his own. As he reconnects with his former partner-in-several-senses, he explores a world that remembers him as one of its greatest innovators. Major themes of identity, the definition of humanity, and gender and sexuality. LGBT themes including MLM and transgender characters. Warning for some discussion of self-harm.

Outsider, by Jim Francis. Sci-Fi. Long Format. Beautifully-illustrated science fiction story that is painfully slow to update. If you watched a lot of 80s and 90s sci-fi anime, you’ll get the vibe that this has—including its arguable weak point of being centered on a man who finds himself among an alien race dominated by warrior women. 

Patrik the Vampire, by Bree Paulsen. Supernatural, Slice-of-Life. Long Format. The unlife and history of an exceptionally awkward vampire and the mortals around him—book club, knitting, coffee shops, violent murder. Some LGBT content.

Poppy O’Possum, by I. Everett. Fantasy, Furries. Long Format. A single mother in a world of animal people where only opossums lack magic, Poppy just wants to settle down in quiet and safety with her daughter Lily. The world has other ideas—but fortunately, Poppy is mind-blowingly strong. On hiatus. Some LGBT content.

Questionable Content, by Jeph Jacques. Slice-of-Life, Comedy, Sci-Fi. Mixed-Format. Starts out focusing on indie rock fan Marten and his robotic “anthroPC” Pintsize. As the art evolves, so does the subject matter, focusing more and more on the rest of the cast and topics like the nature of personhood and identity for artificial intelligence. Eventually comes to feature significant LGBT content, including bisexual and transgender characters in the main cast.

Rae the Doe, by Olive Brinker. Comedy, Slice-of-Life. (Mostly) Short Format. If Garfield was a transgender doe and wore clothes and also there weren’t any jokes about Mondays or lasagna and the comic was constantly assumed to be autobiographical in spite of its creator frequently asserting otherwise and the comic was still genuinely funny. But otherwise just like Garfield, really.

Selkie, by Dave Warren. Sci-Fi, Slice-of-Life, Comedy, Drama. Long-Format. Former adoptee Todd becomes a father himself to a strange young girl who turns out to be a refugee from a secret underwater civilization. While the public gradually becomes aware that humans are not alone, family forms and is redefined as secrets from both Todd and Selkie’s past are revealed and dealt with, and kids confront issues of inclusion and exclusion. Also, for some reason two of the kids from Evangelion are Todd’s neighbors.

Skin Deep, by Kory Bing. Fantasy, Coming-of-Age, Monster Girls (and Boys). Michelle discovers the secret world of mythical monster people after a small medallion unlocks her own heritage as a sphinx—supposedly long-extinct, according to the other monsters. Michelle must explore who she is and her family history while also trying to avoid completely upending nonhuman society and maintaining secrets within a culture already used to the use of magical illusions and transformations. Light LGBT content.

Skin Horse, by Shaenon Garrity.  Comedy, Sci-Fi, Mad Science, Zombies, Canadians. Mixed-Format. Set in the same universe as Narbonic (see above), “Skin Horse” follows an organization of  the same name dedicated to providing social services to beings only recognized by the secret shadow government—staffed by a patchwork zombie bioweapon, a talking sled dog, a cross-dressing pansexual psychologist, and a receptionist in the form of an immobile Victorian robotic weapon of mass destruction, all overseen by a sentient swarm of bees. Frequent LGBT content.

Something*Positive, by RK Milholland. Comedy, Slice-of-Live, Parody. Mixed-Format. Very long-running comic that gradually grows from a dark and misanthropic sense of humor into a dark and misanthropic sense of humor with a warm and gooey center. Earlier comics can be pretty weak and handle many subjects very poorly (the first strip, linked above, features an abortion “joke”); gradually improves.in terms of LGBT representation to the point that it’s one of the better webcomics in that regard. I might recommend skipping ahead in the archives to the current decade (the “1937″ and “1938″ are strips flashing back to the previous generations).

Spacetrawler, by Christopher Baldwin. Sci-Fi, Comedy. Long-Format. The naive but brilliant alien race known as the Eebs are enslaved by interplanetary society at large, depending on their servile nature to maintain the high standard of technology and transportation across the void of space. A group of utterly incompetent aliens come to Earth to seek help in freeing the Eebs... and generally fuck everything up for the best with their terrible choices of sample humans. Currently in the midst of a sequel series focusing on new intrigue and antics, including a talking, murderous kangaroo.

Spinnerette, by Krakow Studios. Superheroes, Comedy, Sci-Fi. Mixed-Format. A grad student develops spider-themed superpowers—including extra arms—and attempts to navigate both concealing her transformation, and becoming a superhero in a world where super-powered vigilantes and criminals are a fact of life. Not Work-Safe due to suggestive artwork including improbably form-fitting costumes over improbably large bosoms. Recurring LGBT content.

Val & Isaac, by @tredlocity​. Sci-Fi, Fantasy,  Comedy. Mixed-Format. A space mercenary, her wizard buddy, and the cyborg fish girl who keeps all their technology functional, occasionally featuring their shapeshifting assassin friend Space Dread. Major LGBT content, including WLW and MLM, and a prominent transgender character.

Vattu, by Evan Dahm. Fantasy, Worldbuilding. Long-Format. Born to the Fluters of the grasslands, Vattu finds her traditional subsistence lifestyle torn away as a multi-species empire asserts a claim over her people’s lands. A fantasy epic with several major arcs; see also the creator’s earlier completed works Rice Boy and Order of Tales.

XKCD, by Randall Munroe. Science, Parody, Comedy. Short Format. Stick figures and scientific silliness. Make a point of checking the alt-text of each comic by moving your cursor over the strip. Early pages are much more along the lines of experimental sketches; link above directs to a random comic in the archives. Some comics are more along the lines of interactive games!

Yet Another Fantasy Gamer Comic (YAFGC), by Rich Morris. Fantasy, Comedy, Parody. Mixed-Format. Not Work-Safe. The inhabitants of a world heavily based in Dungeons & Dragons go about their lives as monsters, humanoids, and soul-searching mixes of the two. Begins with a romance between a beholder and a goblin, gradually builds up to battles between nations and the gods themselves, while also finding time to explore family, loss and love, and whether kobolds count as sapient. Moderate LGBT content including recurring gay & bisexual characters (it’s a very large cast); new readers guide here.

[taylorscottbarnett]

2020

I'd also like to be very clear on one thing:

Barring credible child molestation charges, I'll absolutely and full heartedly back whoever becomes the Democratic nominee. George W. Bush could wear a bad fake mustache, win the Democratic nomination, and I'd vote for him. Dick Cheney could run and he'd have my backing. I'd vote for Ronald Reagan, reanimated, cloned, or zombified, or his long dead and shriveled corpse over Trump2020. Biden could drown a puppy infront of me and he'd still have my vote. Warren could endorse trickle-down economics and I'd still vote for her.

Because whosoever is running on the Democratic ticket; faults, values, virtues, and shortcomings, is realistically, mathematically, and literally the one and only alternative to Trump being reelected.

They are the only chance to bring sanity and any respectability back to the Republican party. They are the one and only chance to stop a lifelong takeover of the federal court system by hard-right conservative judges. They are the one and only way to save the respectability, and reputation of the Supreme Court.

The GOP is quite literally the Trump party at this point. He commands their loyalty. We saw that with how he treated Comey, we saw that during the Russia investigation. We saw that in how he treated those who testified against him and those who refused during the Muller investigation. We saw how he treated McCain, and Republicans did nothing about it. Veterans did nothing. Military members still staunchly supported him.

Donald Trump is not a conservative. He's not a Republican. Donald Trump is quite literally a cancer to democracy. He criticizes our allies, he practically worships dictatorships. He lusts for unchecked power. He attempts to tear down any institution that would dare attempt to even remotely be a check on him.

Independent investigators. Opposition parties. Fellow Republicans. Judges. The media. American allies. The Federal Reserve.

Donald Trump is a very real, and very dangerous threat to the US Constitution, American sovereignty, as well as the Executive, Legislative, and Judicial branchs.

And this is why, calling Clinton and Bush, and Obama the antichrist, evil, the worst ever, is dangerous to our democracy. We might disagree, but not one of those comes even close to the dangers of a despot-wanabe like Donald Trump being re-elected. People grow numb to these accusations and they don't recognize actual fascism when it's infront of their own eyes.

Not only would his re-election doom what's left of the Republican Party to racist, fascist, nutters, not only would that doom the federal court system to enforce Donald Trump's polices long after he's dead and far into Generation Z's lifetime, it would risk completely destroying the rest of the world order that America has painstakingly built since World War II. It would risk the entire global economy.

Worse still it would solidify precedents. Hiding your financial records. Outright attacking other branchss of government. Attacking a free press. Attacking veterans that don't bend to your will. Targeting minorities. Targeting literally anyone and anything that might possibly pose a threat to white power, white dominance, and white supremacy.

We are up against an ideology that has the full backing of evangelicals like never before, because not only of his policies, but they believe he'll bring the United States and world one step closer to armageddon, the literal Rapture, Tribulation and End Times. (Ironic because he's literally closer to the antichrist than anything America has seen.) -- and don't @ me on that.

I'm a Pentecostal. I was reading and understanding prophecy and the Book of Revelation in particular when I was 13. I not only read the bible, I intentionally looked for the gnostic gospels, and compared and contrasted them. Just because I follow an evangelical religion doesn't mean I'm not fiercely liberal, especially with social issues. Most of the liberal stances I take are directly inline with Pentacostal, not to mention Christian in general, beliefs. Including my staunch support for LBGT+ rights, abortion, the poor, and immigration. The first two I've cited a number of times in previous posts, and while my faith is firm, I absolutely stand by scientific, evidence-based data, the age of the world, evolution, climate change, etc. Faith doesn't negate evidence-based scientific beliefs.

If any world leader in the past 50 years filled the described role of the Antichrist better than Trump, I don't know of them.

You can't fight ideologically driven zealots, who are willing to disregard everything that their own senses can clearly observe, that any and all rational thought would lead you to conclude Donald Trump would have not only been preached against by Jesus Christ, he would openly and fiercely rebuke every single Christian who supported him.

This is not hyperbole. This isn't even a liberal stance. This is basic, observational conclusion.

Donald Trump's attacks on American values, on Christian values, on Republican values, on Democratic values, on moral and decent values, must end. He must be held accountable for his actions and American must stand up and say no. No more. This isn't what we stand for. This isn't our values. This isn't us. We are better than this.

Donald Trump has never once faced even the slightest repercussions for his actions. He is the poster-boy for rich, white, male, Christian privilege. Sure he's not the last one, but enough of them think he is to still get that privilege.

For once in his life he must be held accountable for his words and actions, and we must be the ones to ensure that happens.

And in closing, if you wonder at all what our founding fathers would actually think of Donald Trump:

"Real liberty is neither found in despotism or the extremes of democracy, but in moderate governments." - Alexander Hamilton

"If ever a time should come, when vain and aspiring men shall possess the highest seats in Government, our country will stand in need of its experienced patriots to prevent its ruin." - Samuel Adams

"He that would make his own liberty secure, must guard even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates this duty, he establishes a precedent that will reach to himself." - Thomas Paine

"Man once surrendering his reason, has no remaining guard against absurdities the most monstrous, and like a ship without rudder, is the sport of every wind. With such persons, gullibility, which they call faith, takes the helm from the hand of reason, and the mind becomes a wreck." - Thomas Jefferson

"A government of laws, and not of men." - John Adams

[rainythefox]

Oh, Brother (RDR2 Fanfic Ch.1)

Summary: 1885, Illinois. A young Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur wander into a country town following a lead to swindle a wealthy homestead and break their control over the town. But while scoping it out, Arthur encounters a young John Marston, setting fate in motion that will eventually become a rocky, yet loyal brotherhood. A short multi-chapter fic revolving around how Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur met John, further developing what would eventually become the Van der Linde gang. Rated T for language, some violence, drinking/drugs and mischief. It will mostly be Frienship/Family and Humor, but there will be Action/Adventure with some violence!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Red Dead Redemption franchise, Rockstar, or its characters, etc. This is just for fun.

Chapter 1

"I did no such thing."

Hosea's tone was playful as he rubbed a hand through his light-blond hair before placing a hat upon his head. Dutch made a sound nearby, a mix between a chuckle and a snort as he spurred his horse to canter alongside them.

"Oh, dear brother, don't play sly with me. Even Arthur can see straight through your façade. That much is painfully clear."

"His what?" Arthur drawled, shaking his head, already impatient. "Are we lost or not?"

"I may have slightly got us off course."

"Hosea, you said it was due southeast of the camp."

"Southeast?" Arthur grunted, glaring at Dutch. "Bessie said southwest."

"Did she?" Hosea asked, glancing over his shoulder at the path behind them. "Huh, that explains a lot."

They halted their horses on the road, Arthur voicing his displeasure with a groan. Dutch wheezed a laugh beside him. A gust of wind brushed by, plains surrounding them. The same, dull prairie had been their only scenery for the couple hour ride they've done.

"My friend the master con artist, horrible with directions."

Hosea waved them off. "I haven't been down this way in ten goddamn years. What do you expect? And every blade of grass looks the same."

"Next time maybe you should stay behind, old man, an' we can bring Bessie instead," Arthur said.

"Very funny, my boy."

"Jus' sayin'."

"Now come on, son, where is the fun in that? We couldn't get into quite as much trouble with 'ol Bessie and Susan around."

"That's the point!" Arthur looked around. "Can we move? I feel exposed here."

"We're exposed everywhere," Dutch replied. "What, you missing Chicago?"

"Hell no!"

"Okay then."

"We got company," Hosea announced.

A wagon pulled by two draft horses met them on the road, coming from behind them. The wagon was full of produce, skins, and other materials. Two men rode in the front while two sat in the back, and all four were armed. Arthur was quick to notice the men's suspicious glares as they rode up on them.

Dutch cleared his throat. "Let me handle this." And directed his horse over to the wagon. The men got their repeaters ready, but Arthur knew Dutch's charm would pacify them easily.

"Hello, gentlemen! My dear friend, his nephew, and I are sight seeing 'round these parts. Decided to get away from Chicago for a bit, and got a little lost. They're as stubborn as mules asking for directions. We're trying to find the town of Andell, could you so kindly point us in the right direction?"

"Andell?" the older man echoed, eyebrows furrowing. He scratched at his full beard. "That's across the river. You a ways off, pal. Ya'll have to head back yonder to Canker Point and take the trail to the river and find the 'ol run down station before headin' west into Andell."

Dutch smiled, a hand to his chest as he dipped his head. "Thank you, friend. You may have saved our necks."

"Not sure why ya boys would wanna go to Andell though," the older man continued. "Fire took out most of it 'bout a year ago or so. It's not near as populated as it was."

Arthur sighed. Well, there went their chance at poking around for jobs. The young man slouched atop his horse, but Hosea didn't break his "hello, I'm a polite gentleman and harmless" expression. Dutch didn't show any falter to the news.

"Is that right? That's quite a shame. I was hoping to surprise an 'ol friend down this way. He's from Chicago too. Had ambitions to start up a livery stable in these parts, if I remember correctly."

One of the younger men in the back of the wagon perked up. He looked to be in his early twenties just like Arthur, only wasn't near as large and sturdy as he was. "Oh, we know that feller. You talkin' 'bout a Mister Galligan right?"

A sly smirk eased on Dutch's face. "Why yes, that's him. I hope he is well?"

"He moved over to the town of Hickory, which is where we're headin'."

Dutch glanced back at his older partner-in-crime, their subtle exchange something only the two of them understood. Dutch turned back to the travelers.

"Why, you fellas are our saving grace today. May we join you on your ride to Hickory?"

The older wagon driver glanced at his passengers then back to Dutch. "Sure. We don't want no trouble though."

Dutch eased their new traveling companions with a gentle laugh, a hand to his chest. "You'll get no such thing from us. Well, except for my brooding friend right there, he's a little grumpy at times."

Arthur gave Dutch a look. He and Hosea trotted alongside the wagon with Dutch as it followed the road to Hickory. Arthur stayed quiet, letting Dutch and Hosea sweet-talk the wagon riders and only talking when spoken to. It wasn't long before Hosea was drawing them in with some humorous story about a faulty fishing trip while portraying one of his many personas.

The wagon riders laughed and after that they were a lot more open and talkative, which is exactly what Dutch and Hosea wanted. Arthur heard the exchange of names, the aliases that his mentors chose this time around. The wagon driver, Hester, and his son, and the other two men were ranch hands for a wealthy homesteader family within the area. They explained how the Warrens were strict and hard to work for, how they used their prosperity to take over the town of Hickory.

Their complaints and frankness drove Dutch and Hosea to exchange knowing smirks with each other. Arthur knew them well enough to know that an idea was hatching. He swore it was like the two men could read each other's thoughts at times. He didn't quite understand it.

After traveling together on the road for an hour, the town of Hickory came into view. It was a bit smaller than what they were used to in scouting for jobs, but it would do. It was average, nothing quite unique stood out to Arthur, and he noticed the typical stores, homes, and dirt roads. The small town seemed to be quite populated, however. Men, women, and children walked the streets, some hollered out to others. Horseback riders and those on wagons kept the roads busy with traffic.

"Now this is quite a town you have here, Mister Foll," Hosea said. "Ya know, I think I've been here years before, and well, seems to have grown considerably."

"I'm sure it ain't nothin' like what you boys are used to in Chicago, but it's an alright town. The Warrens are to thank for its growth, but since they've taken over most stores and businesses, prices have gone up and, well, there're far more poor folk than there should be."

"Such a shame," Dutch said, dark eyes already scanning for opportunities.

"Anyways, this is where we go our separate ways, we gotta get these supplies to Mister Warren. You fellas be careful. Hickory has a thievin’ problem. Ya'll find your friend Mister Galligan on the far side of town at the stables."

Hosea and Dutch waved them off as the wagon turned down a different road. Dutch turned his horse to face Hosea and Arthur as they looked over the town before them. The town was surrounded by more plains, a forest not far to the west. Besides the stores and houses, there were also livestock barns and pens. It looked to be mostly sheep and pigs here.

"Smell that gentlemen?"

"Yeah, smells like shit," Arthur grumbled.

"No, opportunities, Arthur. Did you not pay attention?" Dutch said, shaking his head.

"Aw c'mon, Dutch. There ain't nothin' here. I betchu that Mister Galligan lost all that money. Why else would he leave the city? He gon' have worse men than us after him."

Hosea chuckled. "He left because he has the money, you sulky buffoon. You still upset about what happened?"

"It weren't my fault."

"We never said it was, son."

"Eh, it wasn't that big of a loss anyway. We've been doing this for eight years, Arthur. Some jobs just don't pan out. Best to get over it," Hosea explained.

"Sure."

"Let's hit the saloon. I'm parched. We can discuss some ideas there, get a feel of the town," Dutch ordered, spurring his horse into a trot.

"Okay, Dutch," Hosea answered.

Arthur rode behind his mentors. They hitched their horses outside the small saloon. Inside, several folks drank and laughed away. The voices bounced through the walls, and Arthur scanned the room, the faces, the behaviors. It looked like there would be no trouble.

Dutch got them some drinks and they talked to the side, watching the townsfolk drink and chatter away.

Dutch and Hosea stood out amongst most of the people. They always wore nicer clothes, Dutch especially. Dutch had grown a mustache in the past couple years and kept it trimmed and neat, but Hosea remained clean-shaven as always. Despite Hosea being nearly twelve years older than Dutch, his eyes shown with the same youth, the same passion and ambition.

Arthur himself had grown considerably since they found him eight years ago. No longer a lanky, dirty teenager, he bulked up some and now had some scruff on his face. He wasn't as rowdy or impolite as he was when they first found him, the typical orphan delinquent. Although, he kept Dutch and Hosea on their toes with his sarcastic, often cynical nature.

His clothes weren't near as kept and clean as his mentors', but he often had the dirtier jobs. He finally could wear his father's hat without it swallowing his head. He may have not have liked his blood father too much, but he sure as hell liked his hat.

"Seems like good people here," Dutch said finally. "I'm quite interested about these Warrens our talkative friends spoke of."

"They didn't shut up once you charmed them," Hosea joked. "I'm curious though."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Hosea grinned and Arthur rolled his eyes. "I thought we was here for Mister Galligan, not these Warren folks?"

Dutch patted him on the back. "If you'd paid attention on our humble ride into town, you would've heard the plight of our friends. The Warrens sound like your typical wealthy overlords of the region. Can you imagine what we could take from them?"

Hosea took a shot, letting the bartender give him another. "I'll look into the Warrens, see what I can find. Dutch, you've been wanting a crack at Mister Galligan for three weeks. Maybe you should go check that out?"

Dutch took his own shot, puffing from its bitterness. "Sure. I mean, if you’re confident you can handle some hillbilly homesteaders who think they run this place?"

"You offend me, sir," Hosea mocked.

Dutch laughed. "Well, Arthur. How about you survey the town? See what else there is that we can take advantage of?"

"Sure, Dutch." Arthur raised his glass and gulped it down, hissing at the burn. "Jus' don't leave me here. I'd love to see Miss Grimshaw and Misses Matthews tan both yer hides once this is over."

Dutch lit a cigar as they headed out of the saloon. "Knowing them, they're getting into their own trouble."

Arthur laughed. "No doubt!"

Dutch bowed once they were outside. "I bid you adieu, my dear brothers. See you soon."

"Hey, make sure you drag 'em behind a horse when you're through with 'em!" Arthur hollered.

"Shh," Hosea hissed, a hand going to the younger man's shoulder. "Don't give him any ideas."

"He's the one with the ideas, I'm jus' sayin'! That fool ruined our last job outside Chicago. Nearly broke my goddamn neck."

"We aren't here for revenge. We don't do that. We're here for his money, that's all. The job just didn't go as planned, Arthur. We're outta here once it's done, alright?"

Hosea was always able to settle him with his calm words and caring, wise eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Hosea smiled, patting Arthur's arm. "Alright. Well, get out there, boy, and see what you can find. We'll meet back here later."

Hosea went his own way in town. Arthur heaved a sigh, looking about. Time to get to work, he guessed. Straightening his hat, he stepped away from the saloon over to his horse.

"You be good, fella," Arthur said, patting the bay gelding's neck.

The next few hours, Arthur spent his time going into businesses and stores, getting the feel of the people and the town of Hickory. He eavesdropped on any interesting conversations his ears picked up. Apparently, the Warrens had a livestock auction every Thursday. It was something they could look into.

Later, he overheard the Warrens had some kind of cellar behind one of their barns that they always kept locked up and guarded. This piqued Arthur's interest, and he was excited to tell Dutch and Hosea about it.

While he waited for his father figures to return to him, he leaned on a hitch near their horses smoking a cigarette. He nodded and waved at passersby, just to keep up a friendly appearance. The town of Hickory must've had strangers coming and going a lot, because the townsfolk barely paid him any mind. Arthur liked that.

"Hey, Mister!"

Arthur turned around, only to see the body of a young boy flying through the air. The boy crashed into him, throwing Arthur onto his back, the wind knocked out of him from the kid's legs slamming his gut.

"Oof! What the hell?!" He coughed.

The boy had dark hair, and laughed as he cut his satchel strap, taking it and the hat atop Arthur's head before dashing off. Arthur scrambled to his feet, anger coming over him as he realized he had just been robbed by a damn kid.

"Get back here, you little shit!"

He chased after the boy as he took an alleyway between two stores. He looked to be around eleven or twelve, although Arthur could tell he was scrawny for his age. His hair fell past his chin in greasy dark locks, and his clothes were tattered and dirty.

For being small and thin, the kid could run fast and was nimble, ducking and swerving out of Arthur's grasp each time he went to snatch him. He knew the town well, weaving through people and farm equipment. Arthur barreled his way through folks, keeping the boy in his sights.

The boy climbed up and ran along a fence top before jumping into a pig pen and cutting away. Arthur heaved himself over, kicking and yelling at pigs to get through.

"I'm gonna wring yer neck! Com'ere, boy!"

"Catch me if ya can, ya big oaf!" He had a distinct, raspy voice.

The kid ducked under another wood fence. Arthur vaulted over it seconds later. He kept at the boy's heels, but the slippery little heathen would only veer away, using obstacles and people to stop Arthur. He jumped and grabbed onto a moving wagon as Arthur came back out into the street. Arthur ran after him on foot, the boy laughing.

"Nah nah, ya can't catch me. Why don'tchu give up?"

"Stop that wagon, mister! Ya got a little monster on the back of it!"

The wagon driver turned around at the holler, pulling on the reins to stop the horses. The boy ditched the wagon and darted for another building, Arthur cut him off. He blocked the boy's path, keeping his body as a barrier as he tried to get around him. The boy dove through his legs and got up and scampered off once more.

"Stop, ya little thief!"

As he came around the corner, huffing, the boy was finally caught. Like a little wild animal, he fought Hosea's hold. Hosea tried to calm the boy down. Arthur, jaw clenched, came over and snatched his satchel back. But just as he was about to grab his hat, the boy kicked Hosea in the groin. Hosea yelped, letting the boy go and he escaped.

"Ugh, so much for a polite introduction," Hosea groaned, holding himself.

Arthur, still annoyed, couldn't help but to laugh at the sight. "He got ya too, huh? Little shit was as slippery as the devil." Then Arthur realized the small thief still had his hat. "He got my goddam hat!"

Hosea grabbed him as he started after the boy once more. "Forget it, Arthur. We'll find him. Don't worry."

The boy was probably long gone anyway.

Dutch arrived shortly after. He took in their disheveled appearance, the pained scowl on Hosea's face as he gripped his crotch and Arthur's huffing breaths as he dusted himself off, mumbling a whole range of curses. Arthur reached into his satchel to make sure his journal was still intact. He was relieved to see it was.

Dutch raised his eyebrows. "What the hell did I miss?"

"You don't want to know," Hosea said, finally standing up straight.

"Got robbed by a goddam kid."

Dutch chuckled, earning him a glare from Arthur. "You mean a little bumpkin got the best of you, Arthur? My boy, come now!"

"Not funny, Dutch. He still has my damn hat. And well, damaged Hosea's tallywags."

Hosea wheezed. "I'm fine."

"Come on, we should head back to camp. Got some planning to do," Dutch said.

"But my hat!"

"We'll get it back, Arthur. We're gonna stick around a few days. We will see that brat again, no doubt," Hosea assured.

Arthur groaned. "Fine."

"I leave you both for a few hours and a child wreaks havoc on both your prides. What ever am I going to do with you two?"

"Easy for you to say. You didn't get kicked where it counts," Hosea huffed.

"Low blow, huh Hosea?"

"Hah, you're funny, dear friend."

Dutch feigned innocence, motioning to himself. "It's not my fault you two provide me opportunities for such jokes."

"If I don't get my hat back, I'm siccing Miss Grimshaw on that little heathen."

Hosea chortled. "Dear god, Arthur. The boy doesn't deserve that much torture."

The three of them laughed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932513/chapters/39785013

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13143281/1/Oh-Brother

[gaslightwestern]

When Sins Haunt: Pre-Story Drabble #1 Planning a Crime Over Coffee (Jack’s POV)

Context: Technically proceeds this scene. Jack, Martin, and Mae are bantering discussing breaking into a house when Officer O’Brera shows up. [ Dialogue-heavy; canon; 1,300+ words ]

[ Overview | Intro | Page | # | Charlotte | Jack | Warren | Sam | Martin, Mae & Theo | TL ↓ ]

The bell above the café door chimed as another customer entered; faces buried beneath bundles of thick wool. Each time they brought along a gust of frigid air with them. Jack shivered violently, his threadbare brown coat no match for the torture that was January in New York City. Everyone in the vicinity seemed cozy in their overcoats, clustered around circular wooden tables full of baked goods and hot drinks.

“I just ordered my coffee and it’s already cold,” Jack grumbled, taking a small sip from the large white mug in his hands.

Outside the snow was falling steadily, covering the city with another soon-to-be-tarnished white blanket. The red brick tenements that towered around the small café looked almost picturesque—if not for the frozen filth hanging from the iron staircases and the vagrants huddled together in the trash-filled crevices between the buildings. Carriage wheels and countless footsteps mashed the snowflakes into a sea of slush outside, flooding the dirty streets of the Lower East Side with a fresh layer of grime.

Awash in the gray light from the window, Mae and Martin shared a knowing glance, before he raised a thick eyebrow. “It’s cold because you haven’t shut up since we walked in.”

“I wouldn’t have to talk so much if you’d contribute to the conversation instead of making eyes at the waitress.” Jack retorted, before lowering his voice. “We need to figure out how we’re going to break into Captain Marlow’s house.”

“You need to figure that out, not me. I’m just here for the scenery.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Martin’s dark gaze returned to the voluptuous brunette who, with balance of a tightrope walker, skillfully weaved her way through the tables despite the trays of dishes and heavy mugs in either hand. In Martin’s defense she had sent more than a couple lingering glances his way. Most of the ladies who catch his eye do.

“We don’t know where he lives,” Mae pointed out, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief having finished her hot cocoa. Maybe he was talking too much. “Isn’t that, you know, the first rule of breaking and entering?”

Jack grimaced, letting the sounds of chairs strapping the floor and chatter sweep over him. The location of the Marlow residence was something Jack had neglected, but he refused to admit it. “No, that’s the second. The first is figuring out when to do it.” His hands were fidgeting and he slipped them under his thighs. “I’m thinking Friday. I overheard him bragging about how he’s planning to take his wife to Delmonico’s.”

Martin snorted. “Since when can he afford Del’s?”

“Marlow’s magically come into some money recently.”

“You’d think he’d want to be more careful about flashing his money about,” Mae said dryly, as she searched through her bag, pulling out the latest from Henry James. Jack made a mental note to borrow the book from her later.

“You’ve mistaken Marlow for a man of intelligence,” Jack grinned.

Mae suddenly gasped. Both Jack and Martin sat up alert until they noticed what, or rather who, she was gawking at. Officer Theo O’Brera was strolling up the street, nodding cordially at passersby while surveying the area. Given his rosy nose and cheeks, he was likely several hours into his sixteen-hour shift. His face lit up upon spotting the trio through the window. Mae hurriedly smoothed the sleek black strands that had escaped her bun behind her ears. Jack vacated the seat by her and sat by Martin instead, who stared openly at the pair.

“You’re both ridiculous.”

Mae ignored Martin and plucked some stray gray cat hairs off her pale green dress. “Jack, did you pick this café and the window seats because you knew Officer O’Brera was on the beat?”

A long pause followed. “Maybe.”

“Jack!”

Another gust of cool air accompanied Theo as the door swung open. Several people eyed him wearily; a few pulled up their collars while others shoved their card games aside. Theo paid them all little heed, instead tipping his cap to his friends. “Good afternoon to you all. Surprised to see you out and about. Keeping warm?”

“Trying to,” Jack replied as Theo unraveled the blue scarf Mae knit him for Christmas. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit?”

Theo gave him a hard look. Was he going to scold Jack for attempting to lure him from his duties again? The young patrolman acted as though crime would escalate the moment he turned his back on the miscreants lurking in the darker corners.

“Trying and failing.” Theo plopped his own coat on Jack’s shoulders. “You might want to save for a new one, mate. Spring is more than a fair while away.”

Rather than explain how every time he saved up some money it seemed that rent was due, Jack mumbled a quiet thank you. He wrapped the gray wool tightly around him, simultaneously relishing the warmth and attempting to cover his burning cheeks.

“How has your shift been so far?” Mae asked, flashing a smile. Martin rolled his eyes.

“Boring,” he laughed, sitting next to her. “I guess criminals took the day off. Can’t say I blame ‘em. Mostly I’ve just been informing the outdoor poor of better places to stay warm.”

While Mae and Theo discussed the plight of the less fortunate, Jack and Martin eyed one another. Undoubtedly his friend was also thinking about the times patrolmen greeted them with nightsticks, not words, to clear them and other huddled street urchins from their hideouts.

Martin’s lips twisted into a devilish smirk. “When your shift is over you should warm up at Mae’s.”

Mae’s pointy boot swiped Jack’s leg as she delivered a swift kick to Martin’s shin. He gripped the table suddenly, clamping down on his lips and smothering whatever curse words threatened to slip past. While Theo explained how his shift would end too late for that, the two glared daggers at one another. Jack sank further into the coat, knowing his whole face had gone red from repressed laughter.

“Has Captain Marlow ever invited you over to his house?” Martin asked through grit teeth.

Theo gave a nod. “He had a fair number of the lads over for dinner party back in the fall. Why?”

Jack’s back snapped up as though someone had suddenly shoved an iron rod down his spine. “What’s his address?”

Theo’s gray eyes narrowed. “What deviltry are you three up to now?”

A large gulp of cold coffee did a poor job at smothering Jack’s nervous laughter. Although normally included in his investigations, Jack had kept Theo in the dark as he and Marlow both worked out of the Seventh Precinct Station. The possibility of a speck of loyalty between the colleagues left Jack hesitant to reveal his determination to bring down the Captain.

Martin looked at his nails. “He suspects Captain Marlow is involved in an illicit liquor scam.”

“Just tell the whole world, won’t you?” Jack snapped.

Theo’s lips pursed under his thick red mustache. “Wouldn’t put it past him.” Jack’s eyes went wide, but Theo raised a hand. “Not saying the Captain is guilty. I’m just saying he’s the sort.”

“Jack has compiled a compelling trail of evidence,” Mae explained, swiping the notebook from Jack’s tattered coat to show Theo. “All he really needs now is to locate where the alcohol is being stored.”

“You gotta tell me his address.” Jack was unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “His house would be the easiest place for him to store the boxes. Or at least some of it. If I’m right—and I am—I’ll bet you more officers are involved.” Jack grabbed Theo’s sleeve. “This could be big!”

Theo glanced down at Jack’s hand, then noticed Martin and Mae were staring at him eagerly. He gave a great sigh then began searching through his pockets, pulling out a pen and paper. “I’ll write it down for you.”

Tag List: @jess-is-a-writer, @maskedlady, @thewritertiffany, @strawberry--sunrise, @teacupwriter, @girlnovels, @cirianne, @okrashan, @paranoidwriter, @drabbleitout, @nyxnevin, @scintillations-of-the-scribblers

[joemoshe]

5 Investing Mistakes To Avoid for 2022

Investing is the main key to financial freedom. However, instead of making big bucks through investing, many people lose their hard-earned money instead. The problem here isn’t investing itself, but the way they choose and settle on a decision.

One of the world’s greatest investors, Warren Buffett, who was branded as Oracle of Omaha, stated two important rules of money. First, never lose money. Secondly, never forget the first rule. Yet, losing money is pretty difficult, especially when you’re just still starting out on your journey.

If you want to reach financial freedom much faster, here are the investment mistakes you should avoid at all costs this 2022:

1. Not paying attention to your mortgage rate

Houses are expensive. For ordinary people, it takes a lifetime to buy something as costly that’s why there are 30-year-long mortgages that are being offered in the market. A house is probably the biggest investment that individuals living from paycheck to paycheck can make.

When buying a house, the mortgage rates are always taken for granted. It’s rare to see people giving importance to a one percent difference in the mortgage rate, but you should take that one percent seriously and try going for better deals if possible.

Let me give you an example of how significant one percent is.

For instance, you are buying a house worth $300,000. If you would give a 20% down payment, your mortgage rate could be lowered down to 3% instead of 4%. With a 1% mortgage rate discount, you could save $134 every month.

At first glance, a hundred bucks don’t seem to be a big money, but if you would give it a second thought, it’s actually big money when to add up together— $1607 a year or $48,240 for 30 years. This is equivalent to an entire year’s salary for most people. So, if you could get that 1% mortgage rate discount, you could save a year’s worth of salary.

The opportunity cost of the money you could’ve saved is massive if you won’t just let it sit in banks. If you invest that $1607 a year in S&P 500, you are going to end up with $293,000, almost the same amount as the house you purchase, after 30 years.  

Hence, if you are not paying attention to mortgage rates, and not making any effort to lower them down, then you’re making the mistake of throwing away a hundred thousand dollars.

2. Not paying attention to your looks

People nowadays seem to give little to no importance to appearance when it comes to wealth building, but it actually matters. Here’s the truth: Beauty pays well.

This sounds a bit horrible, but studies found that attractive people do better financially, compared to those who look a bit inferior to them. This is a bit harsh, but if I come to ask you who would you trust more—a guy with messy hair, dirty-looking clothes, and long unshaved mustache, or a neat-looking guy, wearing clean clothes? We shouldn’t just by mere appearance, but I can bet you would choose the latter.

Several studies have shown that the better a man looks, the higher the starting salaries they receive, and the faster their earnings increase in their first ten years. On the other hand, a woman’s looks have little to no impact on their starting salary. However, they received a more significant improvement in salaries in the long run.

You can’t surely change your genes to look naturally beautiful, but there are a lot of ways available to look good. Try dressing up properly, fixing your hair, exercising, and grooming. You can make yourself look more attractive than you can imagine. Invest in your appearance.

3. You always have an option

We are all chained in the cycle of going to school and looking for a job that will put food on the table. This is how our mind was molded since we were young, so we think we have no other choice but to follow what everyone else was doing. But you know what? You always have an option.

It’s up to you if you are going to find a job just for the sake of making ends meet or choose to do something that is meaningful. Something that makes your heart run wild. You are not obligated to take out a student debt and go to college. You are not obligated to find a job. If you have an idea in mind of what you badly want to do, follow it.

4. Borrowing money to launch a new business

Many aspiring entrepreneurs believe that money is all it takes to start a business. That all they need is capital to begin. But that shouldn’t be the case, especially if you have no experience in running one. You will just end up with debts.

These days, there are several ways how you can start out a business with little to no capital. Only borrow money when you have a few dollars at best and come up with a strategic plan on how to expand.

5. Timing the market

If you are planning to enter the stock market, you should know that it is impossible to time the market. Despite the talks that we are on a bubble, no one accurately knows when that bubble is going to burst. So, rather than timing the market, you should look for strategies that you can use to yield profits.

One of the best stock market investing strategies is dollar-cost averaging. Through this strategy, you won’t need to time the market since all you need to do is invest gradually, hitting both booms and bottoms. If you are thinking that you’ll lose money when the money hit rock bottom, you are wrong. The overall market is rising, so you’re more likely to win than lose.

[aion-rsa]

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 17 Review: Burger Kings

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This The Simpsons review contains spoilers.

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 17

The Simpsons Season 32 episode 17 ” Burger Kings,” continues to charbroil Springfield mythology into tasty nuggets of classic comedy. With so much grease built up over the years, the cooks are unafraid to refry old dishes as new cuisine. This season has seen quite a few instances where old storylines are transformed into surprisingly fresh installments.

In spite of all outward evidence, and the best testing indicates, Mr. Burns never gets old. Yes, he has made “The Top 100 Most Evil People Over 100” list more times than he cares to admit. But not in the comic sense. We’ve seen him do good many times, only to revert to the evil capitalistic monster which lies at his black, barely beating heart. Over the years, he’s rebuilt himself by plundering all ocean life, protected the town’s children from an anti-child group in order to keep ensure their supple young organs will be available when he needs them, and stole the winning glory from a championship bowling team.

Unlike Dick Cheney, Burns won’t live forever. So, when he turns a mouth-watering near-death experience into an animal-cruelty-free shot at redemption, long-time audiences are primed to see how it’s going to turn sour. The Simpsons consistently pushes the inner logic of each character to their most hilarious limits. Burns is an ancient being, who is also tremendously wealthy. This foreknowledge makes the idea he has all of the wrinkles from his one breakfast raison ironed out palatable. Wearing a live bat for a night eye patch works because he’s just evil.

Burns’ final request, as he lay on his deathbed, to have Smithers fire someone, preferably an employee who just bought a house, is perfectly reasonable. When Burns gets his epiphany about doing good, he says he knows how Edison felt when he invented the electric chair. His reference to a beloved airman is Rudolph Hess. We buy it as easily as we believe he lived past 100 without ever eating a hamburger. And this, we believe because we don’t doubt that Burns believes hamburgers are made of people from Hamburg.

Burns’ twisted line reading of “People don’t like me. They really don’t like me” is a nod to Sally Field’s memorable second Oscar acceptance speech. Burns is on the same level of public transformation, but he’s no flying nun. Though he can take some comfort in knowing there is a little extra radiation in every drop of water on the planet because of him. Burns does have a point when he disagrees with Smithers on how the townspeople hate him because he’s sic’d the hounds on each of them by pointing out everyone loves dogs. The writers twist his logic perfectly.

It isn’t even surprising how Burns, who made his fortune at a nuclear plant, only realizes what fission is during this episode. We should have some sympathy for Burns. We learn he’s always craved praise because it was something he never had as a child. Monty’s father died the same day he found out his mother doesn’t like fake art, like a crayon drawing he made of her hugging him. But the newspaper headline begins with “Finally some good news” when it announces Burns is near death.

Music has been very important this season, filling the gaps in almost every installment. This episode is bookended by a lounge singer, who also does double-time as a Greek Chorus, improvising the verses to match the inner conflict in both Homer and Burns. Homer learns more from dreams than can ever be taught in books. In the opening Burns learns people think of him as a fat cat no one really likes, and the singer serenades him with wishes he never fall asleep. One song teaches Homer he sold out all his values.  

Homer the perfect spokesperson as a stand-in for the common slob. Not only does he have it on his business card, but the card itself is stolen from Ned’s store with the name and number of his Leftorium crossed out. Lisa’s expertise in meat bypass products is as impressive as it should be. She’s been vegetarian since meeting Paul and Linda McCartney, and she’s intelligent enough to know her phony baloney from her ghost beef. It is a truly rousing moment when Burns wins the Simpson family over with a tasty meatless burger. The artistic rendition of Lisa’s tastebuds is inspired.

While it’s not explicitly stated, it looks like the Ex-cellent Burger stock movement brings out the compulsive gambler in Marge. It begins with a comment on the efficiency of Alexa voice commands. After Marge is misinterpreted into buying a thousand shares, Alexa tries to pawn herself off as Siri, but Marge is already hooked. The shareholders subplot, with the E-Trading and the “More money for Marge” stock ticker tongue, is as scary as it is funny because it is animated in Lisa’s childlike point of view.

The Burger Wars segment is ingenious, and benefits from the subtle seasoning. The medics arrive on the battlefield as Hamburger Helpers, and the mushroom clouds make for perfect burger toppings. One of the great mysteries of Springfield is how long “The Krusty the Clown” show has been on the air, when Krusty was made for cancel culture. When Burger King did an inclusionary ad promotion, Krustyburger rolled out the “Burger Queer.” The environmentally, and apparently humane food product Burns is selling inspires Krusty to introduce the LGBTQBLT. “My hero is a loser,” Bart notes sadly. Ultimately Krusty wins by doing exactly what he’s always done, nothing. He’s just waiting for someone to round up the donkeys before he gets back in the burger business.

The blatant social subversion of townspeople, including Fat Tony, holding up signs like “Blessed are the rich” and “We’ve got no beef with Monty” is brilliant subtle satire. The commentary continues as Burns finally gets to join the very exclusive “Beloved Billionaires Club.” It only has two members, Warren Buffett and Bill Gates. Mark Zuckerberg gets left out in the shade. Not only is he not allowed into the club, The Simpsons takes on Facebook’s privacy issues in a scathingly funny way.

The episode is loaded with quick references to quickly disposable culture. In one scene, Homer is reading the book “Harry Potter and the Apologizing Author.” It looks like the Stranger Things kids get eaten by the alien they’re apparently trying to save. In the Burns’ food rendering plant, one of the workers kills the vegetation with the same implement of death used in No Country for Old Men (2007).

“Burger King” is also supersized with the quick passing tone comedy bits which make for classic Simpsons episodes. It is overloaded with comic shorts. We say goodbye to the “Sad News Reporter” as he streams away with the burst dam water so Kent Brockman can present sponsored news. As the French chef is running from the hounds he yells “cordon bleu.” During one fantasia, Homer sees himself as the daddy of a fly family who “has put all his kids through garbage.” Burns shoves the Krustyburger bag into Homer’s mouth to shut him up and take his burger.

The Simpsons even puts a spin on the comedy law of threes. When Mr. Smithers is worried that Burns has doubled his weight by eating hamburgers, we see Burns top the scale at 42 pounds. This is funny, and works as a punch line because of Burn’s known frailty, but when Smithers says “tripled,” it extends the joke, and the surrealism. It almost forces the audience to do math. Lisa’s climactic pursuit of Burns is classic series traditionalism. The slow-moving old man can’t get away from her on foot, and she beats him to his mansion when he tries to escape her in his ancient car. She even has enough time left over to tame his hounds.

Because of the NDA, Homer can only speak in pre-approved corporate phrases like “yes, ve gan,” “I guaran tree it,” and “abso-lettuce.” He’s only learned one lesson in his life, and that is not to bite the hand that feeds you, even if there’s delicious marrow inside. Homer’s generation did what it did, and he imparts timeless wisdom. Lisa’s future will have its own problems to face, like inventing new bees and learning to live peacefully with fire tornadoes. But she reasons, like the promotions promised, “The fate of the world is in your mouth.”

When Lisa wants to know whether she should tell Burns his company is only using endangered plants, Bart says “he already knows. He’s evil.” Lisa believes people do change for the better even though there’s no evidence to back it up. She wants Burns’ life of evil to be completely forgotten with one good deed. She even believes he will do the right thing when he learns the Amazon is the lungs the planet. 

Of course, Monty can’t keep it up. It’s what we expect, but The Simpsons still finds a way to twist it further. Once you’re known for doing something good you have to continue doing good things. “That’s why Jesus retired at 33,” Burns notes in an amazing realization. He’s no longer crushed by morality. Evil always wins, and he’s even planning on opening a school for the blind so he can convince them aliens have landed.

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“Burger Kings” is the leanest fast food The Simpsons have served up in an already-satisfying season. With only one fat joke for texture, it is crammed with gags, jokes, sarcasm, and funny lines within funny lines. It crackles with cynicism and dashes dreams of little girls in mustaches asking hopeful questions. Even the opening couch gag offers an abstract appetizer to the story. The Simpson family are rendered as pre-French-fried potatoes. It’s only garnish, but it completes the meal.

The post The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 17 Review: Burger Kings appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[thatbanjobusiness]

Album Showcase #1: A Tribute to Fiddlin’ Paul Warren

One of my all-time favorite American fiddlers is Paul Warren. There’s a wide variety of fiddling styles in bluegrass, from Kenny Baker’s velvety gliding to Paul Warren’s energetic double-stop chopping. For me personally, Paul’s playing evokes something that feels close to myself, and it’s for this reason that his playing incited me to try to learn fiddling myself. Paul was an old-time hoedown fiddler, meaning that he played a lot of old, traditional fiddle tunes dating back to the Civil War or thereabouts, and he played them in an energetic, quick-paced, choppy style with heavy double-stops (double-stops, for those of you who aren’t familiar, are when you play two fiddle strings at the same time in harmony with yourself). I’m someone who loves to play with energy, and while I might not have the most consistent technical execution or sappiest tone, I feel as though that old-time hoedown style is something my playing abilities and soul understand.

During his career, Paul Warren played and recorded with Johnnie & Jack and Kitty Wells, but he’s most well-known for his long-term career with Flatt & Scruggs. He joined their band in 1953 and played with them until they broke up in 1969; then, when Lester Flatt formed his own band (that was virtually identical to Flatt & Scruggs, sin Scruggs), Paul continued to play with Flatt until his health began to fail. And this is where we get into some of the interesting—and emotionally evocative—backstory behind this album I want to talk to you about today.

During the time Paul’s playing was at its best, lots of bandleaders were selective about what their sidemen could and couldn’t do. And one hella common thing was that sidemen didn’t record their own albums. Flatt & Scruggs actually had one exception to this; their comedy duo, Jake and Josh, recorded their own album while still members of that band, filled with the novelty tunes they often performed on television or onstage for variety. I’m not sure, but part of me suspects that might have been the first (at least one of the first) albums released by bluegrass sidemen. Now. Anyway. The idea for an album showcasing Paul Warren was brought up and thought about. It was certainly floated around. But nobody acted on it in time. When Paul was getting ready to leave Flatt’s band by 1977 due to decreasing health, they suggested he do that feature album, but he reluctantly declined it, knowing his playing was no longer in his prime.

Paul Warren would only get an album in his name released posthumously. He died at the age of 59 about a year after leaving the band (on January 12, 1978), and it was then that Flatt’s manager fished through recordings of performances and live radio shows to compile the album’s tracks. I have that album, and while it’s a unique treat to hear live performances (I LOVE old bluegrass live performance recordings), it’s definitely not what it should have been. We lost the chance to have Paul in his prime do a studio-quality album.

There’s further emotionally poignant details to go along with this. See, in 1977, Paul Warren did some simple at-home recordings shortly before his passing. Paul Warren’s fiddling is fun enough, but Paul was also an extraordinary and I would argue important wealth of information, carrying along with him a staggering number of American fiddle tunes. He undoubtedly took many of these songs with him to the grave. They may be forgotten forever now. However, with his at-home recordings, he was able to save some of his knowledge last-minute before his passing. He recruited one of his sons, Johnny, to play guitar for him as he did the recordings. And he also taught Johnny, who was himself a fiddler, many of the tunes he knew.

Today his son Johnny Warren is a Grammy winning old-time fiddler who plays in a remarkably similar style to his father. The album I’ve been listening to recently, A Tribute to Fiddlin’ Paul Warren, is one way in which Johnny Warren has commemorated and carried on his dad’s legacy. Johnny learned some of the tunes his father recorded in those at-home 1977 tapes, took them to the studio, and gave these songs the life that Paul didn’t have the time to. He recorded these songs with his longtime friend, banjoist Charlie Cushman.

On Flatt & Scruggs television shows, radio shows, and live stage performances, Paul Warren and banjoist Earl Scruggs used to play the old-time fiddle tunes, just the two of them. It’s some of my favorite music. There’s an extraordinary richness to just the fiddle and banjo playing to their fullest and complementing one another. It can be intricate, harmonically complex, contrapuntal, and rhythmically satisfying with just these two instruments, and anyone who wants to poopoo folk music as “secondary” to classical music I think should take a look at these fiddle-banjo duets. It is mostly this format that the album A Tribute to Fiddlin’ Paul Warren takes. Many tracks are banjo and fiddle duets, though other bluegrass instruments and more musicians make their appearance.

The fiddle tunes have charmingly entertaining folk titles. Some of them are normal, like “Hollow Poplar” or “Love Somebody.” But other songs’ names are bemusingly weird. “Wait in the Kitchen ’til the Cook Comes Home.” “Sugar in My Coffee-O.” “Little Black Mustache.” “Two Hog Weeds and One Stalk of Corn.” And my personal favorite title: “Ole Joe Can’t Play Fiddle ’Cause the Bow’s Too Short and Broke in the Middle.”

Unfortunately the songs from this album have not been uploaded on YouTube. My personal favorite from this album is “Sugar in My Coffee-O,” which I have quickly found to be different than other versions I’ve found of this song. Their version of “Sugar in My Coffee-O” begins in a wonderful, deep minor sound before switching to major in the B section. I haven’t heard the same chordal structure in other versions of the song. HOWEVER. I did find some live videos of Johnny Warren and Charlie Cushman playing with one another, including the song “Over There,” which is one of the tracks in this album.

There are several unique songs in this collection. Two songs are compositions by Johnny, one of them named after his daughter Lorie (“Lorie’s Reel”), and the other named after his son Paul (“Little Paul”). I know, I know, there’s lots of family goodness in the history behind this album.

And as I mentioned, sometimes other musicians beyond Johnny Warren and banjoist Charlie Cushman play. Other contributors include several of Johnny Warren’s old bandmates and big names in bluegrass. Let me give some background for them...

Remember how I said Paul Warren became most well-known for playing with Flatt & Scruggs? Earl Scruggs himself appears on one of the tracks. Another long-time member of the band, Curly Seckler (who amusingly enough by this point had become Johnny’s stepfather), also appears. And a third man, a dobroist named Tim Graves, is a nephew of another longtime member of Flatt & Scruggs (dobroist Josh Graves).

And do you remember how I said Paul Warren played in Lester Flatt’s band until his health failed? Well, several years after Paul Warren left the band... Johnny Warren joined the same band as the new fiddler. By this point, Curly Seckler had taken over the band. I already said Curly Seckler is one of the people in this album. Another member of that band (albeit one who didn’t play with Johnny), badass mandolinist Marty Stuart, is also in this collaboration.

I sadly do not know much about the final musician in this album, Kent Blanton, but the bassist TOTES deserves recognition so I’ll give his name here!

Altogether, these people who joined Johnny Warren and Charlie Cushman are people who would have interacted closely with Paul, would have been good friends with Paul, and would have played professionally with Paul for years in the same band. I think it’s really heartening to see people come together for a special project like this.

And I absolutely have to say, the track where Earl Scruggs plays banjo instead of Charlie Cushman... is wild... because it absolutely sounds like Earl Scruggs and Paul Warren playing together again. They play the song “Buck Creek Gal,” which I’ve heard Earl and Paul play on live performances and television show episodes before (see above). For shits and giggles, I edited a segment of a recording with Earl and Paul and led directly into a segment with Earl and Johnny... and when I wasn’t paying attention, I actually hadn’t noticed the change in fiddlers! You can certainly tell it’s a different man playing the fiddle, but Johnny’s style absolutely captures the same spirit as his father’s playing.

This is not the only tribute that Johnny Warren has done honoring his late father. For starters, there is another album titled A Tribute to Fiddlin’ Paul Warren Vol. 2. Hopefully I’ll be able to get to that soon. But beyond that, Johnny Warren, Charlie Cushman, and several companions got together to form their own band, the punnily named, Grammy Award winning The Earls of Leicester, which is a tribute band that seeks to emulate the energy and heart of Flatt & Scruggs as close as possible, so that new generations and new audiences can feel what it was like when Flatt & Scruggs were onstage. This group is totally worth checking out! My goal: someday check them out live.

[wrantingwriter-blog]

How Audiobooks Can Stop the Depravity of the World And Save Your Grandma

Read the post on the blog or read it below!

Hello friends! It's me again. Here to tell you that I have noticed that I've been trying to fit myself into a mold as of late. My blog titles reflect that. I almost wrote "The Magic of Audiobooks" as the title for today. And that's when I realized. WTF am I doing? First off there are a million blogs who have covered that same thing, and second does that sound like me?! THAT IS NOT ME, BROS. I am weird and goofy and I don't write posts about lame things like "How to Fit Reading Into Your Busy Life." I do posts like "THE DINOSAURS HAVE COME TO CONSUME YOU HOW CAN YOU FIT YOUR READING TIME AROUND THIS UPCOMING DISASTER!" So enough of those lame a** blog posts, enough of trying to fit in and be like everyone and their mother's blog post. It's time for me to be me again. I'm sorry I left, people, but I'm back now! So then you might be wondering how audiobooks can stop the depravity of the world and save your grandma ALL AT THE SAME TIME? Well, let me tell you the ways, bros. HOW AUDIOBOOKS ARE MORE EFFICIENT THAN PACIFIC DEEP OCEAN ECO SYSTEM Reading is an awesome thing, but reading, like anything takes up something. In this specific case, your hands, your eyes, and the part of your brain that thinks about eating pancakes at 1am. Now this is not the worst thing. It could take up your legs, ears, nose, and mustache, or even your whole body, but let's face the facts: reading can be inconvenient. We (most of us) live a busy life. We have work, that second job work, and then when you get home tired and ready for a good ending payoff of your latest novel, you have house work. Bleck. We have now found the reason why grown men cry, but anyways THERE'S A LOT OF WORK TO BE DONE. And specifically, work that takes up your hands and eyes. BUT WAIT that's what you need to read... And aha! We have the answer to my rhetorical question: audiobooks. Cuz, you see, audiobooks do not A) need your hands all the time and B) don't need your eyeballs, so IT'S A BEAUTIFUL SOLUTION. Need house work done? (haha is that a joke? [everyone needs house work done {unless you're my parents bc their house looks like no one lives in it and someone should bestow the human touch of mess upon it}]) But anyways, you can listen to audiobooks while you work! And not just house work mind you, sometimes you can listen to audiobooks at your paying job like if you're a truck driver or a mailman or if you work at a lowly Pizza Hut in Warren, Ohio where the managers are nice and the food smells like food. So you see, not only do you get work done, but you get to listen to an awesome book. Other things you can do while listening to a book: -Eat dinner -Walk the dog -Drive to the supermarket -Shop at the supermarket bc you're an introvert and don't like people -Sew buttons on your dress shirt -Tend your garden -Take a shower Bros, the possibilities are endless. Take down two birds with one stone and listen to a book while you go through life.

HOW AUDIOBOOKS CAN STOP THE DEPRAVITY OF THE UNBRUSHED PERSON LIVING IN YOUR BASEMENT (speaking of which why do you even have someone like that in your basement. Get your life together XD)

Reading increases empathy in people. Empathy sempathy. What's so important about that? Empathy is VERY IMPORTANT. It's what keeps people from being rude, or starting fights, or killing someone. It's what makes people understand one another. One might even say, it's what makes people fall in love. Empathy is very important, and books teach people to empathize by showing them the whole picture of someone's life. When you understand that there's a story, a reason behind everything BOOM it's a mind blowing thing. Once you realize you can't help but wonder why that couple cut in front of you in line or the real reason that lady was so short with you. Because it could be anything. The couple could be going through bankruptcy and were too caught up thinking about it that they didn't see you. The lady's son could be terminally ill. Or none of those things could be true, but the thing is, reading opens our minds to these possibilities, and keeps us from being close minded. It makes us stop and think before we judge. And that prevents you from being rude or picking a fight. Reading stops fights people. Reading prevents wars. Reading SAVES LIVES. And yes can stop the depravity of that unbrushed dude in the basement, who you know maybe going through a rough time in his life and just needs a home. Think before you kick him out.

HOW AUDIOBOOKS CAN SAVE YOUR GRANDMA FROM CERTAIN DEATH

Grandmas unlike most people, have a lot of free time. Because they've worked hard for fifty years and are retired and have their servant grandchildren to do the house work for them. Audiobooks kill time for them. They're awesome and help prevent memory loss and even Alzheimer's. Audiobooks save grannies, bros.

SOME OTHER AWESOME THINGS ABOUT AUDIOBOOKS:

-They teach you how to construct verbal sentences

-They teach you proper pronunciation

-they decrease stress

-help you get to sleep (if you listen at bedtime)

-the improve grades

-they fight depression

-increase your vocabulary

-improves writing skills

-improves concentration and focus

-and much, much more!

Plus audiobooks can be free! Just pick up a CD case, or a PlayAway, or download an audiobook from the library. And since you, kind reader, read to the end of this blog post, imma give you a gift: Free short stories. That's right, folks. Free short stories read to you by a professional narrator. These stories range from: (in order of what they have the most) sci-fi, to fantasy, to horror. And there's years of backlist so you'll never run out. Professional narration and professional stores. You can't beat it. It's so good. So what are you waiting for, bros? Head to Clarkesworld Magazine now and help stop the depravity of the world. I believe in you.

Peace In To Stay,

WrantingWriter

[goldnsyren]

Kid meme: Warren & Dolls AND Warren & Doc (since its still undecided)

For you and the anon…

***No matter the last name, because of who their mother is, they will always be called Earp by the people of the town, correct or not. Eventually they gave up the fight and just accepted it.

Name: WarrickReeves *Earp

Gender: Male

General Appearance: The  younger Earp boy known around town as “Bass” (yes, like the fish) has a slightly lighter complexion than his father, a warm undertone that hints at the pure sunshine in his heart. Taking mostly after his father in looks, his dark brown eyes are peppered with flecks of gold and his hair buzzed close to scalp. Unlike Xavier, Bass keeps his facial hair to a short mustache and goatee that surrounds his usually smiling or smirking face. Tall like his parents, he tops off at 6 feet tall and is less muscular than his father. He forgoes the families love of leather jackets for his father’s simpler style of hoodies and coats over his dark jeans and running sneakers.

Personality: The younger of the Earp brothers, Bass is clearly the protected baby of the family. Unlike his more serious stony faced parents, Bass does little to hide his emotions. An easy going, studious young man, Bass clearly was taken under his auntie Waverly’s angel wings at a young age. Always on call to step up should his family need it, he stays true to the Earp way in keeping family above all.  He shares his mother’s side of, at times, inappropriate humor and his fathers cold delivery. His sarcasm and sassery easily missed under his genuine tone. While his older brother is better with horses, Bass had always been a people person. (Who knew Earps could do that?)

Special Talents: Bass has never fired a gun in his life but he’s a killer with a knife, be it long or short distances He credits it to his nimble fingers after years of piano practice and all those years of sports with his father to make him a grade a football player. Inheriting a small part of his father’s gifts, he is able to withstand high heat with little bother and tends to run a little warmed than the rest of his mostly human family. The medical prodigy of the family, when he’s saved enough fro working odd jobs around town and bar-tending at Doc’s, he’s getting ready to take the MCATs. For now, he spends much of his free time studying and looking into curing his father’s curse once and for all.

Who they like better: Xavier, because while he and his brother are Mama’s boys at heart, his father and he share a love of almost all sports and a skin color that will always put them under a microscope in the country town. Both his parents taught him to push pass the expectations people have of him and not being afraid to go big, but its seeing his father actually do it, that gives him the push he needed.

Who they take after more: Like Warren, Bass is less disciplined and just as chaotically organized as his mother. While both his parents were both the type to lay on the wire and make the sacrifice, Bass tends to lean more towards the hard to make choices of his mother, not looking for a way to save everyone but rather protecting the one he believes needs it the most. He doesn’t need anyone, completely independent at a young age, and is usually only dangerous when his family is put at risk.

Personal Head canon: Bass Reeves was the first black man to be a deputy US Marshall, and Xavier Dolls own folk hero. When Dolls was a new recruit, “For Bass,” was what he’d remind himself when faced with overwhelming odds stacked against, years later he still thinks the same thing with a different piece of his heart in mind. For this reason, Warrick has always been called Bass. For this reason, Bass has never shied away or pretended to be embarrassed about his rather southern nickname. His aunt Wynonna is adamant it’s a shortened form of Badass, anyways.

Face Claim: Michael B. Jordan

Name: Samuel Henry *Earp

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Sam inherited both his parents square jaws and blue eyes. Despite his father’s genes, Sam keeps his face clean shaven because secretly he can’t pull off a beard to save his life. Still, it does nothing to deter his prince-like handsome charm. His short, medium brown hair is buzzed on the sides while the rest is usually gelled up and back. Less restrained than his mother, Sam wears his emotions plain as day, the main one being some kind of exasperation or confusion. He stands at a mild 5′8, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in lean muscle highlighted by the fitted leather jacket he wears over his t-shirts / button downs. He owns more jeans than his mother and aunts combines, and wears almost exclusively duty black work boots.

Personality: Every cell in his body is dripping with Earp sarcasm. It’s like looking at a better behaved version of her sister, Warren swears. Having little to no filter on his thoughts, Sam tends to say the first thing that comes to mind, the first thing usually being a biting remark. But for all his sour deposition, Sam is usually well meaning and quick to lend a hand when needed and secretly enjoys finding out he was one of the first people called. He likes feeling like he’s needed, be it helping run the family shop or helping aunt Waves translate some old as hell Latin.

Special Talents: Sam is looked at as just another pretty(handsome) face, and he uses it to his advantage to dumb down how smart he really is. Unsuspecting at first, he’s always there with the game winning idea or day saving master plan, just like his mother. He just so happens to be a wiz at computers and fixing technology (that his father broke) around the house. He also has remarkable self control when it comes to swearing, using more of his fathers “thunderation”s than his mother’s “fucking hell”s.

Who they like better: Doc, as they both have that surely but sweet nature, and a need to look after Warren, who will never look out for herself. When doc can’t look out for her, he taught the boys from the start it was up to protect their mother who’d be too busy trying to protect everyone else. Plus his father raised him to be the suave ladies/gentlemens man he is today…

Who they take after more: Auntie Wyn. This one’s a clear Earp, through and through, from the hair, to the eyes, to the physical need to be sarcastic whenever the opportunity presents itself. Wynonna is so proud, if only she could get him to break that stupid curse filter and bring him to the beautiful dark side of no fucks given, yet all the fucks shouted…

Personal Head canon:  Sam secretly joined the police academy with the help of his aunt Nichole. The only time he ever regretted the decisions is when he found his mother crying hours after he told her. All that fighting only for her son to have to pick up a gun and be a lawman like the rest of them… Sam takes special care in hiding any injuries, no matter how small or big from his mother because he knows it will only upset her should he find out. He plans to one day be sheriff, and change the Earp legacy in Purgatory once and for all.

Face Claim: Colton Haynes

※Send me a couple and I’ll tell you what their kids would be like ※{completed kids}

[znationfanfiction]

Monster

A continuation of my Z-Nation fanfic! This one is a lot more exciting than the last chapter and I'm actually super proud of it since it's not boring. I've been thinking about this chapter for days....yes, DAYS. I hope y'all enjoy! WARNINGS!!!!: SO. MUCH. VIOLENCE. ACTUAL BLOOD AND GUTS. PRETTY GRAPHIC. MATURE LANGUAGE. P.S. the ending may seem like the ending of the fanfiction....but it also might not be. *evil laugh and twirling of non-existent mustache* ---------------- I give in to the rabid beast taking over my body, allowing it to fill all my limbs and take complete control.  Using the last bit of myself I could at the moment, I turn to the group and choke out a "Run."  I watch as Warren ushers them away quickly, and they leave my line of sight. Losing the last bit of my control, I shoot up and grip the neck of the woman that busted my face open and take her down to the ground, burying my teeth into her throat.  My teeth enclose around the front of her neck and I tear her trachea and esophagus out as her thick, hot blood fills my mouth.  I allow it to drip down my chin and I spit the crushes cartilage out to the side. I leave her body to turn so Murphy can control her as a Z.  Panting, I whirl and launch myself at two more men.  We all land, sprawled, on the dirt road and tumble briefly.  I regain my footing and stomp again and again on the head of one man until it is nothing but a frothy, slimy mess.  My hand collides with the stomach of the other man and I use my teeth to tear into his skin, ripping back layers of skin and fat and connective tissue and spitting them out.  I push my hand into his abdomen and grip a large handful of slippery intestines and pull them through the opening I made.  Every one of my breaths is a snarl now and bloody saliva drips down my chin and stains the front of my shirt.  Blood spatters dot my face. Protect Murphy.  Kill them all. The other woman of the group wraps her arms around my waist and throws me from the man, screaming in terror and rage.  She points her pistol at me and fires. A bullet grazed my left thigh.  I let out a roar of my own, ignoring the searing pain that tears through me, and sprint at her, digging my slippery, blood-coated nails and fingers all the way into the front of her neck when I reach her, piercing skin and wrapping around cartilage.  I yank out her throat and toss it to the side, then burrow my thumbs into her eyes, busting through her sockets with inhuman strength and impaling her brain.  I drop her and watch the dead weight hit the ground.  A Z that used to be the first woman gurgles as she runs for the last man, being taken down easily by his shotgun at point-blank range.  The man points the gun at me next and I hear 10k's voice, too close to the fight. "No! Tally!" He runs for us.  The man shifts his gun to the new threat 20 feet away.  My heart stops beating and my body turns to ice as 10k takes in the gun pointed at him and his eyes widen.  Before his eyes even finish taking in his impending death, my feet are pounding toward him.  I reach him as the shot rings out and I throw my bloody form in front of him, facing the man and his gun.  Buckshot rips through my chest, abdomen, and even grazes just above my left eyebrow.  The blast makes me stumble back into 10k, knocking him down behind me.  I plant my feet, wiping the blood that streams down into my eye, and ignore the blinding agony that pulses through my body.  Kill them all.  Save 10k. I reach the man and rip the gun from his hands, then smash the barrel into his face and pull the trigger.  His head explodes into chunks of red and pink tissue and white bone, and a fine mist of blood hits my face.  As soon as the rest of his body hits the ground, I drop the weapon and my knees give out.  I fall onto my knees, then my back, legs curled up in agony. My hands reach for where I felt the buckshot hit me.  A small amount of holes of various sizes for my abdomen, I notice, as my fingers run over the bloody wounds. Damn. My body forces a cough out and with it comes a stream of blood.  It foams out of my mouth and mixes with everyone else's blood on my face.  I turn my head to the side and cough again, ejecting more blood from my throat.  Vibrations pound through the dirt and I hear muffled shouts as my group reaches me.  I watch as the blood coats the small rocks and light dusting of dirt, turning nearly black as it all swirls together.  My eyes find the sky somehow, through my dimming vision, and it is so blue and wide and vast, I am nearly sucked in to it.  Not a cloud in the sky.  As good a day to die as any. I hear 10k calling my name and my head turns automatically, searching for the beautiful face attached to the agonized voice.  My heart is slower and slower now, and I finally find his face.  His eyes are glazed over, as if he is about to cry.  My head is lifted into his lap and my eyes flutter shut.  His hand pats my cheek and I open my eyes back up to look at him. My body is cold, almost numb.  I would be stupid to not realize I'm dying.  I think the whole group knows it too, but Warren is still barking orders at Doc and everything is chaotic and hard to follow, so I let my tired eyes shift back to 10k. My hand drifts up to his face and my thumb smooths over his cheek.  My blood coats the spot and I grimace apologetically.  "Looks like we've come full-circle, huh?", I choke out, smiling weakly. "You're going to be okay.  I'll carry you all the way to the next doctor there is if I have to."  He shakes his head, grasping my cold hand. "Tommy," I whisper, and another weak cough brings up more blood.  "It's okay.  It's okay...I love you.   Just remember that, okay?" His hand shakes as he swipes his thumb across my lips, wiping most of the blood away, then presses his lips to mine in a light kiss.  It's a good last kiss...sweet and soft.  "I love you too...Clara," I hear as my breathing shallows.  His callused fingers stroke my matted curls. Suddenly, I think I can feel my body being lifted from the ground and carried, but any concern I have about that floats up to the wide sky above. I watch 10k's face until everything fades into darkness.

[eternalgirlscout]

warren-kepler replied to your post “me finals are almost over and i am,,, officially telling the world...”

Umm let's see mick mercury meets *spins wheel* Peter Nureyev walking down the street and *throws dart* Juno has to save him from getting the mustache robbed off him

aaaaaaaand... done

[chiseler]

AL SMITH’S LOG CABIN

The lowest East Side, between the Brooklyn Bridge (completed in 1883) and the Manhattan Bridge (1909), was once a maze of narrow streets lined with row houses, corner saloons and groceries, warehouses, pickle factories, stables. The heart of it was an Irish and Italian working class neighborhood of large families who attended the venerable St. James church and school. It was not a slum or a ghetto, and the residents would have been highly insulted to hear it called that. With the construction of the bridges, followed by high-rises and the FDR Drive in the twentieth century, many of the old streets, and the buildings on them, disappeared.

There’s not much of Oliver Street left, just a couple of run-down blocks in Chinatown between Chatham Square and Madison Street, where it dead-ends. It preserves a row of humble, three-story brick houses, currently looking rather forlorn and exhausted, showing every day of their more than a century’s existence. A brass plaque on the wall of 25 Oliver identifies it as the Alfred E. Smith House, listed on the National Historic Register. Al didn’t grown up there, as is sometimes averred. But he lived there a long time and raised his own kids there as a young politician. Had he succeeded in his bid to become the first Irish Catholic President of the United States, 25 Oliver Street could have become a site of American mythology to rival Abe Lincoln’s log cabin. But Al didn’t make it, 25 Oliver is in bad need of a paint job, and today’s mostly Chinese neighbors pass it without a glance.

His father, also named Al Smith, grew up on a block of Oliver Street closer to the river that no longer exists. Al Sr. was a brawny, handsome, wide-mustached working man, a cartman, or hauler of goods, with a horse-drawn truck. After his first wife died he married a girl who’d grown up near the stables at Dover and Water Streets where he kept his horses. (Her parents had come from Ireland on a clipper ship of the famous Black Ball Line that pioneered the Liverpool to New York run. They found rooms to let three blocks from where they stepped ashore and never ventured farther into America.) Al Jr. was born at 174 South Street on December 30 1873, above a little grocery store. He grew up as the Brooklyn Bridge was built. In old photographs it vaults right over the rooftop of the small, narrow house. That whole block has long since disappeared.

As Al remembered it later the waterfront was the neighborhood kids’ playground – there weren’t any others. The rigging of the ships at the docks was their jungle gym. They dove for green bananas that dropped over the side, and bought their pets from sailors who’d carried them up from South America and the Caribbean. At one point Al kept a goat, four dogs, a parrot and a monkey in the South Street attic. He never lost his classic New Yawk accent, salting his speech with dese, dem and youse like a true Bowery Boy.

In 1886 Al Sr. worked himself to death at the age of forty-six, when Al Jr. was twelve. His mother took a job at an umbrella factory and brought home piece-work. Al worked after school delivering newspapers and helping his sister run their landlady’s candy store in the basement where they now lived on Dover Street. He left the St. James school at the end of the seventh grade, when he was fourteen, and never went back. As a teen he worked a number of jobs, including twelve-hour days, six days a week, at the Fulton Fish Market. One of his tasks was to stand in a lookout and watch for the fishing fleet pulling into the harbor. You could tell how much of a haul they were carrying by how low they rode in the water. Later, when fellow politicians, who were mostly lawyers, bragged to him about matriculating from the U of This or That, he’d reply that he graduated from FFM. He grew up quick. By fifteen he was frequenting the neighborhood’s saloons, drinking beer, smoking cigars with the other men.

He was still too young to vote when he started hanging out at the Downtown Tammany Club, around the corner from Oliver Street at 59-61 Madison. It had something of the look of a volunteer fire hall. Men from throughout the neighborhood streamed up the wide stairs and under the double-arched entry into the meeting hall where politics was discussed, elections fixed, jobs and favors dispensed. It was later knocked down for the playground of P.S. 1, also known as the Alfred E. Smith School. Tammany was starting to purge itself of its most corrupt scoundrels, and young Al Smith fell in with the reformist wing. This led to his first patronage job as a process-server, tracking people down to hand them summonses and subpoenas.

He came under the wing of Big Tom Foley, for whom nearby Foley Square was named. Foley operated a very popular saloon at Oliver and Water Streets. In her 1956 memoir of her father, The Happy Warrior, Al’s daughter Emily remembered Foley as “a genial, smooth-shaven, moonfaced man” who was very well liked and highly respected in the neighborhood – a dude in the ward, as Ned Harrigan would have said. Although he lived uptown at Thirty-Fourth Street Foley spent most of his time in and around the saloon and was active in local politics and the St. James parish. As he thrived financially and politically he spread his good fortune around the neighborhood, the way a successful Tammany man was supposed to. When Smith was a boy he and other kids would flock around Foley on the street, and he’d hand each a nickel, which seemed like a fortune to them. (Years later, Al would frequent a popular barbershop in the ward, run by an immigrant from Salerno who played Caruso on the Victrola. Bartolomeo’s runty, homely son lathered the customers before his dad shaved them. Al once tipped the kid a nickel. Instead of spending it on a lemon ice or a Charlotte Russe, the boy, Jimmy Durante, saved it as a souvenir.)

In 1903 Foley anointed the twenty-nine-year-old Smith to be the Democrats’ nominee for what was then the Second District of the State Assembly. Smith appeared before a crowd of cheering neighbors and Tammany stalwarts in a suit he’d just ironed in the kitchen of his Peck Slip apartment. His other suit was in mothballs. As the Tammany Democrat candidate he was a shoo-in, handily beating a Republican, a Socialist, and a Prohibition candidate, who got five votes.

Smith spent the next twelve winters as an assemblyman, shuttling from the Lower East Side to Albany, where he’d live during the weeks while the legislature was in session, returning home on weekends. His re-elections were always sure things. The affable guy with the honking voice and the taste for suds and stogies was liked and admired by all his constituents, not just his fellow Micks. Besides Durante, another of his fans was a Jewish teenager from up on Henry Street, Izzy Iskowitz, who volunteered to make sidewalk stump speeches for him at re-election time. They were in effect the first public appearances by the performer later known as Eddie Cantor.

In 1907 Smith moved his family, which would grow to five kids, to 25 Oliver Street, which he rented from the parish; the rectory was next door at 23. Emily recalled that they couldn’t afford many luxuries on her father’s salary of a hundred and twenty-five dollars a month, but they weren’t poor. They took summer vacations on the beach at Far Rockaway in Queens, and enjoyed an occasional family dinner at the then-new Knickerbocker Hotel in Times Square, followed by a trip to the nearby Palace Theatre, the flagship of vaudeville houses from the 1910s until vaudeville’s end. On Sunday mornings after church they’d often walk across the Brooklyn Bridge to visit family on Middagh Street in Brooklyn Heights. Sunday evenings the Smiths would have friends over, including another young assemblyman, Jimmy Walker, and his (soon to be beleaguered) wife. Jimmy, who’d started out an aspiring Tin Pan Alley songwriter before his father pushed him into politics, would sit at the Smiths’ piano and play songs like his one bona-fide hit, “Will You Love Me in December as You Do in May?”

Along the way Al Smith began to sport the brown derby that, along with the cigars, became a familiar feature of his public image. He was elected governor in 1918. Emily remembered the children’s wonderment when the family moved from the little house on Oliver Street to the executive mansion in Albany, with its reception room, music room, library, breakfast room, a dinner table that could seat thirty, and nine bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. Plus a small army of servants who magically appeared at the press of a bell. When Smith lost his reelection bid in 1920 and the family returned to Oliver Street, the kids glumly went back to sharing bedrooms and fighting over the two bathrooms.

Smith was briefly convinced his political career was over. Yet that same year, at the Democrats’ national convention in San Francisco, his name was put up for the first time as a possible presidential candidate. As the band struck up “The Sidewalks of New York” (rather than the Ned Harrigan song Smith wanted), the entire convention began to sing along, then waltz in the aisles, and partied for the next hour as the band played one popular tune after another, finally getting to Harrigan’s “Maggie Murphy’s Home.” Ever the skeptic, H. L. Mencken thought it was the free-flowing bootleg bourbon – Prohibition had gone into effect six months earlier – rather than political conviction that got them all going, and in fact Smith was not yet a serious contender. The Democrats nominated Ohio governor James Cox, with Franklin D. Roosevelt as his running mate. Warren G. Harding trounced them.

New Yorkers gave Smith the governor’s mansion back in 1922, and the Smiths moved out of Oliver Street for the last time. In June 1924, the Democrats held their convention at Madison Square Garden. Roosevelt delivered the speech throwing Governor Smith’s brown derby in the ring. Smith and Roosevelt were the most unlikely bedfellows. Smith liked to tell a bitterly humorous story about the first time he’d called on Roosevelt in his mansion back in 1911, and the butler didn’t want to let him in the door. A vast gulf of class and breeding separated the former fishmonger from the upstate aristocrat born with silver spoons in every orifice. Roosevelt had grown up in a household where he was surrounded by German and Scandinavian servants, because his father refused to hire the Irish or Negroes. And he had the upstater’s severe mistrust of anyone associated with Tammany. Yet the two had gotten over their differences and become allies, if not quite friends, working together for reform in the state.

Smith loyalists once again erupted in a prolonged celebration at the end of Roosevelt’s speech, but in fact Democrats at the convention were deeply divided between the urban progressives who backed Smith and the rural and Southern conservatives who were convinced that the nation would never elect an Irish Catholic from Jew Yawk. Smith’s background was in fact a serious drawback at a time when Republicans still characterized Democrats as the party of “Rum, Romanism and Rebellion.” Like many other New York politicians, Smith had been against Prohibition, which condemned him with its supporters around the country. He was only a mildly liberal Democrat, but any Democrat running in the Republican boom times of the Roaring Twenties was running up a very steep hill. And finally, there was the Ku Klux Klan. The Klan had been reborn in the 1910s, riding new waves of xenophobia, racism and anti-communism, and was a much bigger and stronger presence in 1924 than it had ever been. The Klan issued a “Klarion Kall for a Krusade” against Smith should he be nominated.

The convention dragged on for two weeks and more than a hundred ballots. Chairman Cordell Hull passed out a few times from the summer heat – air conditioning was still a way off. Another Lower East Sider, Irving Berlin, was a celebrity observer. He dashed off a campaign song, “We’ll All Go Voting for Al.” It didn’t help. The more conservative John W. Davis got the nomination and went on to lose badly to Calvin Coolidge. (Berlin would soon write a more successful campaign song for Al’s friend, “It’s a Walk-In with Walker.”)

In 1928 the Democrats finally handed Smith their presidential nomination. There were some faint reasons for them to be hopeful. The Klan had peaked and was slipping back into being merely an ugly nuisance on the lunatic fringe. People were tiring of Prohibition and considered it a failed experiment. On the other hand, the nation was still enjoying unprecedented prosperity under the Republicans, except in the farm belt. Farming was a much bigger sector of the economy then than now, and farmers had effectively been in their own depression since the end of World War One. They weren’t likely to be convinced that a guy from New Yawk would do better for them than a Republican. And Smith’s opponent was not just any Republican. He was Herbert Hoover, one of the most popular figures in America at the time, an orphan from Iowa who by hard work and smarts had achieved the American dream of riches and power. He was also known as a great humanitarian, the American who had almost singlehandedly organized a massive food relief program for starving Belgians during the war.

As the campaigns rolled out, Hoover – who was coincidentally the first Quaker candidate – never played the religion card. But the Klan and other anti-Catholic fringe groups did, and so did more mainstream Protestant spokespeople, somberly questioning if a Catholic could be the leader of the country when he owed his allegiance to Rome first. In the end, though, it was probably the combination of Hoover’s popularity and the unprecedented boom times – the big crash wouldn’t come until October 1929 – that sank Smith. He ran as the friend of the little guy at a time when a lot of the little guys, except for those farmers, were doing all right. Hoover gave Smith a severe shellacking, carrying all but eight states. Most galling of all, even the state of New York went for him.

A private citizen again in 1929, Smith accepted a job as president of the corporation that would build the world’s tallest skyscraper, the Empire State Building. Construction proceeded even after the stock market crashed that October, and the building opened in May 1931, with Smith and Governor Roosevelt leading the ceremony. Listeners to the live radio broadcast heard Smith ballyhoo the edifice as “the tallest thing in the world today produced by the hand of man.” His Lower East Side roots still showed in the way he pronounced world woild. To the average New Yorker the building was a towering beacon of optimism in what had become very dark times, but as a business venture it was a bust. Unlike the successful Chrysler Building that had opened in 1930, the Empire State Building had so few tenants signed up that wags nicknamed it the Empty State Building. It would continue to bleed red ink for twenty years.

Despite the thrashing in 1928, Smith entertained hopes for the Democratic nomination again in 1932, which put him at odds with another contender, Roosevelt. Without officially declaring himself, Smith made it clear he’d accept the nomination if offered, and his supporters at the convention were as boisterous and loud as ever. But he’d had his shot. Roosevelt carried the convention, and the two patched up their differences in public so that the Democrats could beat Hoover that fall.

As Roosevelt’s New Deal policies grew more radical in extending federal power during his long presidency, Smith’s opinions grew more conservative and oppositional. He helped found the anti-New Deal, pro-business Liberty League, making him a pariah among Democrats. He even went completely off the reservation to back Republicans Alf Landon in 1936 and Wendell Willkie in 1940. Roosevelt trounced them both. Once America entered the war, however, Smith was one of the commander-in-chief’s most diligent boosters on the home front.

When his wife died in May 1944 Smith went into broken-hearted decline. He died of cirrhosis that October, a couple months shy of his seventy-first birthday. The whole city mourned his passing. Besides the little house on Oliver Street and P.S. 1, you still see his name all over his lowest East Side neighborhood, on a playground, a rec center, and a giant public housing complex.

by John Strausbaugh