#senator the ram

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

Sometimes I think about Senator the ram and I cry a little and I don't know if that's ever not gonna be the case.

[pansyman]

I will never forget Senator the Ram. My favorite ram.

[definitely-not-a-wasp]

Dimension 20 features a sliding scale of pet owners, with Zayn Darkshadow on one end (was actively dying and spent time freeing his rat) and Pinocchio on the other (“die for me, Pinocchi-crow!”)

[jeju-tangerine]

NO MORE SENATOR????? NOOOOOO

ep 3 of d20 neverafter. brennan what the hell man

[spookyfoxdreamer]

[fagdykevash]

never not thinking about senator the ram

[seat-safety-switch]

"I heard the Space Station is all fucked up," I expressed to the astounded astronauts, who were expecting someone a little more accomplished to be the one who just stepped through the airlock.

That's the thing about outward appearances: they can be deceiving. On the outside, I looked like any other government astronaut heading up for an intense week of sciencing. Visor up, though? Now they could see the beef jerky particles floating around in my helmet. Well, to be more correct, it was a Slim Jim. Those are a little safer because they break into big chunks, every astronaut knows this. Let me start over.

As for the space station, it's true. For weeks, the news had been playing a story about how it's leaking a whole bunch of oxygen and soon is going to be rammed into by billionaires. Immediately, my ears perked up. Broken government property? Given away real cheap? Garbage? These are things I can fix, so I decided to help myself to a space shuttle and head on up there. I didn't do anything fancy: they left the keys in it.

At first, the astronauts, with all their book-learnin', had a lot of reservations about letting someone who was obviously a dumbass fuck around with their precarious, life-and-death environment. Any minor error could mean the demise of all of us, the end of a glorious era of human achievement. Luckily, I was not trained to make errors: I was not trained at all. They led me to the leak. Seen this kind of thing before. Micro-fractures in the hull from cornering too hard. When you're going twenty-eight thousand kilometers an hour around the Earth for years on end, that kind of thing adds up, any teenaged drifter can tell you that.

A little bit of spray-on expanding foam insulation and a whole lot of duct tape buttoned the whole mess up. I had an invoice in their hands and was on the shuttle back before they could ask: "hey, I thought the space shuttle couldn't dock here?" In my defence, Senator, I never said I was good at parking, or that I wouldn't create additional leaks.

[ghostinboys]

non compos mentis

summary: a dance of shared madness between an emperor and a gladiator pairing: emperor caracalla x male reader word count: 2k warning: male reader smut!

| masterlist |

No wine is as rich and pure as spilled blood. War is the currency of power, a language that the human mind revels in but few commit to.

Through endless conquest and war, true victory was attained in the land of Rome. The ruthless empire capitalized on man’s bestial nature, to use his wrath to gain gold and dominion over far reached lands. 

Rome’s thirst for violence was unquenched. The people of the empire sought out the amusement of death and war inside its walls, inside the Colosseum. None have been as thirsty and as ruthless as the younger twin emperor, Caracalla. His sick and twisted mind has brought Rome to its knees. 

There were whispers of his dalliances, specifically in the senate. There were rumors that the emperor had once killed a boy when he was only ten and three because the boy was gifted a tunic that he deemed “was much softer” than his. 

Now, he sat at the balcony inside the arena, gazing upon the dirtied men slashing their swords and hitting their shields. He laughed, shouting at his servants to pour more wine as he clapped as one more savage fell on his knees, disemboweled. 

“Did you see that, brother?” he laughed. 

The man holding the sword that disemboweled the man was you. Hands gripping the rusty knife as sweat pooled on your palms causing the hilt to slip. Another one of your opponents lunges forward, battle axe in hand. You duck and roll on the sandy floor, looking at him with hooded eyes. His stance was weak, his left leg was obviously cut along a deep ligament. 

Gritting your teeth, you ran towards him crouched forward like a wounded lion. You rammed your head on his abdomen, a yelp escaping his mouth. He staggered back, blood gushing down his mouth. You took the knife and drove it alongside the already open wound on his thigh. The man shouts and pleas for mercy as you twisted the blade, blood gushing and pooling down the sand. 

You took no satisfaction from his cries. The man was kneeling, blood pooling on his knees. You took the battle axe from his hand swinging it with the force of your whole body. The crowd gasps in horror and amusement.

Above the columns was Caracalla in his seat. He was in awe, no man has shown such viciousness in the arena. You stood in front of the emperors, a severed head in your hand. You raised the head in pride, shouting a lion’s roar. 

“Marvelous!” shouted Caracalla, “it’s fucking marvelous!” 

The fierce gladiator ravaged through the arena floor with great swiftness, your feet were light and fast, slicing through men and leaving a trail of corpses. You screamed in pride, blood trickling down your forehead as you pounded your chest. “veni ad me, te arcesso” come to me, I summon you. 

Caracalla gestured for a servant boy. “I want him,” he pointed at you. “Guarantee me safe passage to his chambers tonight.” The younger emperor smirked in his seat.

The cell was cold and damp, moss draped the stone walls of the cell, a small slit in the corner of the room let in a faint ray of moonlight. Nails cracked inside the rotten wooden stool as you rocked in your cell out of boredom, only a ragged piece of cloth covering your groin. 

The guards entered the dungeon, shackling keys on their hips as they walked. Behind them was a cloaked figure, the fabric a clean parchment shade trimmed with gold. They opened the doors to let him in, a small monkey draping his shoulder.

“Gladiator,” the man spoke, revealing a short and small framed boy with fiery red hair. You glanced upon him, eyes a cold shade of blue. His face was gaunt and pale, eyes sunken and reddened. You noticed a small gold tooth when he smiled. 

“I’m not a whore,” you said, standing up to notice you towered over him. He gestured for the guards to take the pet, the creature sneaking out of his shoulders to the guard’s. 

“A nobleman would comport himself in the presence of his emperor,” he said, his hands cold on your face, adorned with golden rings of different colored stones. He inspected your face and your wounds, a concerned look on his face. 

“I’m not a nobleman,” you said, eyebrow raised. 

“You are not,” he chuckled. “They call you the butcher, the same name they called Achilles during war.”

“Would you strike my heel then?” The emperor snickered, he trailed around you inspecting each detail of your naked form. “Or would you parade me as a hero and set me free from this torment.” 

“A price must be paid,” Caracalla said, his finger trailing down your chest and barely touching your nipple, a wave of electricity coursing through your veins. “In exchange for good favors.”

It was common for some gladiators to seek favors from rich men who would pay and smuggle gifts in exchange for their services. You had not known any gladiator who was paid by the emperor, so you must have done something to amuse him. 

“Many slave boys have been to my chambers,”  he said, removing his robe and letting it fall on the damp floor. He wore a red and gold tunic from a silk you have not seen before. “But your wrath has made my cock harder than any whore could offer.” 

A price must be paid.

Caracalla palmed his erection underneath his garbs, you could hear the slick of his cock as he started to stroke. You grit your teeth, your heart pounded loudly, embracing the lengths you have to cross to gain your freedom. The young emperor’s back slammed onto the brick wall, a yelp escaping his lips. Your large frame shadowed over him, his icy blue eyes staring at you with wonton fervor. 

A calloused hand touched Caracalla’s aching cock, the pink tip leaking clear fluid as you stroked. He moaned and whimpered under your touch, his knees buckling and seeking refuge from the wall for balance. Your other hand gripped on his jaw, forcing it so his face was set on yours. 

“Open your mouth, emperor,” you said. He followed willingly, you let a string of spit fall on his mouth before you forced him on his knees. You presented your hard cock in front of his lips, he engulfed it without prior notice, sucking impatiently. “Take that fucking cock. You like being a whore do you not?”

Caracalla wanted to speak, but your hand on his fiery red hair did not permit him from taking his stand. The young emperor continued to stroke his cock, it leaked so much precum it was slippery and wet. He continued to moan and whimper, eyes rolling back in euphoria. 

You pulled him back up before pulling his ass to face your crotch. Saliva dripped down his swollen red lips. Caracalla laughed under his breath, the act of being used by the vicious gladiator satisfied the craving in the pits of his core. “You like this?”

“Yes—so fucking much,”  Caracalla said, rubbing his clothed ass on your erection. The image of a royal being an absolute whore for you turned you on, having this much power over him made you leak too. A loud rip cracked through the dungeon, the emperor’s expensive tunic hung on the floor now muddied. You took the loose loincloth that covered his groin, bunching it into a ball and forcing it on Caracalla’s mouth.

“If this falls off your mouth I will call the guards so they can see their emperor be used as a whore,” you said, before spitting on your cock. “Do you understand?”

He nods, eyes rolling back again as you push your cock inside his tight hole. It was hot inside, it was so tight it felt like it was sucking your cock deeper in. You cursed under your breath, grabbing onto his hair so tightly it stung. 

You braced for what was to come, pushing your cock in and out of his tight hole. Caracalla cried with the gag on his mouth, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Another one of your hands gripped on his waist, leaving dirt and red marks on his pale white skin. 

Caracalla’s waist was small, his body was littered with red bits of hair. You toyed with his leaking cock, it was smaller than yours but a bit thicker. You stroked his wet cock as you fucked your fill. Sweat dripped down your whole body, the air was now hot and thick, the only thing running through your mind was using this boy’s hole. 

“Fuck you’re tight,” you groaned. 

You notice his knees go weak, his hands plastered on the wall as he tries to keep his balance. Caracalla was close, his vision already turning white by how good it felt. You slapped his ass multiple times, his pale ass was now red with welts. The emperor cursed when you took the gag off, dropping it to the floor. 

You could feel your climax coming, you hugged an arm around his waist, your other hand wrapped around his neck. Caracalla was begging for you to go faster, harder, he ordered for no mercy to be given him. Your face was nestled in the corner of his neck and his shoulder, smelled like flowers and wine. 

Battle drew out an animal in you that was begging to be let out at this moment. The royal with fiery red hair was right, this perverted act brought out more pleasure than a hundred killings in the arena. “Fuck—fuck—take my fucking load you whore.”

The both of you moaned as you took your release, your cum emptying inside the Caracalla’s warm entrance. Your hand was covered in his cum, the climax taking a toll on his body. Caracalla sat on his muddied garb, cheeks flushed, and cock soft but still a bright red. You licked the cum on your hand, it tasted salty and sweet. 

You pressed your lips against Caracalla’s, letting your tongue touch his. The emperor tasted his own release on your tongue, in a perverted act of union. You both sat on the floor, glistening in sweat and cum, your chests heaving. 

“I have never been fucked like that,” Caracalla muttered. “You are more beast than man, gladiator.”

“You would be surprised as to where your desires can lead you,” You said, using his loincloth to wipe the cum from your cock. 

Caracalla straddled your thighs, his cock standing up north again. His pupils were dilated and his breath wavering like a hungry dog. “I would like to lose myself in you, gladiator. Do that to me again and I will grant whatever you wish.”

“The only thing I want is for you to embrace your true self,” you said. “Come to me so I can show you how much our carnality can bring you closer to the gates of Elysium.” 

Caracalla thinks to himself, as if a switch was turned off. He hears the voice of his brother deep inside his head. You insolent fool, you take our power and smear it on a slave? 

“Shut up—shut up!” Caracalla shouted, slamming his palms on his temples. You were befuddled, the younger boy grit his teeth. “No, not you, gladiator. It is my brother, I hear him in the quiet nights, he whispers to torment me!”

The rumors were indeed true, hidden underneath the emperor’s carnality and seriousness was a deep seeded madness. It was pitiful, but a chink in a series of chains that could easily be bent to your favor. 

“Then kill him,” you said. “You are the emperor Caracalla, all of Rome knows of your strength and wrath.” 

The dark corridors of the dungeon echoed Caracalla’s wicked laugh. 

“It is done,” you said. “Seeds of suspicion have been planted deep in his mind.”

The man on the other side of the iron bars chuckled. His hand reached for a key dislodging the lock of the cell door. He tossed a bag of gold coins on the ground near your feet. 

“A price has been paid.”

His gold necklaces and piercings glinted against the sunlight, his hand waved like a ray of colors through the jewels. “You are a free man, gladiator.”

As you tried to leave the cell the man blocked your path, his jewelry clinking onto each other like a sack of coins. He presented his pronated hand in front of your face, a gold signet ring adorning his finger.  “Is that how you show gratitude to your new emperor?” The smile on your face fades, the new emperor of Rome stood in front of you. You bowed and kissed his ring. Emperor Macrinus.

if you likes this fic go check out some of my other stuff! want to request? don't be shy to send one!

[akgerhardt]

There remain 30 federal judge vacancies! Please contact Democrat senators now to get them moving!

If you're looking for something easy and quick that you can do to make a difference, there are 47 federal judicial vacancies. There are only nominees listed for 17 of them.

The filibuster for judicial appointments no longer exists, and we still have Democratic control of the Senate for 2 months.

If you have Democratic senators, CALL AND EMAL THEM and tell them to get nominees in for each vacancy, and ram confirmation through before the Senate changes hands. Calling Schumer (+ telling him to pass the No Kings Act) and any others you have time to will help.

Apply pressure on something specific like this and you can get movement - more than if we do nothing. The courts must be as entrenched against Trump as we can make them in the next 2 months.

If they tell you this kind of things takes time, tell them they lost that time. Remind them that some of these vacancies have existed since 2021 and 2022. Thirty of those vacancies are from before this year. Deadline's up. They need to get it done.

Every senator has a .gov website that should have an email form and office numbers, but emails are only for people who live in their state. You can search your senator's name followed by "phone numbers" and you'll typically be able to go straight to the page that lists phone numbers for all their locations. If you have trouble with that, search your senator's name followed by "office locations." Each call counts. If you have trouble with live conversations, you can call most of them after hours and leave a voicemail - if you make a mistake, press # to rerecord.

* "you can also call the congressional switchboard and give your senator's name and they will connect you: (202) 224-3121"

Please contact both of your senators if they're Democrats, along with Schumer and any others you have time to, and tell them to pass the No Kings Act while you're at it. Feel free to repost anywhere!

[noenvyy]

Bill H.R. 9495--Declares Certain Non-profits terrorist organizations

Please read and share and CALL YOUR SENATORS

EMERGENCY: Earlier today, MAGA Republicans in Congress just rammed through legislation that could give Donald Trump the power to destroy organizations that oppose him—including MoveOn.1

Even more terrifying, 15 Democrats voted in favor of the bill.2

The bill, H.R. 9495, gives the Treasury Department—i.e., the Trump administration—unilateral power to declare a nonprofit to be a "terrorist-supporting organization" and strip its tax-exempt status.3 Organizations that oppose him could be shut down with just a swipe of a pen from Trump.

While Trump's Cabinet appointees soaked up the news cycle, the House tried to push this thoroughly dangerous bill under the radar last week. Two-thirds of the House was initially needed to pass the bill. But now Speaker Mike Johnson has figured out a new way to require only a simple majority to pass the bill, and the House voted to pass the bill earlier today.

H.R. 9495 was originally written to attack organizations showing support for Palestinians, and it is a dire threat to nongovernment organizations trying to support the Palestinian people suffering in the current war, but it could give the Trump administration the ability to declare any organization as "supporting terrorists"—with no proof, no burden of evidence, no due process.4,5

More than 150 religious, reproductive health, immigrant rights, human rights, racial justice, LGBTQ+, environmental, and educational organizations, led by the American Civil Liberties Union, have spoken up against this awful bill.6

The House tried to push through the bill with a two-thirds majority procedure last week, and 52 Democrats voted for it.7 Today they needed only a simple majority, and the House passed the bill with the support of 15 Democrats. We cannot allow a MAGA-controlled Senate in January to pass this bill.

This bill is different. If it passes, it has the possibility to silence any organization that Trump targets. And considering his history of retribution, we know he won't miss out on this opportunity to try to shut us down. It's an especially frightening prospect given Trump's previous attempt to designate anti-MAGA protesters and pro-Palestinian advocates as terrorists, and to vilify those he disagrees with as the "enemy from within."10

We need to sound the alarm in a major way to stop H.R. 9495 and prevent Trump from shutting down nonprofit organizations!

Please, please please, flood the Senate with calls to make it very clear that we will not abide by this attack on our First Amendment rights. We need to step up before it's too late. Use this link to find and contact your representatives: https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative

Take Action: Tell Congress to OPPOSE H.R. 9495

1. Visit the IS Action Center to sign a petition to oppose H.R. 9495. 

2. Call your Congressional Representative TODAY and urge them to vote NO on H.R. 9495 when it comes up again for a vote. You can find contact information for your Member of Congress here. And the list of California representatives who already voted yes on previous votes here.

3. Social Media Engagement: Post on your platforms and tag your Representative to urge them to oppose H.R.9495.

Sample posts:

ACTION NEEDED As a constituent of [@RepresentativesSocialMedia] and a staunch supporter of the nonprofit sector, I urge you to vote NO on H.R. 9495. This bill may be well-intentioned but it erodes due process and jeopardizes vital services for vulnerable communities.

Nonprofits are critical to our communities. H.R. 9495 may mean well, but it threatens due process and risks harming those we serve. [@RepresentativesSocialMedia], vote NO on #HR9495. #ProtectNonprofits 

Sample script for calling your representative:

I’m calling to urge you to oppose H.R. 9495, the Stop Terror-Financing and Tax Penalties on American Hostages Act, scheduled for a vote later today. This bill poses a direct threat to nonprofits by granting the Treasury Secretary unchecked power to label organizations as “terrorist supporting” and strip their tax-exempt status. Even worse, this can happen without evidence, intentional links, or any requirement to disclose the reasons for the designation. The lack of due process and accountability leaves nonprofits defenseless against vague and potentially politically motivated accusations.

While the bill includes provisions for tax relief for American hostages—a noble cause—this should not come at the expense of jeopardizing nonprofit operations and democratic values. These provisions should be separated into their own bill that doesn’t include the unchecked harm to nonprofits. 

Please oppose H.R. 9495 to protect nonprofits and the communities they serve. Thank you for your time and consideration.

____________________________________________________________

Sources:

1. "HR 9495: Bill Threatening Nonprofits Passes House," Nonprofit Quarterly, November 21, 2024 https://act.moveon.org/go/200463?t=8&akid=416946%2E34090080%2EE7NXm5

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid.

4. "Congress Is About to Gift Trump Sweeping Powers to Crush His Political Enemies," The Intercept, November 10, 2024 https://act.moveon.org/go/200453?t=10&akid=416946%2E34090080%2EE7NXm5

5. Ibid.

6. "Civil Society Letter to House Opposing H.R. 9495," ACLU, September 20, 2024 https://act.moveon.org/go/198929?t=12&akid=416946%2E34090080%2EE7NXm5

7. "House GOP Moves to Ram Through Bill That Gives Trump Unilateral Power to Kill Nonprofits," The Intercept, November 15, 2024 https://act.moveon.org/go/200452?t=14&akid=416946%2E34090080%2EE7NXm5

8. "No Labels files DOJ complaint about groups boycotting its 2024 presidential ballot access effort," CBS News, January 18, 2024 https://act.moveon.org/go/186092?t=16&akid=416946%2E34090080%2EE7NXm5

9. "MoveOn.org and Bucks man defend post-insurrection petition in NAC, Worthington defamation claim," Phillyburbs.com, June 7, 2021 https://act.moveon.org/go/200454?t=18&akid=416946%2E34090080%2EE7NXm5

10. "Scalise preps vote on terrorism bill decried as a gift for Trump," MSNBC, November 19, 2024 https://act.moveon.org/go/200446?t=20&akid=416946%2E34090080%2EE7NXm5

[meshla-cyarika]

How many ARCS does it take to crush a natborn?

Pairing: Fives x M!reader, Echo x M!reader

Word count: 1,022

Tags/warnings: none. Its complete fluff.

Summary: you love cuddling your boys, you love waking up in their arms even more. The only problem is, you can't breathe.

--------------------------------------------------

You've gotten used to naturally waking up to Naboo's only sun streaming through the blinds of your bedroom window. What you haven't gotten used to is waking up unable to breathe.

Well, you can breathe, but it's a slight struggle with two former ARC troopers sprawled out ontop of you. Echo is on your left (nearest to the window) with one leg thrown over your waist and an arm and his head resting on your bare chest. You always found it uncomfortable to sleep with a shirt on, especially when under the covers. Meanwhile, Fives practically has his entire body laying on you, limbs sprawled everywhere and his face is squeezed into the crook of your neck.

You turn your head and glare at all the space on their sides of the king sized bed you had brought to avoid situations like this. That being said, you don't hate cuddling. Quite the opposite, actually. After being forcibly seperated all the time during the war, none of you give up an opportunity for physical contact. You sigh and wrap your arms around them both, knowing better than to wake them up. Disturbing your Dominos when they're perfectly content snuggled up to you would be a death sentence.

A smile breaks out on your face when you think about how you had met. It had been a big victory for the 501st and they were granted shore leave for five days. 79s was ram packed with boys in blue so much so that there were hardly any natborns in there, but you'd managed to weasel your way in. You were sat at the bar, nursing a Corellian whiskey, when a certain ARC with a numbered tattoo started chatting you up and a sheepish man with a hand print on his chest plate stood next to him. It feels like yesterday that Fives had said those twelve corny words to you. "Hey, baby, you got a name, or can I call you mine?"  A month later, you were dating the most handsome men the galaxy had ever seen and you've been together ever since.

You're snapped back to reality, when Fives stirs in his sleep. You think he's gonna wake up and finally release you from his chokehold, but he stays sound asleep and somehow manages to put even more weight on your ribs. The Domino twins, along with many other clones, lost a bit of muscle after the end of the war, but, by the Maker, they were still heavy. It's been four years since the end of the Clone Wars. General Kenobi defeated General Grievous on Utapau, General Skywalker brought Count Dooku into custody, Commander Tano brought Maul into custody and Chancellor Palpatine was discovered to be the mastermind behind this war and was killed by the Jedi Council. It took half a year for the discussion of clone equal rights in the Senate, which they were granted at the end of that year. It took two years for the Republic to create a suppressant for the clones' rapid aging, which managed to slow it down to natural human aging.

The loyal soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic are free men.

You silently thank the Maker, when you notice the telltale signs of them starting to wake up - small twitches and grumbles. When Fives wakes slowly, he tends to stretch a bit like a loth cat. He yawns and does this little squeak that you don't dare mention, but it makes you smile anyway. After he stretches, he goes limp and boneless for a moment as his brain catches up to reality. Echo, however, tends to go from asleep to awake very smoothly. He doesn’t jerk awake as often anymore, but it’s a near thing. His body stays lax for the most part, but he blinks awake and takes just a second or two to get his bearings. Some mornings, he’ll lay with you for a little longer than usual, tucking his face up close to yours until you're both ready to get up.

They're absolutely adorable in their own ways.

You remain still when your partners awake. Fives sits up to stretch his whole body, before dumping his weight back ontop of you, making a grunt fall past your lips as he slightly knocks the air from your lungs. Echo blinks awake, tucks himself closer to you and breathes deeply. A luxury you can't perform yourself.

"Morning." Fives always has the deepest morning voice.

"Morning." You reply back. "Can you both breathe?"

A pair of concerned frowns meet your gaze, but you keep your expression innocent.

"Yeah?" Echo eventually answers.

"Well, I can't." You put it bluntly. "Shift."

You haven't seen them move so quick this early in the morning for years, as they scramble to their sides of the bed. You take a few deep breaths and, Maker, oxygen has never felt so good.

"You okay?" Fives looks down at you with furrowed brows. You nod tiredly and place a kiss to his forehead, causing his expression to calm.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You mumble, turning to kiss Echo's forehead aswell. "You have all that space and you still decide to crush me." You give them a pointed stare.

"Old habits die hard, cyar'ika." Fives smirks, wrapping his arms back around you, but making sure to give you more breathing room this time.

"We're sorry, cyare." A light blush coats Echo's face, as he sheepishly places a kiss to your cheek.

"It's not your fault." You reassure him, running a hand through his hair. "It's because of how many nights we all had to sleep in those regulation bunks that could hardly even fit one person in."

"Except this time, Echo isn't falling on his ass every five minutes." Fives sniggers.

You close your eyes with a smile, as you listen to them bicker about old times. Are you going to wake up with your airway being crushed again? Definitely. But you have your boys right where you want them, maybe breathing is acceptable to give up if it means you get to hold them as close as possible.

[beardedmrbean]

A Michigan man used an an all-terrain vehicle to run over and critically injure an 80-year-old man who was putting a Trump sign in his yard, in what police have described as a politically motivated attack.

The 22-year-old suspect in Sunday’s vehicle-ramming in the city of Hancock called police to confess before apparently taking his own life, authorities say.

Before targeting the elderly man, police say, the suspect vandalised two parked vehicles, smashing the windows of one that displayed a Trump sticker, and damaging the tyres of another that had a sticker supporting police.

The rampage took place just over a week after a 20-year-old would-be assassin attempted to kill Donald Trump at a political rally in Pennsylvania.

"The crimes reported in the city of Hancock appeared to be politically motivated, involving victims who displayed Trump election signs as well as law enforcement appreciated stickers and flags commonly referred to as 'thin blue line' paraphernalia," the Houghton County Sheriff's Office said in a statement.

The 80-year-old man was taken to hospital with critical injuries after being struck from behind by the suspect's ATV.

On Monday, police went to a nearby home after receiving a call from a person who said he wanted to "confess a crime involving an ATV driver within the last 24 hours" and asking police to come pick him up.

When officers arrived at the home, they found the suspect dead from what they believe was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

"What this has done to this community is pretty upsetting," Hancock Police Chief Tami Sleeman told the Detroit News. "Our concern is the safety of everybody here. Politics should not bring violence."

The police chief added that nobody else is believed to have played a role in the attack. Electronics have been seized from the man's home.

The FBI is involved in the investigation.

A spokesman for Donald Trump's likely Democratic opponent in November, Kamala Harris, as well as Michigan's Democratic Governor Gretchen Whitmer, each released statements condemning political violence, according to the New York Times.

The shooting of the Republican White House candidate spurred bipartisan calls to lower the temperature of political rhetoric in the run-up to November's election, but the results have been mixed.

Last Friday police in Jupiter, Florida, arrested Michael Wiseman, 68, on suspicion of making online threats towards Trump and his running mate, Ohio Senator JD Vance, and their families.

[milesworld96]

YALLS OH SHIT, PLEASE GET IN CONTACT WITH SENATORS TO SPEAK OUT AGAINST THE BILL. THIS IS LIKE BAD, REALLY BAD FOR MANY PEOPLE OF ALL BACKGROUNDS. WE JUST NEED WON SENATOR TO SPEAK AGAINST IT

HELP CHIP IN AS WELL IF YOU CAN, PLEASE THESE ARE DIRE TIMES RIGHT MOW

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

Senate Democrats have known this moment could come, so it’s disappointing that they somehow remain without a clear message or decisive path forward. They should have been messaging long ago precisely what they would do when asked to either go along with the GOP’s plans or to shut down the government. But it seems they still don’t really know. A bit of background as a quick refresher. The GOP House narrowly passed a continuing resolution, or CR, on Tuesday. The bill put the government on auto-pilot for another six months, more or less at existing budgetary levels. It kicked the can on finalizing the budget until sometime in September. The fear is that the CR, with only top line numbers to work with, allows Trump and Musk to continue destroying the federal government from within by reallocating agency budgets without any input from Congress. It’s a serious abdication of Congress’s power of the purse. Senate Dems have an opportunity to stop the CR with a filibuster. And they have already said that the Republicans do not have the votes to pass the CR in the Senate, meaning that Dems have the votes to prevent “cloture,” or the end of debate. But if the Dems filibuster the CR, it will die and the government will shut down this weekend. And that has many Dems worried. They want a way out of this pickle. The problem is, there isn’t an easy exit. The GOP made sure of that by refusing to consult Dems on the CR and by refusing to offer any compromise, even over how long the CR should run for. Then Republicans simply rammed the CR through, making this a binary choice: Allow our CR to pass or shut the government down. Now, let’s be clear. This is a choice of two evils. Nobody in the party wants a shutdown, and many will work hard to avoid being blamed for it. But remember the first rule when fighting fascism: Never comply in advance. That’s what allowing a vote on the CR would amount to, all because a handful of Senate Dems are worried about their reelection prospects should the party get blamed for the shutdown. I want to walk through the arguments against a shutdown and answer them before coming back to this core principle. In times like this, we need moral clarity, not political cover. And make no mistake: If Democratic senators allow the vote to proceed, they will do so in the most cynical and performative of ways, one that Robert Hubbell rightfully has dubbed political “kabuki theater.” [...]

Reasons to block the CR

When you have the chance to use your power to stop the fascists, you shouldn’t hesitate. Hesitation signals that you are just a paper tiger. And really, you would be one if you caved out of a worry of what might happen instead of focusing on what is already happening. If Democrats are worried about being blamed for shutting down the government, then they should be really worried about the downside of allowing the CR through. Democratic voters are losing faith in their elected representatives. Democrats in Congress are already perceived as not doing all they can to stop the Republicans. And the filibuster is one of the last true and effective backstops Dems possess. If Senate Democrats allow a vote on the CR through, even when they had it fully within their power to block it, they will confirm to everyone that they are weak and cowardly in the face of the fascist GOP threat. They will signal that they are ready to roll over at the slightest risk to their re-election prospects. And they will be complicit in what happens next. It’s actually worse than this. There are credible reports that Democrats under Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) are considering allowing the CR vote to happen, provided they get to hold a performative vote on an amendment to limit the CR to just 30 days. What does this mean? In plain terms, Democrats know that any amendment offered to the CR will fail, and then the CR will pass. All they will gain from allowing the bill to come to the floor is a bit of political cover for their vote. They hope to claim they voted against the CR when they actually let it sail through. This is, in a word, bullshit. When I wrote earlier this week that a handful of Democratic senators might grudgingly vote to keep the government open, I didn’t understand that they would do so while claiming publicly to want the opposite. Either you oppose the CR and block it with a filibuster, or you admit that you want to avoid a shutdown at all costs and the GOP has forced your hand with this CR. We may not like Sen. John Fetterman’s (D-PA) decision to vote to keep the government from shutting down, but at least he is telling us the real reason he is voting that way. Voters are on to this insulting and cynical plan, and I hope that the Senate Dems understand that. It’s a craven, milk toast response worthy of Sen. Susan Collins (R-ME): all concern and no action.

[...] Senators swear an oath to obey and protect the Constitution. What Trump and Musk are doing is unconstitutional. The GOP’s CR would give them six more months of runway to do it. Democrats who swore this oath cannot make themselves complicit in allowing unconstitutional activity to continue under their watch, even if that means shutting down where it’s happening. And remember, the Republicans can reopen the government at any time, simply by agreeing to finalize a budget in, say, 30 days. The story, if properly and consistently messaged, will become about the GOP’s refusal to turn the lights back on and actually stop Dr. Evil. After all, they’re the ones in charge. Everything bad that happens from the shutdown on will be on them because they can end the shutdown at any time. We need leadership with moral clarity, decisiveness, and the political spine to do the hard things in the name of preserving our democracy. What we don’t need are head fakes, cynical acts of political self-preservation, and complicity in this horrorshow.

Dear Senate Dems: please don’t vote for the House GOP’s version of the CR. We Democrats don’t like government shutdowns, but this is one is necessary in order to stop the Trump/Musk destruction of government.

[mariacallous]

There’s a sense of occasion to the new “Othello” now at the Barrymore, on Broadway—Denzel Washington, one of our last true movie legends, is playing the titular role, and Jake Gyllenhaal, no slouch in the stardom department himself, appears as his evil saboteur, Iago. Producers are charging north of nine hundred dollars for orchestra seats, the kind of ludicrous, norm-busting event pricing that somehow drives demand; the sidewalk outside buzzes with excitement. Inside the theatre, though, it’s another story.

In Shakespeare’s oddly comic tragedy, jealousy is the prime mover. As the Venetians and the Ottoman Turks squabble over Cyprus in the background, the men before us quarrel over everything—a woman, a job, a handkerchief. Iago, a veteran soldier, hates Othello, his general, a Moor who fights for Venice: Iago’s missed out on a promotion, and he also half believes a rumor that Othello has seduced his wife, Emilia (Kimber Elayne Sprawl). His hatred devours all but his capacity to lie and plot; “I am not what I am,” he says. Iago turns his sights to ruining Othello’s new wife, Desdemona (Molly Osborne), with false clues and poisonous innuendo. Envious of what Othello has, he takes it.

You need energy and clarity to make “Othello” work—to make the language sing and to propel the deceptions forward—especially because the vicious Iago hasn’t got an actual goal, just an appetite for chaos and a ready little knife. The director, Kenny Leon, is uninterested in clarity, though, and the vibe is mild depression: a pre-show projection reading “The Near Future” doesn’t turn out to be particularly useful, and the dreary, gray-columned set, designed by Derek McLane, looks like a parking garage. (Dede Ayite dresses the soldiers in de-rigueur fatigues, the Venetian senators in suits.) Famously, Iago hurls racist abuse behind Othello’s back, calling him, for example, an “old black ram,” and that poison, too, worms its way into Othello’s mind. “I am black and have not those soft parts of conversation that chamberers have,” he says to himself, alone. In this production, Emilia is Black, as are some soldiers in Iago’s platoon. The casting choices might raise a whole host of interesting questions about how this Venice reflects our own time, but Leon doesn’t foreground, or even really acknowledge, them.

Leon and Washington have had triumphs together, namely the Broadway productions of August Wilson’s “Fences,” in 2010, and Lorraine Hansberry’s “A Raisin in the Sun,” in 2014. In those shows, Leon turned his eye for behavior to prop-heavy naturalism, where he seems most graceful and at ease. Here, there’s very little reality in his direction—Emilia switches randomly among the jobs of lady’s maid, glamorous chief of staff, and camo-wearing lieutenant, for instance—and too few people look at one another when they talk. At least Gyllenhaal, crazy as a scorpion, makes a point of facing the people he’s bamboozling, jabbing his hand at them as if he could drive his lies in by force. He and Andrew Burnap, playing Cassio, one of Iago’s many persuadable fools, find nice moments together, largely because they seem like they’re in conversation. The rest of the time, if there are more than a handful of actors onstage they drift into a half circle, the hallmark of amateur staging.

When Washington enters, we sense, for one bright moment, the Othello that might have been: he charges in, tucking his white shirt into his blue trousers, and here is his Don Pedro from “Much Ado About Nothing” (the Kenneth Branagh film from 1993), still forceful and on the go. As long as he’s joshing with other soldiers, or glad-handing senators, he moves comfortably. And, early in the first act, Washington’s touch with the verse is casual, knowing, deft. The trouble hits when he greets his “soul’s joy,” Desdemona—who is dressed in a series of Political Wife pants suits—and exhibits only a faint, avuncular enthusiasm. As Leon’s production toils blandly along, Washington employs a light, high delivery, lapsing into vagueness and singsong. Nothing commands his full attention. Othello is supposed to be “declined into the vale of years,” but Washington moves past what might be a portrait of an overtaxed old general into apathy.

Sinking onto Desdemona’s bed, reciting his lines without notable crescendo or feeling, Washington puts Osborne into a weary headlock, and then kind of leans on her to death. As Act V plays out, Othello is often found sitting on this bed, staring out into space. Watching Washington’s gotta-take-a-load-off finish reminded me of his most recent Broadway performance, in 2018—as Hickey in Eugene O’Neill’s “The Iceman Cometh,” another presumed cuckold who, it turns out, has murdered his wife. In that production, the director George C. Wolfe had Washington conclude the play sitting in a chair at center stage. As in “Othello,” he stopped engaging with the cast around him, delivering his monologue like an aria, straight out to the audience.

Maybe Washington just doesn’t like blocking? My suspicion is that a director in a rehearsal room, looking at the megastar as he runs his lines, thinks, If only people could experience what we see here, without necessarily calculating the difference between that small room and a Broadway house. But these ill-spent moments do, I think, matter. Ticket prices aside, the theatre really cannot afford to waste a chance with Washington like this. He values the stage, and returns to it often, but, at seventy years old, he’s started hinting in interviews about retirement. It’s heartening, therefore, that he has been talking about a film of “Othello.” I can see it in my mind’s eye already—his magnificently tired face filling a screen, where we can finally see the flickers of waning nobility and waxing madness. Also, it’ll cost maybe twenty-five bucks.

There are still bargains to be had this week in live theatre, however. On Twenty-third Street, at a long, narrow, no-frills space called Nancy Manocherian’s the cell theatre, you can pay fifty dollars and get a “Friday Night Lights”-inflected synthwave-musical retelling of Homer’s Iliad, performed by a joyfully committed ensemble. “The Trojans,” written and composed by the hugely gifted Leegrid Stevens and directed by Eric Paul Vitale, is that rara avis: a gorgeously produced downtown epic, somehow both trash-based (the costume designer, Ashley Soliman, has made football armor out of knee-pad inserts, for example) and luxurious, rich in the way that theatre is meant to be rich—with imagination, intelligence, and potential.

On entry, the room looks like an Amazon warehouse, with boxes piled to the ceiling. If you take a minute to read the labels, though, something seems odd: the addresses all list places like Parthenon, Arkansas, and Athens, Georgia. The glum workers pushing their hydraulic carts and listening to a tinny boom box perk up the moment someone mentions the “old days,” when their town resounded with the rivalry between two high-school football teams, the Trojans and the Highland Kings. Soon, the workers are reënacting the run-up to a long-ago homecoming game—way back in the nineteen-eighties, I’m guessing, based on the occasional Walkman. Back then, the prom queen, Heather (Deshja Driggs), left her boyfriend, Johnny (Roger Casey), for the allure of Highland’s arts program, and everyone freaked out.

Is Heather Helen of Troy? She certainly causes mayhem, as the teen-agers drive their cars—those same hydraulic carts, weaving only inches from the audience—toward disaster. Paris is the coy Daris (Arya Grace Gaston), and the doomed hero Achilles has become the grim-faced Trojan running back Keeley (Erin Treadway, in boxer braids and golden work boots), who refuses to take the field after Johnny utters a fatal insult. Stevens has slyly flipped the sides in Homer’s poem, but we’re not here for a one-to-one narrative mapping of a Bronze Age tragedy. Instead, we’ve come for the same reason that scouts go to high-school football finals: to see stunning talents like Casey and Treadway before everyone else hears about them, and to get back in touch with our love of the game. 

[shadowmaat]

My feeling on what Liz Warren is saying is that violence on an individual level is never the answer, but when you engage in violence at the corporate level in order to increase your profits, then you can't go all surprised pikachu face when people finally snap and dish it back.

Which sounds really good, especially when it's framed as a warning. HOWEVER. The death for dividends policy upheld by health insurance companies in the US has been going on for DECADES, virtually unchecked. No one has successfully stopped it yet, and I'm guessing part of that is because it's good for the economy. And/or good for the senators receiving payouts from the insurance giants.

If Senator Warren and the Dems really want to stop more violence from happening, they'd be working on reforms. Or, y'know, ramming through universal healthcare, like every other country in the world has. The whole "I'm not paying for someone else's insurance" whiners should be shown that they're already paying for it: government subsidies to companies like UHC account for a whopping portion of their profit. And unaligned taxpayers get nothing out of it. At least with universal coverage, if you get polio (surprised pikachu face) at least you won't have to worry about going into irrecoverable medical debt for treatment. And you won't have to worry about some dude in a fancy suit deciding that no, you don't really need this life-saving procedure after all. Just take some Tylenol and you'll be fine.

Of course, given the incoming regime we all know things are only going to get worse. And worse. And worse. Which means that Warren's warning to CEOs is apt. People are going to get increasingly desperate. And desperate people do desperate things. The insurance bros aren't the only ones who should take note.