#which one is worse italian futurism or christian futurism

[yellow-yarrow]

#what's the futurism link?

how did i get here? well

https://www.loebclassics.com/view/heraclitus-doctrine/2016/pb_LCL526.137.xml

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enantiodromia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychological_Types

http://www.tavenerguide.com/palintropos

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_of_Patmos

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_churches_of_Asia

no im not writing an essay, im thinking about a video game

[fortressofserenity]

In Italia

Somebody said that God will judge Italy a lot for many of its sins/vices/shortcomings like adultery, witchcraft, LGBT and more, in addition to persecution coming to the Italian peninsula again in more than a thousand years (several centuries ago really). Now if there's anything that should be considered adulterous by Biblical standards would be overly sexualised television programmes there, because if somebody lusts at someone else despite being married or in a committed relationship themselves, then they still commit adultery.

Whether if they lust at celebrities, wank or read pornographic stories if they're married or in a relationship they're still cheating and this is likely why a number of women have issues with men perusing porn, it's like they're cheating on them with someone else. Or for another matter, how men feel about their girlfriends and wives reading erotica books. It's still cheating to God, whether if they never actually have sex with somebody else or not. Try as you might, God will still find you out. So don't delude yourself into thinking otherwise.

It's possible for Christianity to continue thriving in Italy, despite or rather because of the immense persecution its followers face, but I had this dream of an Italian Antichrist before. He'll attack Christians like a cat would to mice and roaches, he'll rise to power in Italy and not only take over various churches but also become a geopolitical leader himself. If Italy will give way to the Antichrist system, this is not only where persecution really kicks in there but is also initiated by the Antichrist himself.

He'll do this to dissidents, Catholic and non-Catholic, who refuse to kowtow to him. He'll call himself the real coming of God, despite how the real McCoy will kick him out when he returns. The Antichrist will do anything to make people worship or love him, no matter what he does, regardless if his supernatural powers are actually demonic in nature. I even think this fellow will be worse than how he's usually represented in the media, because he'll seem outwardly good and likable. An LGBT ally, a feminist, champion of the downtrodden.

Advocate for the environment and more, despite his horrible intentions underneath them all. Even as a kid, he'll be so beloved by everyone both offline and online that bodyguards will be there to defend him to the death and attack any dissident they find. His mother, Antimary as prophesised by St Hildegard, will be a major social media star that everything she does is beloved by the gullible public. While his birth is kept a secret, well for awhile, it gets a lot of likes in seconds.

The Antichrist himself will be something of a social media star, one of the top-most followed people on social media. The future's equivalent to kid Youtubers like Ryan Kaji (who'll be an adult when the Antichrist shows up), his mum will film his antics and outrageous abilities and it'll have more than a billion views, streams and likes. It'll be shared anywhere and everywhere on not just social media, but also news media. Everything he does is newsworthy, which should give you an idea of how charismatic he's going to be.

Jesus Christ by contrast was born to a poor family, not so much publicised a lot let alone in a gratifying way and was kind of distrusted by many. The opposite of what the Antichrist will be getting in the future when he grows up, because he's going to be not only the most followed Italian online but also the most followed human being on Earth. If Mr Beast isn't bad enough, then the Antichrist will put him to shame when he grows up. A real trendsetter if there'll ever be one.

Popularising and normalising occult stuff, anything else that's bad and how horrid he actually is to Christians. Churches will be divided over him, but the faithful can tease apart the real thing from him. He's going to persecute Catholics who question his leadership, even those who are monks, priests and nuns whom he's eager to put all of them to death. So the survivors go into hiding, so that they can do whatever they need to do without being harassed a lot. Then he'll persecute other denominations for not kowtowing to him.

The worst of the worst, despite appearing to be a likable and affable fellow who stands up to LGBT causes. Even then anything LGBT is detestable to the Lord, so this shows who he actually is and what he actually does. His middle name might as well be evil, which is what he truly is to God and his followers. He'll even make his followers attack his would-be haters, not just online but also offline without trying. Then he, the Devil and his mother will be throw into the lake of fire, never to return to Earth again.

I'm not going to lie that Italy has produced a number of Christian talent and luminaries like Dante, Girolamo Savonarola and Padre Pio, but it's gotten so corrupt that producing the Antichrist wouldn't be much of a stretch for it and why it's going to get judged anyways.

[apenitentialprayer]

VATICAN CITY (RNS) — Alì Ehsani, 32, knows what life can be like for Christians under the Taliban regime. Born in Kabul in 1989, he and his brother fled when he was 8 after the murder of his parents by the Islamic extremists “I know firsthand how difficult it is to be Christians in that country,” Ehsani told Religion News Service on Monday (Aug. 16). “I lived through the horror, the terror of these Taliban.” Ehsani made it to Rome in 2003 after a five-year journey that he detailed in two books, “Tonight We Watch the Stars” and “The Kids Have Big Dreams.” In 2015, he earned a law degree from a university in Rome. Since then he has been committed to helping fellow Christians in Afghanistan, including a Catholic family facing persecution after the Taliban regained control of the country in mid-August. The urgency has risen a hundredfold since the U.S. withdrawal in recent weeks ceded the country to the Taliban. While Afghanistan’s new rulers have promised not to shed any blood, some locals fear that the Islamist regime will lead to persecutions and violence, setting the clock back 20 years in terms of freedom and democracy. Ehsani came into contact with the Christian family in Afghanistan through an Afghan who was also studying in Rome. The two had been friends for some time when Ehsani made the sign of the cross before a meal, and they learned that they shared the Christian faith. Afghan citizens are not legally allowed to convert to Christianity and there is little data on the number of Christians living in the country. According to the U.S. International Religious Freedom Report, published in 2009, there are between 1,000 and 8,000 Christians secretly practicing their faith in the country. There is only one officially recognized Christian church in Afghanistan, the Catholic chapel inside the Italian Embassy. Thanks to his friend, Ehsani began communicating via WhatsApp with the Christian family in Afghanistan six months ago, as concerns about the fate of the country began to grow. The family wishes to remain anonymous to avoid being found. At first, the family was guarded, Ehsani explained, but about three months ago they cautiously revealed that they looked to Pope Francis for spiritual guidance. That’s when Ehsani understood that they are Catholics. Since they were not able to attend Mass in Afghanistan, Ehsani began to livestream the services in Rome for them to watch from Kabul. “Their neighbors discovered them one day,” Ehsani told Religion News Service over the phone Monday (Aug. 16), “so they ratted them out two weeks ago.” As a result, the father of the family was arrested six days ago, Ehsani said, while the rest of the family was forced to flee. “They still don’t know where he is,” he said. The family told Ehsani that “the Taliban are going door to door” asking whether any Christians live there or in that community. Ehsani hasn’t been able to sleep since he heard the news. “I’m always praying for them,” he said. He is trying to help the family through humanitarian avenues, hoping they can be included in the Italian government’s efforts to evacuate Italian nationals and local allies, amid a global push to welcome Afghan refugees. Ehsani is also trying to get a letter into Francis’ hands in which the family appeals to the pope and the international community to help them leave the country. “These are days of terror and the idea of falling into the hands of soldiers terrifies me and is anxiety inducing,” read the appeal, which was shared with RNS. “If they were ever to capture me or other members of my family I would rather die,” wrote the family. “We hid with the hope of being found as late as possible. But we don’t know for how long we will be able to protect ourselves in this way.” With the Taliban going house to house looking for unmarried women, the letter said, it pleaded “to save us from this situation, which is endangering me and many other families, especially Christian girls.” Francis made an appeal for Afghanistan on Sunday, hours before the Taliban overran Kabul. “I join in the unanimous concern for the situation in Afghanistan. I ask all of you to pray with me to the God of peace, so that the clamor of weapons might cease and solutions can be found at the table of dialogue,” he told faithful after his weekly Angelus prayer. Meanwhile, the Italian branch of the Catholic aid network Caritas, which has been active in Afghanistan since the early ’90s, announced in a press release on Sunday that the current situation “will lead to the suspension of all activities.” “Fears are growing about the possibility of maintaining a presence even in the future, as well as for the safety of the few Afghans of Christian belief,” the statement read, adding that Catholic missionaries and priests are also leaving the country. Caritas Italy said it will continue helping Afghan citizens, especially children, from Pakistan. “I don’t understand why the West left Afghanistan this way,” Ehsani said, “after 20 years of sacrifices, of democracy.” But Ehsani doesn’t want to get into the politics: “I just want to save this Christian family and possibly others,” he said, adding that for some it might just be “a matter of days” before they are discovered or worse.

[spanishskulduggery]

Do you know of any fossil words in Spanish, words that used to be common but fell out of use and are now only preserved in idioms? I tried looking on Google but all the results were English-only examples

I'll try and think of some others but here are the ones that come to mind; and I’m not sure all of these will be what you’re looking for.

si fuere menester = "in the event of" el menester used to be fairly common especially in the Medieval period, where it was another word for "need" or "necessity". Today you only see menester in si fuere menester which is an unusual construction as it is, since fuere is the future subjunctive - which is an obsolete tense - and so it literally means "should it be necessary". This expression only now shows up in contracts and legal contexts normally as "in the event of"

donde fueres haz lo que vieres = "when in Rome... (do as the Romans do)" Again, this is future subjunctive; literally "wherever you go, do what you see".. but in a more obtuse future subjunctive way "wherever you should happen to go, do whatever you may happen to see"

la urdimbre y trama = "warp and weft" The idea of this is related to "weaving", and though this phrase is rather antiquated or particular, it occasionally shows up as something like la urdimbre y trama de la sociedad or something where that's "the fabric of society". It's not the way you say that so much now [el tejido or la tela are more common], but urdir "to warp" was related to working a loom. You still do use tramar but it's not often that you see it related to weaving anymore... tramar is "to plot" or "to hatch a scheme", but you can see how "weaving" would go into "plotting"

so pena de = "under pain of" You don't often see so used in Spanish today, since it's a more direct link to Latin and Italian. And today la pena rarely means "pain" in the physical sense, it usually means "sorrow" or "anguish"... but again in legal cases, so pena de muerte is "under pain/penalty of death"

a diestra y siniestra = "all over the place" This expression literally means "to the right and left". The word diestro/a is still "right-handed" (also means "skillful" or "dexterous"), but siniestro/a used to mean "left-handed"... the idea that the left hand was more evil and "sinister", and "under-handed". In older contexts, siniestro/a means "left-handed", but in modern contexts you say zurdo/a for "left-handed"

al tuntún = "impromptu", "improvise", "on the fly", "by ear" This expression is derived from Latin, ad vultum tuum which is literally "to your face" in Latin. You never see tuntún anymore unless something is done al tuntún but it might be more regional; it just means you're making it up as you go

dormir como un ceporro = "to sleep like a log" Most people today say dormir como un tronco which is the same idea; el ceporro is a variation but it's extremely unusual to see it. Most people will use tronco if they have to

tuerto/a = one-eyed I'm actually not sure if people use tuerto/a still, since there are other ways to say "blind in one eye" or "one-eyed". In older Spanish, tuerto could show up as a "grievance", but in the expression en el reino de ciegos el tuerto es rey is still used sometimes, literally "in the kingdom of blind people, the one-eyed man is the king"

(el) haba = bean [technically haba is feminine] Not common to see el haba used much anymore except in certain contexts, and it's the root of la habichuela "bean". In Spain, sometimes haba is "idiot" so if you see el tonto del haba it's like "the biggest idiot that ever lived"

Vuestra Merced = "Your Lordship/Ladyship" This is the original form of it, but it eventually turned into usted "you" used for polite things. The title was Vuestra Merced and it was how you addressed someone without knowing their title, so it became very polite. In older Spanish you'd abbreviate it as Vd. which eventually became Ud. as the abbreviation for usted. Keep in mind that at a certain point in time, Spanish wrote the U sound as a V, and it followed more of the Latin pronunciation where the V had a softer U/W sound at times. Outside of Spain and works set in older time periods, you're unlikely to use vuestro/a - it even became informal plural "you all" in Spain - but you rarely ever see merced used. Chances are you're only going to see it was vuestra in front of it. But just know that vos has a very different meaning today than it did in the Middle Ages

meter/sembrar cizaña = "to sow discord" You're never going to see cizaña used in any other context unless you happen upon some botanical book. The literal translation is "darnel" which is sometimes called "false wheat"; basically la cizaña looks like trigo "wheat", and it grows close to wheat but it often has a fungus that's poisonous so you need to separate it. The idea behind it is that if you're deliberately planting cizaña you're actively trying to poison someone or make things worse

la celestina = "a go-between, a mediator" This word comes directly from La Celestina a novel written in Spain's Golden Age by Fernando de Rojas. In it there's a woman named Celestina who sets up meetings between women living in convents (who weren't always nuns) and men; acting as a go-between and chaperone for love affairs basically. The term was also la alcahueta but became celestina after the character in the book. Certain characters in literature are considered celestinas like the Nurse in Romeo and Juliet; basically the girl/woman can't risk her reputation so she has her maid or chaperone working to arrange things, and they're often the catalyst for things going wrong. In other contexts, celestina or una alcahueta is a "pimp" or "madame", or sometimes "a gossip"

pardo/a = brown, brownish-gray Today you’re only really going to see pardo/a used with animals. Specifically, el oso pardo is a “grizzly bear”, and pardo/a can be used with horses as “dun”. I don’t know if “grizzly bear” counts as an expression but anyway. In older Spanish pardo/a was another word for “brown” when it came to people too. Today, if you’re describing hair color as “brown/brunette” you’re using castaño which is literally “chestnut”, either castaño claro “light brown” or castaño oscuro “dark brown”. When it comes to things that are brown, the typical word is now marrón or sometimes you see it as color café which is “coffee-colored”

ser un caco = to be a thief Not commonly used as ladrón, ladrona “thief”, but un caco literally means “a Cacus”. Basically, Cacus was a mythological figure who stole some cattle and Hercules killed him. In some places people use un caco to mean “thief” as a euphemism

la Parca = the Grim Reaper Orginally, las Parcas were the Parcae in Roman (originally Greek) mythology. They were the sisters of fate who would measure someone’s life and eventually cut the thread. Today, it’s just one Parca and it’s typically a male figure, skeletal, with a scythe as the “Grim Reaper”, rather than it being a woman with scissors. That’s because during the Plague, people thought of Death as being a skeletal figure that held a scythe, the symbol for “reaping” wheat that was ripe.

manjar de los dioses = “nectar of the gods” / a delicacy el manjar is used in some places in certain contexts but it originally came from Italian as “food” or something “to eat”. Today, manjar is usually a “snack”, or in some cases it’s dulce de leche, but most of the Spanish-speaking world doesn’t use manjar so much. It is sometimes “delicacy”, but in older contexts it was code for “ambrosia”, the thing that the Greek gods couldn’t get enough of. The world manjar still feels very antiquated to me, but when it’s used it’s some kind of good food or eating a lot of food

valer un potosí = “to be worth a fortune” un potosí is pretty antiquated, but it came from the city Potosí in Bolivia which was famous for its silver mines that the conquistadores exploited. There are still some places that will use potosí as “something of great value”, though it’s not so common anymore unless you’re talking about the actual city.

moros y cristianos = “beans and rice” Usually it’s black beans and white rice, though this is literally “Moors and Christians”. You still use cristiano/a today but typically you only use moro/a in a historical sense

Also there’s the expression más sordo/a que una tapia where it means someone is really hard of hearing; literally “as deaf as a garden wall”, but I’ve never seen people use tapia ...only a muro or a cerca as “wall” or “fence”. The idea of tapiar is related to “mortar” and “masonry”

There are also some expressions related to metal and older words for it. For example, saturnino/a is an older word for “gloomy”, though it now refers to “lead-poisoning”. Saturn was linked to “moodiness” in alchemical society, and the symbol for Saturn was the older symbol for “lead”. 

This is similar to how áureo/a is “gold” but also linked to the “sun” because the Sun and gold are linked.

Another is el azogue which is the older word for mercury so it’d be “quicksilver”. You may see azogarse in some texts where it means “to be fidgetty” and it’s related both to mercury-poisoning, and probably to the idea of Mercury/Hermes being the messenger god so always on the move. 

There is also hidalgo/a which doesn’t have quite the same meaning it did originally. Today, hidalgo/a is sort of like “having noble blood”. It literally means “son of something/someone”, where originally in Spain hidalgos were the children of nobles - specifically, it tended to refer to the children of nobles who weren’t the firstborn male. Firstborn sons often got about 2/3 of the money and were expected to run the estates. The second or third or fourth children were usually on their own. It became a running joke that the firstborn became the lord, and the others would either join the army or the clergy. In Cervantes’s time, hidalgos could be among the poorest of society, even poorer than slaves in some cases. They were still “noble” in terms of blood though, and hidalgos couldn’t be tortured by the Inquisition because of it. So they were afforded certain rights, but usually tended to be poor or lower than you’d expect a noble to be. Today it just means “of nobility”, but in Cervantes’s time a hidalgo was the symbol of Spain under the Holy Roman Empire - wealthy and noble and glorious in theory, much poorer in reality.

I'd also add the phrases levar ancla "to raise anchor" or "anchors aweigh/away", where levar is rarely used today aside from nautical terms. Similarly, izar la bandera is "to hoist the flag"... not a lot of chances to use izar if it's not related to "flags" or la vela "a sail"

I also would say errar is less common today in Spanish. It's still used, but you normally say cometer un error "to make a mistake". Still, errar es humano, perdonar es divino "to err is human, to forgive divine". Also errar is weirdly irregular at times, it turns into yerro as present tense yo

And I’m also going to include when la manzana means a “city block”. Today manzana is not rare, it means “apple”. But manzana as a “city block” was originally mansana where it meant a “collection of manses/houses arranged in a block on a grid”. So there’s that. If you ever see manzana used for blocks in a city, it’s technically a separate word

Also depending on context el mar “sea” will be la mar with the feminine article. That’s usually more particular, usually meaning “open water” or deeper waters like alta mar “high seas”. The more poetic or open the water is, the more likely it is to be feminine, and so la mar isn’t quite so antiquated but it’s a little special

[springfieldblues]

my long ass review for S32E03 Now Museum, Now You Don’t

warning: LONG because i rambled about history more than i thought i would

id been looking forward to this one because i like art history, especially after seeing how they tried their best to stick to historical accuracy in the previous episode I, Carumbus. this time however….they didnt try that hard. i dont know why i thought theyd go through that sort of trouble again LMAO

but its okay, i dont really expect the simpsons to be the paragon of historical accuracy or anything. especially in anthology episodes told through a particular character's lens (in this case, lisa, whos already feverish so whatever)

first i just wanna say that this is, i guess, less of a review and more of an accidental list of history fun facts. so im just gonna get my general thoughts out of the way first.

the episode was fun! to me at least haha. i mean it got me to think and do a lot of research on my own so that must count for something. besides a couple of really weird ones, the jokes were good. anthology episodes tend to be….not that good but i thought this one was one of the better ones so far. idk.

anyway on to lisanardo da vinky its the renaissance! jesus christ the italian accents in the beginning of this segment were annoying as hell but i also feel like that was the joke lmao. ill be real i kind of tuned out for a second there when grampa started rambling so idk what he said.

i told myself i wouldnt get nitpicky with historical accuracy if the jokes were funny (final edit: so that was a lie) but this meh bit with the pizza guys and mascots was really not worth ignoring the fact that its impossible for italy to have any tomato-based food in the 15th century (tomatoes were brought to europe from the americas in the 16th century, and pizza as we know it today—flatbread, cheese, tomato—originated in the late 18th century)

oh this next part was kind of legit tho. lisanardo, like the real leonardo, became andrea del verrochio's apprentice at his workshop. i loved this next bit:

"Whoever paints the sweetest cherub will have the honor of having MY name signed on their work. That's what great artists do!"

SO YEAH as it turns out, lisanardo painted the sweetest cherubs. the painting here is called The Baptism of Christ, and the real leonardo assisted verrochio in finishing it. specifically, he painted the cherubs in the corner.

this causes verrochio to quit and go someplace with less talented people: a music school (yes, verrochio did quit painting after getting owned by young leo and his mad angel painting skills. he never did anything with music tho, he was more of a sculptor)

alongside lisanardo, in mr largo-verrochio's workshop we have barticelli (botticelli bart), dolphatello (donatello dolph), ralphael (raphael...ralph) and mediocrito (no one that i know of. sorry milhouse) (and kearney i guess but they dont refer to him by name). botticelli and donatello are said to have also been apprentices at verrochio's workshop, but raphael came a couple of decades later so he couldnt have been there. and donatello was too old so that claim is a bit questionable. but anyway

it IS true that leonardo's peers envied him, to the point where he was anonymously and purposefully accused of being gay (a major crime punishable by death in 15th century florence) while he was still working at verrochio's workshop

we are then treated by what im pretty sure is the fourth time the show has used 'at seventeen' by janis ian, this time sung by a dejected lisanardo (man they really do keep making yeardley sing these days huh) who only wishes to be appreciated and not envied.

"I'll show them all! I'll show them all in a secret diary that no one will decipher for 400 years!"

some of lisanardo's future inventions. who wouldve known

so after barticelli, for some reason (revenge??? or something?? what was his plan here idgi) steals lisanardo's diaries full of blueprints of her inventions and takes them to mr burns who i have to assume is pope alexander VI here, they decide to use her inventions for war.

"With these, we can kill the most evil people in the world!! ....Slightly different Christians."

leo actually did this of his own accord. im surprised this is what they decided to do with lisanardo instead of talking about leo's love of nature and vegetarianism (not a single mention of that in this episode? come on...) then again, trying to do good only to end up indirectly making things worse is a very standard lisa storyline. i guess they didnt want to miss the chance to have evil pope burns (very fitting, especially for that era since they were all about money and controlling the people)

so lisanardo decides to leave for france, unlike the real leonardo who was more or less persuaded by his ultimate fanboy king francis I to move to france.

"Lisanardo, I have many questions. Why are you hitting yourself? A nerd says 'what'? And how is it possible that I am rubber and you are glue? Et cetera, et cetera."

that line may seem a little random, like hes just nelson saying nelson things (and i mean, obviously he is) but the real francis also "had an unquenchable thirst for learning, and Leonardo was the world’s best source of experimental knowledge. He could teach the king about almost any subject there was to know, from how the eye works to why the moon shines." so yeah, he did have many questions and lisanardo, finally being appreciated for her intellect, was happy to answer them all. its very interesting how lisa assigned this role to nelson in her retelling of da vinci’s life :^)

and so she lived the rest of her days in france, nat king cole's 'mona lisa' plays because duh, and they make a da vinci code reference because duh. and the segment ends. and not a single time did they show the actual mona lisa painting. the fuck?

(ngl i was fully expecting bart to say 'leonardo da vinky' for a second here)

so this next segment is about french impressionist painters, most likely the batignolles group, a name adopted by the early representatives of impressionism. its much more vague than the lisanardo segment since no one here is referred to by name (except moe, more on him in a sec) but i dont feel like it really matters in this case. bart is prrrrooobably claude monet but its hard to say, this segment is kind of a mish-mash of a lot of things. also i gotta say i really liked how lisa introduced the story to bart with an 'if you hate the formal study of art' and not 'if you hate art' because thats exactly my headcanon. i LOVE the concept of artist bart and whenever its referenced it just makes perfect sense to me.

anyway the segment opens in 1863 at the école des beaux-arts (back then it was actually known as the académie des beaux-arts), preserver of traditional french art styles. skinner reviews his students’ paintings one by one. praises the plain, unimaginative paintings depicting your typical european countryside landscapes. very run-of-the-mill (haha get it...cuz theres….a windmill) (although the real académie didnt approve of such basic stuff, they wanted artists to draw epic historical and mythological scenes) then he gets to barts painting and he gives him an F- because the painting made him think.

(the paintings in this scene arent real famous paintings as far as i know but they are inspired by real paintings enough to get the point across)

in comes barney dressed as bacchus as a model for the students to sketch, which i just loved:

barney: “You prefer robe open or robe off?” skinner: “Just cover your privates with this walnut shell.” barney: “Whoa!!! So roomy!”

skinner gasps in horror at bart’s sketch, which “looks nothing like him” and bart explains that “it shouldn’t; we’re making the art that we feel because we can’t compete with a camera.” damn, you go bart. take that, realism. draw what you feel!!

(also no, you didnt need to hold still for 17 hours for a daguerreotype. 30 min tops.)

nelson haw-haw of the week: FOIE-gras!

so here they are at the moulin rouge (“enjoy it before baz luhrmann ruins it” hey shut up. i love that movie), which wouldnt be built for another 26 years, but it is the most widely known gathering place for bohemians in the public consciousness so i can understand why they went with the moulin. nelson delivers this anachronistic line:

“This époque keeps getting beller and beller!”

which alludes to la belle époque, the golden age of france usually dated from 1880 to 1914. made me snort so ill let that slide

and heres moe! as henri de toulouse-lautrec, who was actually born a year after the year this segment is set in. yo moe szyslak he was just 1

toulouse-moetrec introduces himself as the chronicler of the demimonde (not an actual job). an iconic figure associated with the moulin rouge (largely due to his affinity for alcohol and prostitutes), toulouse-lautrec was also a painter, having illustrated a series of posters for the moulin himself. he simply had to be in this segment, anachronisms be damned, just because they decided to include the moulin. cant have one without the other.

and yes he did have a walking cane where he kept his liquor.

i love how everyone drinks absinthe in this place. theyre bohemians what else would they drink

toulouse-moetrec points out that barts paintings are the greatest thing hes ever seen (and hes seen like five things!) and that hes a genius. milhouse realizes that they should stop doing what the teacher says and use their own minds to instead...start doing what bart says lmao. to the easels!

next we have skinner hyping up chalmers about the art his students made for the salon de paris, an art exhibition that the emperor of france will attend. he assures him that none of these paintings will encourage debate, provoke thought or be out of place at a dentist’s office. when they unveil the art, theyre both SHOCKED at how scandalous the paintings actually are.

this reaction was kind of accurate. impressionism was severely rejected at the salon de paris, due to paintings not looking finished enough to them, they thought they were ugly and vulgar for depicting nudity in a contemporary setting (historical and mythological nudity was fine). these impressionist paintings were sent to the salon de refusés, which is. yeah. the place where they sent the rejects. the salon de refusés does not make an appearance but this scene makes a reference to it when the artists get expelled from the royal salon. also:

“What about our student loans?” “Oh they’ll be refunded. We are not barbarians, I mean, come on.”

(god if only)

so the painters are down because they want the emperor to actually see their paintings. toulouse-moetrec pipes in once again with an idea.

“There is one thing the emperor loves more than anything.” “France?” “No, he hates France.”

apparently the emperor really loves cheese, which makes sense since its napoleon III (who loved cheese) and homer (who loves cheese.) so the painters roll into the salon inside a giant wheel of cheese (obviously.) as lenny said, “Eh, you know French cheese. Very runny.” napoleon III chases after the wheel into a room, where the wheel falls apart after getting chomped on by the emperor. now that they got his attention, the painters proudly show the emperor their impressionist art, which he couldnt be more indifferent about because he just wants to eat his cheese dammit, and he awards them with the royal medallion just to kind of get them out of his way. skinner immediately starts kissing ass (as he does) until marge’s like ‘hey wait a minute. you expelled these students from the royal salon’ and an executioner immediately starts ominously measuring skinners neck.

“Uh, sir...is your tongue sticking out because you’re dead or because you’re mad at me?”

and thats the end of that lmao (gore in this episode, gore in the last episode, and next week we’re getting gore too cuz its THOH, what the hell is goin on)

we get a short intermission with maggie, who wants a story for her too! lisa tells her that renaissance artists loved to put babies in their paintings, especially baby angels.

here she is showing her The Triumph Of Galatea by raphael:

King David Playing The Harp by peter paul reubens:

and a very simplified version of pretty much any depiction of hell by hyeronimus bosch lmao:

not much else to say about this one, really. but i really liked that sky!

the last segment is about frida kahlo and diego rivera. or as bart puts it ‘the one about a fat guy whos wife is too good for him.’ i was REALLY looking forward to this one because i love frida and i thought itd be a cool opportunity for animators to go bonkers and do really cool shit with her art as inspiration…..but the segment is not about frida, its about diego and his selling out to capitalism. and its also yet another story with homer and marge drama. no funky cool animation here. sigh i guess i’ll take it

the story begins in 1929 at la casa azul, frida’s home (now museum dedicated to her life and work.) frida and diego are getting married. this courtyard definitely did not look this way yet back in 1929. also theres something very cringy yet funny about lovejoy saying spanish words the way he does, i honestly cant decide how i feel about that one

the writers know theyre being cringy with their gringoness so they go along with it.

moe: “Spanish for ‘best wishes’!” mel: “Spanish for ‘congratulations’!” bumblebee man: “Spanish for ‘muy bueno’!”

OH YEAH BUMBLEBEE MAN this is his new voice actor, eric lopez! hes not mexican but its still great to finally have a latino actor voicing a latino character and hes very excited to be part of the show so i hope to hear more of him!! im rooting for him

el barto/zorro makes an appearance which i am very confused about. he has jack shit to do with frida and diego and mexico in the 20s-30s. el zorro was set in the spanish california of the early 19th century. their use of the original theme song makes me think they just wanted to flex their disney privileges tbh

lets not talk about that that whole scene was bad

anyway diego announces he and frida are going to new york, without even asking her first. frida is obviously pissed.

“Don’t worry, as a woman, you’ll be treated with much more respect in America.”

so in new york, diego is having a bit of a business meeting with mr burns as one of the members of the rockefellers, who is commissioning him to draw a mural for the rockefeller center. its kinda funny how he refers to him and frida as socialists even though they were very much communists lmao its okay you can say it. ok so far, but then frida says ‘yes, we hate the capitalists! right now, a young socialist is being born who will take them down! mr. bernie sanders. i hope hes quick about it’ and that was a simple enough joke and couldve been left at that but then its immediately followed by this weird as fuck family guy-esque cutaway gag to bernie as a baby:

“Getting a cootie shot should not cost your lunch money. And if you don’t listen to me, listen to the Bernie Babies! What? Everybody’s got goons.” *larger babies start beating up this other baby* “I disavow that, and welcome it.”

this confused me so much that i had to ask one of my american friends to help me understand, but even she was like ‘uhhh yeah thats a weird joke,’ especially now that hes been out of the race for months (then again these episodes take almost a year to produce. i guess they couldnt be bothered to replace it with something more relevant.) whatever that was weird and confusing and unfunny moving on

frida is pretty irked that diego is going through with this deal. after all, it goes against everything they believe in. im not sure how the real frida felt about diego doing the mural, but she did feel a bit of rage during her visit to the united states, especially the obvious disparity between rich and poor. she hated having to interact with capitalists and found americans very boring. in this segment, frida seems to be acting more like the american communist party, which diego got kicked out of for accepting commissions from wealthy patrons. in any case, frida is pretty upset about this whole thing.

and finally we get the first and only kind of surreal frida moment. kinda. maybe. its more cartoonish than anything but im desperate ok

interesting how they felt like they had to add a “don’t smoke” in big letters after showing patty and selma flying away on their giant cigarettes. i wonder if this is something theyre making them do now? i remember hearing something about them toning down patty and selma’s smoking

diego comes home to frida, drunk as hell, followed by the marx brothers. i cant believe they didnt make a marxism joke come on it was RIGHT THERE. THE MARX BROTHERS. KARL MARX. COME ON

frida paints her feelings.

this makes diego realize that frida is a genius and he is not half the artist she is. he proclaims he will now show his awe of her by sleeping with other women, starting “an hour ago.” to which frida replies, “and i will start sleeping with other women, starting two hours ago.” yes this was pretty much their relationship. though im just wondering how the hell did diego not know frida was this kind of artist until now? i know homers an idiot but jeez. art was how frida and diego met, diego knew from the get-go that frida was an incredible artist. i guess the fame got to his head or something. again, homer just being stupid.

“well enough already, while the art is still deco, okay?”

its time for the mural diego painted, Man At The Crossroads, to be unveiled:

rockefeller examines it. good and great so far, and then...uh oh

“Who’s that fellow…? With the beard, and the bolshevik smile…” “That’s the founder of Soviet Russia, Lenin!”

“B-b-but he’s a communist!” “Oh he just attended a couple of meetings.”

rockefeller will not have this communist in the temple to capitalism that is the rockefeller center, so he orders diego to paint over it. diego stands his ground and refuses. despite rockefeller’s threats, diego says that theres only one person he wants to be proud of him no matter what and in true homer & marge fashion, frida is touched by this. they happily leave the rockefeller center.

now, the real story of Man At The Crossroads and the rockefeller center was actually not that different. as soon as the rockefellers found out diego had snuck in a portrait of lenin into the mural, they ordered him to paint over it, to which he refused. diego even offered to include abraham lincoln and even american abolitionists in the mural as a compromise, but the rockefellers simply did not want any references to communism whatsoever. they did not complain about the hammer and sickle, though. yes, they did know diego was a communist and hired him anyway. what did they expect? lmao. diego said:

"Rather than mutilate the conception [of the mural], I shall prefer the physical destruction of the conception in its entirety, but preserving, at least, its integrity."

so they decided to destroy the mural before it was even finished and they never talked to each other again.

diego then repainted the mural at the palacio de bellas artes back in mexico, this time known as Man, Controller of the Universe. this new version included even more communist leaders and a depiction of john d. rockefeller jr. drinking at a nightclub, right underneath a depiction of syphilis bacteria. cue nelson haw-haw:

this was the version they used in the episode also, since the original was, well, never finished and also destroyed. only a black and white photograph of it exists, taken by diego before it was destroyed so he could remake it.

right so, homer!diego then pulls a Barthood and finishes the episode with a large mural summarizing the entire episode. he says some rick and morty thing i didnt get because i dont watch the show idk idc

the end

ALRIGHT NOW ITS TIME FOR THE STORY OF VINCENT VAN MOE

[undead-toon]

General Skullgirls setting headcanons Part 1?!

Hey, some of you know me as undead toon mun and I've been working a very.....very long list of general headcanons about the Skullgirls setting and headcaons for this blog in particular. For this one, this is one out of a unknown amount talking about personal hcs featuring the default setting of Skullgirls. Some of these do apply to my AU, but this is a kinda sorta a general headcanons kinda deal. So, readmore time.

About the ASG Labs:

Given what canon lore we know about the Labs, I personally muse that Avian was hired due to his surgical skills and possible studies in Parasites and their host, making him ideal to head Lab 08. He's arguably the world's expert on Parasites but he's not one to brag. Dude just wants to help people.

Going by hints in the mobile game, its very likely both Labs sometimes "scope" Hospitals or war victims for future experiments. In cases like Peacock and Big Band and most of Lab 08, the modifications are fully willing.

More so a Peacock headcanon for all Peacocks, including my AU, but I see Peacock as some form of Irish/Russian or their SG counterparts. Dad was Irish, hence the last name. But her Hometown was named Rommelgrad and the Grad suffix shows up in Eastern European countries. About the city of New Meridian:

The City of New Meridian is strongly implied to be of some form of Italian or its SG counterpart. Therefore, New Meridian celebrates holidays like Carnival (or Mardi Gras here in the states).

This is musing on canon bits on my end, but while its confirmed New Meridian used to be part of a "Meridian Empire", its also confirmed that during Franz's rule, he tried to outlaw "Meridian traditions" So its very likely New Meridian was taken by force. In addition, these Meridian traditions still crop up in New Meridian and nearby cities, both to spite Franz but in particular are encouraged by the Medici. Its strongly implied that the Medici's good reputation comes from some form of preserving these traditions, in a way, reflecting how rl Mafia's used bootlegging during Prohibition to gain a sense of "respectability" by providing booze in local society.

New Meridian is also basically a does NOT have a exact real life counterpart, but if I had to guess, its likely based off a mixture of Menton, France, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and San Francesco. Its canonly described with "NorCal meets Mediterranean weather" and comparing it to real life California cities is the closest estimate to inspiration given the dev team is located in Los Angles but it wouldn't surprise me if there's elements of nearby Pasadena too, especially for Maplecrest.

New Meridian is on the more "tolerant" end of things, being comparatively liberal in regards to treatment of Parasite hosts, ferals and other canonly discriminated groups. There's apparently no apparent segregation, for starters.

Related, New Meridian is one of the places where there are envoys to other countries located, not like New York city, due to its cultural significance. About the Medici:

Lorenzo Medici is old as fuck. Man's seen the fall of the Meridian empire and the rise of New Meridian. He probably had a feud with Franz's great great great great great great great great parents. This asshole is OLD.

However, because he's used the life gem to extend his life so much, that without it, he's not just having his age catch up to him. Dude's rotting to death and its freaking him out.

While this is absolutely not set in stone, it would not surprise me if Lorenzo seeking the Skullheart to find a means of making his "youth" permanent. Rotting to death is just making this desperation to not die even worse.

Yes, he's aware of the risks doing so.

Among the Medici's many, many crimes, the short list is: Murder, Mass Murder, human trafficking, drug smuggling, weapons smuggling, slavery, assassinations, assassination attempts, illegal gambling, fraud, fixing games, running scams, bribery, possibly defacing property.... just assume almost everything that's a crime.

The Medici Mafia, Lorenzo in particular, often share the title "local person ruins everything" with Eliza and Double in the scale of how much bad shit happens because of them. About the Trinity

While Venus and Aeon are predominately goddesses of space and time respectively, I do hc that they also are goddesses of lesser known domains. Venus' are Space, the body, Love, Lust, violence and matters of Health. Aeon's are Time, but also the mind, memories, joy and horror, obsessions and matters of one's mental state. This is part due to Double's influence in Trinitism but also a natural side effect of the absorption of other culture's gods roles and belief.

Trinitism, while taking cues from Real life Catholicism and Christianity, also has a lot of elements of traditional Egyptian mythology religious rites and the like. Its a religion with a strong emphasis on Order and personal piety.

This is a purely speculative on my end, but personally, one of my theories on why the Trinity is trying basically kill everyone is twofold: In ancient Egyptian belief, it was believed Pharaohs, which Venus and Aeon at least, technically count as, were expected to rule over a Necropolis, a city of the dead full of other dead subjects. However, the Abyss takes more cues from Greek afterlife or certain interpretations of Sheol, so Venus and Aeon have possibly convinced Mother to basically kill everyone to drag them to the Abyss to get their Necropolis. It also has the bonus of intentionally screwing over Eliza.

Despite Double knowing the true nature of the Abyss, she helped with the idea of Heaven and Hell, one to drum up wishes for the Skullheart, and two, guilt and desperation makes people more easy to manipulation.

[mistress-audios-babies]

Elijah Phillip Rizzo (Gang 1)

Basic Character Questions

First name?: Elijah.

 Surname?: Rizzo.

 Middle names?: Philip.

 Nicknames: Eli, Ja Ja, Italian Sherlock, Eagle.

 Date of birth?: 30 May 1986.

 Age?: 34.

 Physical / Appearance

Height?: 158cm.

 Weight?: 84kg.

 Build?:  Slightly toned but mostly average.

 Hair colour?: Black with some grey patches.

 Hair style?: Hugh Grant style.

 Eye colour?: Cognac.

 Eye Shape?: Hooded.

 Glasses or contact lenses?: Glasses.

 Distinguishing facial features?: Defined cheek bones. Inverted triangle shape. Facial hair.

 Which facial feature is most prominent?: Cheek bones.

 Which bodily feature is most prominent?: His limp.

 Other distinguishing features?: Scars on his face/hands/torso/legs. Right glass eye. Missing fingers.

 Skin?: Scars. Brown skin tone. Rough.

 Hands?: Missing fingers. Paler palms. Palm scars.

 Scars?: Scars on his face/hands/legs/torso.

 Birthmarks?: Pinkish patch on back of neck.

 Tattoos?: Detailed compass on the inside of his left wrist (coloured).

 Physical handicaps?: Limp. Missing fingers. Glass eye.

 Type of clothes?: On job: Charcoal twill storm system bespoke car coat. White dress shirt. Black dress pants. Pinstripe tie. Black fedora with feather. Comfortable black leather boots. Black silk gloves. Christian cross necklace. Silice.

 How do they wear their clothes?: They dress neatly in public, especially in work, but is more casual at home, most times looking bedraggled from the constant stress.

 What are their feet like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn, etc): Comfortable black leather boots while in public. Plain white socks while home. Boots worn but sturdy. He has multiple of the same type of boots. Feet leathery, perpetually sore.

 Race / Ethnicity?: Italian.

 Mannerisms?: Has Australian colloquialisms and slight Australian accent, but mostly Italian. Dark sense of humour. Mostly stoic. Slight stutter. Sometimes cannot think of English words.

 Are they in good health?: They have high blood pressure, and PTSD.

 Do they have any disabilities?: Limp. Missing eye. Missing fingers. High blood pressure. PTSD.

 Personality

What words or phrases do they overuse?: General army sayings mostly.

 Do they have a catchphrase?: Houston, that’s your problem.

 Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?: They struggle to remain optimistic, but tries to be.

 Are they introverted or extroverted?: Introverted mainly. Somewhat of a shut-in.

 Do they ever put on airs?: He vents when he drinks, and so he avoids drinking until he feels he cannot take it any longer.

 What bad habits do they have?: Smoking. Swearing in inappropriate situations. Putting his cigarette between his fingers to create a makeshift middle finger. Joking in inappropriate situations.

 What makes them laugh out loud?: His humour runs between overly childish to darkly mature.

 How do they display affection?: Small physical gestures, like squeezing hands.

 Mental handicaps?: PTSD. Depression.

 How do they want to be seen by others?: A mix of the silent and strong and a positive influence.

 How do they see themselves?: He sees himself as made of darkness, and he doesn’t want anyone else to see this. He desperately wants to regain the happy-go-lucky person he was before his army stint, and so tries to be as optimistic as he possibly can.

 How are they seen by others?: Cold and formulaic. Stoic. Emotionally aloof.  Unpleasant yet strangely infectious.

 Strongest character trait?: His problem solving and ability to put aside emotions for facts.

 Weakest character trait?: His desperation to remain optimistic that can get in the way of remaining in the moment.

 How competitive are they?: He generally lets his actions and work speak for themselves rather than asserting for validation.

 Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider?: Take time with his work, but is prone to snap decisions outside of work.

 How do they react to praise?: They remain stoic on the outside but inwardly love it.

 How do they react to criticism?: They remain stoic again, and usually has a smoke afterwards to ponder it.

 What is their greatest fear?: Anything happening to his family, or Private.

 What are their biggest secrets?: He never killed anyone in combat.

 What is their philosophy of life?: No matter the blackness in your soul, only put out light into the world.

 When was the last time they cried?: The last time he drank, which was months ago.

 What haunts them?: His time on the battlefield.

 What are their political views?: Generally middle-based, more left leaning.

 What will they stand up for?: Everyone’s right to justice.

 Who do they quote?: His drill Sargent.

 Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy?: More indoorsy.

 What is their sinful little habit?: Smoking.

 What sense do they most rely on?: Touch and smell.

 How do they treat people better than them?: He treats everyone with equal respect, except for people who hurt others in any way.

 How do they treat people worse than them?: He treats everyone with equal respect, except for people who hurt others in any way.

 What quality do they most value in a friend?: Honesty and compassion.

 What do they consider an overrated virtue?: Courage. Courage disabled him.

 If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?: His need for approval of his character.

 What is their obsession?: Cartoons.

 What are their pet peeves?: Needless negativity.

 What are their idiosyncrasies?: Rising early. Constant tidiness. Perpetual attention. Always at attention in some way. Self-flagellation.

  Friends and Family

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of?: Big family, but only he, his parents and three younger siblings immigrated to Australia. His mother, his father, two younger sisters, and a younger brother.

 What is their perception of family?: He makes an effort to keep in contact with them all, and he has a very good relationship with them all. His family are the ones that mean most to him.

 Do they have siblings? Older or younger?: Two younger sisters and a younger brother (Bella, Luna, and Mattia).

 Describe their best friend.: He doesn’t have one yet.

 Ideal best friend?: One who can make him feel happy, not just exude it. One who will stand by him through everything. One who he can trust and rely on. One that makes him comfortable to be himself.

 Describe their other friends.: Right now he only has work friends, and they are mainly surface level.

 Describe their acquaintances: He considers baristas at local coffee shops to be his acquaintances as they are some of the only people he sees on a regular basis other than work friends.

 Do they have any pets?: He has a blond fox terrier named Private.

 Who are their natural allies?: His colleagues.

 Who are their surprising allies?: The people he works for.

 Past and Future

What was your character like as a baby? As a child?: He was a giggly ball of energy for the longest time. He matured once he got to high school, especially once they immigrated to Australia, as he saw himself responsible of getting his baby sister through the ordeal, who was the only sibling he had at the time.

 Did they grow up rich or poor?: They were fairly well off, not breaching either term.

 Did they grow up nurtured or neglected?: There was no neglect nor abuse, but they weren’t particularly sheltered.

What is the most offensive thing they ever said?: He developed quite a degrading sense of humour in the army, and would constantly say discriminatory things to everyone he deemed beneath him. He grew out of this.

 What is their greatest achievement?: Obtaining his Associate Degree in Criminology.

 What was their first kiss like?: He had his first kiss while on a movie date with his then girlfriend, it started as nervous and shaky, but evolved into a make out session filled with passion.

 What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved?: After returning home after his deployment, he hit his girlfriend while having a flashback, and the relationship ended up terminating as his aggression was too much for her to handle. This is why he tries so hard to be better now.

 What are their ambitions?: At this point in his life, he doesn’t aspire to be anymore than what he already is. All he desires to do is to get through life as best he can.

 What advice would they give their younger self?: Don’t be a hero.

 What smells remind them of their childhood?: The smell of spaghetti cooking and the smell of rain in the winter.

 What was their childhood ambition?: To be like those heroes he saw on tv, to really make a difference in the world like they did.

 What is their best childhood memory?: Coming home from school everyday to his baby sister being so excited to see him, and getting to play with her and be almost as much a parent as their actual parents were.

 What is their worst childhood memory?: Learning what death was when he found out his favourite teacher had been murdered by her ex wife. This started his interest in forensics and justice.

 Did they have an imaginary childhood friend?: It was more like he pretended actual objects were people and he had a rock collection he acted was his fan club for when he was a big hero in the future.

 When was the last time they were crushed with disappointment?: When his relationship ended up terminating a few months ago.

 What past act are they most ashamed of?: The night his fiancée left him, when he had gotten outrageously drunk and had broken down, throwing things around the room and trashing their flat, screaming for Reggie to duck. He had thrown a vase at her and had cut her badly, and she packed her things and left him, leaving him to wake in the morning on the floor with a trashed flat, and his fiancée gone with no recollection of what happened apart from a voice message she had left him at a pay phone. This was the last time he drank.

 What past act are they most proud of?: As much as he regrets it, he is proud of taking the brunt of the explosion for his mate Reggie on the battlefield. They were sneaking past enemy lines to try and free some Iraqi girls they had befriended, and in doing so they had been target for concentrated attack. But while he is proud of his actions and showing of morale, he is also ashamed that they had captured Reggie, thus making his actions basically nought. He never saw him again, and the only way he wasn’t captured as well was the girls dragging him to safety. For all he knows Reggie is still being held prisoner.

 Has anyone ever saved their life?: The Iraqi girls who dragged him to safety when he and Reggie had gone to rescue them. And plenty of his mates had taken literal bullets for him during their deployment.

Strongest childhood memory?: Immigrating to Australia. He remembers being woken up late at night to be told his father had been told to station there with the Carabinieri, and he remembers excitedly packing his things with drooping, sleepy eyes, wondering about the new possibilities he would be faced with. He remembers being able to sit first class on their way over, eating his first croissant (it was filled with gooey chocolate and topped with sweet raspberries). He remembers being carried to their new temporary accommodations after not sleeping the whole trip over, and then proceeding to sleep for a straight 16 hours.

 Love

Do they believe in love at first sight?: Not particularly; he feels there needs to be an intimate connection beforehand for the love to actually be meaningful.

 Are they in a relationship?: He recently broke up with fiancée, and is looking more for companionship rather than an actual relationship.

 What is their sexuality?: He’s not really sure; he’s had girlfriends before, but he feels he like men as well. He’s not overtly sexual (he does have sex and will passionately do so when in the moment, but his libido is low at all other times).

 How do they behave in a relationship?: He finds himself acting rather awkwardly no matter how long he has been with the person, and he behaves pleasantly until he’s been drinking, which is a major problem for him that he is now trying to fix by not touching the stuff.

 When did you character last have sex?: He picked up a stripper from a local bar not long after his breakup and took them to his flat to pay them for their trouble.

 What sort of sex do they have?: It’s usually rough and violent. It’s what could be considered orthodox.

 Has your character ever been in love?: He considered himself to have been, but he sometimes wonders, if he really had been, why had he ended up hurting them? He hadn’t wanted to, but why did it take just drinking for that to come out? It must have been waiting under the surface. He hates himself for this.

 Have they ever had their heart broken?: His first girlfriend had been told by her parents to break up with him as they didn’t want her to be around him. He used his first cigarette afterwards.

 Conflict

How do they respond to a threat?: Mostly he tries to stay level-headed, but certain situations leave him terrified and unable to think or act rationally.

 Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?: Mostly he fights with his words, but tends to react physically when those he cares about are put into question.

 What is your character’s kryptonite?: His family, most notably his siblings.

 If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be?: From his childhood home, his siblings, and from his current flat, his dog Private.

 How do they perceive strangers?: He tries to see them as potential friends, but truthfully sees them as potential threats.

 What do they love to hate?: America ( in a playful way).

 What are their phobias?: Waking up back on the battlefield. Loud noises. Anything approaching him fast.

What is their choice of weapon?: Beretta Model 1915-19 pistol.

 What living person do they most despise?: The man to have set off the grenades that disabled him.

 Have they ever been bullied or teased?: He was lightly teased for his accent when he attended the rest of his primary schooling and his secondary schooling.

 Where do they go when they’re angry?:  To a park close to his flat where he turns up music loud and runs along the path, always leading to the gym.

 Who are their enemies and why?: Many of his clients view him as an enemy, as he can be what gets them in jail.

  Work, Education and Hobbies

What is their current job?: Forensic Criminologist.

 What do they think about their current job?: It’s a meaningful passion to him, but it can be rather stressful.

 What are some of their past jobs?: He had an eight year stint in the army, and then worked as a barista and a janitor while studying criminology in university.

 What are their hobbies?: He enjoys drawing and working with paints. He enjoyed training his dog to be a serviceable disability working dog. He enjoys dead lifting and going on runs with Private.

 Educational background?: He started school in Italy and then continued with it until Grade 12 while in Australia, and then undertook study in Criminology at the University of Queensland.

 Intelligence level?: He is highly intelligent, as evidenced by his career achievements.

 Do they have any specialist training?: The History of Crime and Abnormal Psychology.

 Do they have a natural talent for something?: He’s incredibly skilled at painting and drawing, and he uses this to his advantage by selling them at some markets and conventions.

 Do they play a sport? Are they any good?: He enjoys dead lifting and running, and he’s very good at it.

 What is their socioeconomic status?: Middle upper class.

Favourites

What is their favourite animal?: Goats, especially the ones with the biggest horns, and deer.

 Which animal to they dislike the most?: Any type of snake.

 What place would they most like to visit?: He would like to go back to his hometown, Treviso someday.

 What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?: His baby sister being brought home for the first time.

 What is their favourite song?: Bernadette (IAMX).

 Music, art, reading preferred?: Music: Electronic dance and jazz. Art: Realistic paintings and cartoon-y style. Reading: Mystery and thriller.

 What is their favourite colour?: Orange.

 What is their password?: The combination to his old school locker.

 Favourite food: Anything gluten-containing, and anything green. He’s not generally a picky eater, but really the only thing he won’t stand are frozen meals, reminding him too much of MRE’s.

 What is their favourite work of art?: The Creation of Adam.

 Who is their favourite artist?: Michelangelo.

 What is their favourite day of the week?: Thursday.

  Possessions

What is in their fridge: It’s stocked with fruit and vegetables mainly, and other general items.

 What is on their bedside table?: A digital clock, a picture of him in his army uniform, a pocket watch his dad gave to him, letters his family sent him while in combat, his current book, a pack of cigarettes, his cilice, prescription pain killers, and his phone.

 What is in their car?: He keeps his car rather clean, but does have some old coffee cups in there along with a cross hanging by his mirror that he touches every time before driving and some old CD’s.

 What is in their bin?: Rubbish, failed notes and sketches.

 What is in their purse or wallet?: Money, driver’s license, debit card, his work ID, a pack of cigarettes, some chewing gum wrappers, other’s business cards, lip balm, over-the-counter pain killers, caffeine patches.

 What is in their pockets?: His phone, a pack of cigarettes, chewing gum wrappers, spare change.

What is their most treasured possession?: The family letters sent to him while in combat.

 Spirituality

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel?: He considers Reggie, his younger sister Bella, and Private to be.

Do they believe in the afterlife?: He believes in Heaven and Hell.

 What are their religious views?: He has Christian faith.

 What do they think heaven is?: Whatever Heaven would be to the specific person, exactly what it is they’ve always wanted. A perfect version of their happy place. For him this would be back in his home town with his family.

 What do they think hell is?: Whatever Hell would be to the specific person, exactly what they can’t stand. For him this would be him trying to escape from enemy lines, having to disabled over and over again.

 Are they superstitious?: Not really.

 What would they like to be reincarnated as?: He fancies the idea of coming back as a deer stag.

 How would they like to die?: Either to die of old age, or murdered on the job. He would more than happy to give his life for justice.

 What is your character’s spirit animal?: A woodpecker that he repeatedly hallucinated seeing on the battlefield, native to Italy but nowhere to be found in Afghanistan. It gave him the strength to keep going, to one day be able to see one in person again.

 What is their zodiac sign?: Gemini.

 Values

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?: Take away their dignity.

 What is their view of ‘freedom’?: To do as the white male can. They are free in most every aspect of life, and while there are some things that shouldn’t be tolerated from anyone no matter what race, he sees freedom as everyone having the same right as ‘the desirables’.

 When did they last lie?: When he told Bella he had been cutting back on his smoking on their biweekly phone call a few weeks back.

 What’s their view of lying?: He wishes to be seen as such a beacon of positivity that he would rather lie to keep that charade up. He hates how many times he has been the cause of other’s pain, and even for smaller things, he never wants to be the one to make someone hurt if he can possibly help it.

 When did they last make a promise?: He promised the last victim of the crime he was working on that he would do everything he could to make sure they got the proper justice they deserved.

 Did they keep or break their last promise?: He was successful in testifying against the criminal, and getting the victim the appropriate treatment and help.

 Daily life

What are their eating habits?: He eats cleanly on most days and has a cheat day on Thursday.

 Do they have any allergies?: He gets hay-fever and gets sinus infections easily.

 Describe their home: His flat is a very good size and is kept mostly clean except for his study, which is always chaotic as this is where he brings all his case work when he goes home. He decorates conservatively, but does have some personal flares around the flat, such as framed TV show posters in his lounge area, some assorted knick-knacks on the kitchen counter, plush pillows on his lounge etc.

 Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder?: He’s more minimalist than clutterer, but he’s not really either.

 What do they do first thing on a weekday morning?: He prays on the floor and applies his cilice.

 What do they do on a Sunday afternoon?: This is the time he sets aside for his artwork, and so goes to his tiny studio to paint/draw.

 What do they do on a Friday night?: He goes to the gym for an hour, jogs home, takes a shower, and makes dinner, eating it in front of the TV and heading into his study to pour over his work from the week.

 What is the soft drink of choice?: Lemonade.

 What is their alcoholic drink of choice?: He tries not to drink, but Rum and Coke, or White Liquor.

 Miscellaneous

What is their character archetype?: The Caregiver/The Optimist.

 Who is their hero?: His dad.

 What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween?: The Cat in the Hat (lol).

 Are they comfortable with technology?: He has to be with his job.

 If they could save one person, who would it be?: Bella.

 If they could call one person for help, who would it be?: His work friend, ‘Dr’ Michelle Rodney.

 What is their favourite proverb?: Far d’una mosca un elefante (To make an elephant out of a fly).

 What is their greatest extravagance?: He likes to live modestly, but it would be all of his art supplies and his studio.

 What is their greatest regret?: His army stint.

 What is their perception of redemption?: When the actions speak louder than their words. Talk is cheap and tell nothing of disposition.

 What would they do if they won the lottery?: Take a trip first class back to his hometown to spend a few months with his family, and Private would have only the best toys and treats~

 What is their favourite fairytale?: The Three Billy Goats Gruff.

 What fairytale do they hate?: The Little Mermaid.

 Do they believe in happy endings?: The idea of happily ever after doesn’t really exist, and while he accepts that once you’ve gotten that ‘fairy tale ending’ things will most probably never be that happy again, it also doesn’t have to be downhill from there. A large part of happiness is what you make, and waiting for the hill to slope in the sun is sometimes as bad as tumbling down it in the dark. Every day counts, and right now he hopes his best day isn’t for years to come.

 What is their idea of perfect happiness?: Where he is adapted to his new physical circumstances to where it’s like he’s not disabled at all, where he can think back on his stint and not panic, with his family, with Private, living in peace at last.

 What would they ask a fortune teller?: Did Reggie ever escape, and is there any chance of him meeting someone and not fucking it up?

 If your character could travel through time, where would they go?: He would go back to before he left his family and hold them a little bit longer. Get their scent to hold stronger in his nose for when he would later need that reassurance.

 What sport do they excel at?: Deadlifting.

 What sport do they suck at?: Swimming.

 If they could have a superpower, what would they choose?: To be instantly competent at everything he attempts first try.

[kindcstguardian]

The art of disguise is             — knowing how to hide in plain sight.

Name. ( 한주민 )   Han Jumin

Nickname. Ice Prince, Cat Lover

Age. Korean: 24 | International: 23

Star sign. Libra  ( October 5th )

Religion. Christian  ( brought up; former )

Sexual Orientation. Pansexual

Languages. Korean, Italian, Spanish, French, English & Arabic.

Height. 184 cm

Weight. 78 kg

Specialty. Acting, rehearsing, paperwork

Likes. Elizabeth the 2rd, reading, wine-tasting, walking

Dislikes. Big dogs, his father, tight schedules, stalkers

GENERAL DESCRIPTION.

Heir of the C&R International Company as well as the face of it, Han Jumin is widely known as the 'Ice Prince' due to being devoid of emotions everywhere else except in stage. .

BACKGROUND.

   Still born heir of C&R International Company, he comes from a divorce caused by his womanizer father and, for a while, the man contemplated how lonely he felt raising a child on his own but that soon ended when he got married again.    It's from childhood that he started to suppress emotions, his anger towards his father, the pity towards his mother, the anxiety he felt when responsibilities would be shoved at him and expected to be fulfilled with no mistakes—he started to suppress it all to the point of becoming numb.    V, his best friend, had recommended him taking acting classes when in middle school, as a way to vent his emotions—and it worked, marvelously. His father, too, used this to his advantage ( having the upper hand ) and made Jumin take part of plays and musicals, to give an image of C&R that showed that they could truly cover all fields to satisfy people's needs.

VERSES.

MAIN VERSE.

TAG.  「 V000 ; Jumin  ／ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ᵉᵃˢʸ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᶜᵃʳᵉˡᵉˢˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᶜˡᵒˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘ 」

Pre-meeting MC.

   His life is quite stressful therefore he surrounds his everyday with work, every possible role he can take—he’ll do it, main, extra, anything will do just not to think. Jumin Han has been labeled as a workaholic and they are right, but no one complains because even if he does fill his schedule to a madness point, it’s always impeccable without a single mistake done.    That’s how much he’s devoted to acting and taking the role, the life of another character and feeling it as if it were his own. Whether it’s worse, better or something bittersweet—directors have the highest expectations out of him, and Jumin never disappoints.

MEETING MC VERSE.

TAG.  「 001 ; Jumin  ／ ᴼⁿᵉ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃᵘᵗⁱᵒᵘˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᵇᵗᵃⁱⁿᵉᵈ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵒᶜⁱᵃˡ ᵐᵉᵈⁱᵃ 」

   Certainly, a new face brought a certain refreshing touch to his life despite under what circumstances they have joined the RFA. Someone so caring and understanding, it was nice to have such a company.    Their personality was nice too, making Jumin trust them with ease regardless of not showing it. Of course, the RFA was divided into those who trusted and those who did not because of Rika’s words: she did trust them, which proved to be enough for Jumin and others.

PRE- V’S DEATH VERSE.

TAG.  「 002 ; Jumin  ／ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵈᵃʸ ⁱˢ ᵃ ʲᵒʸᶠᵘˡ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ⁱ ᵗʳᵉᵃˢᵘʳᵉ 」

   Jumin is often seen smiling even after practice in the studio, he’s a content man who gets to hang out as often as he can with his best and childhood friend—someone he loves deeply and means the world for him to the point that a meeting everyday is a must: in his tight schedule he, somehow, manages to make an hour or even thirty minutes work.    He has an unhealthy dependable relationship with V that neither had quite realized for he’s attached to him. Both depend on each other’s mood and situations to an extent. It’s safe to assume V is the reason Jumin is unable to connect with anyone emotionally wise speaking due himself having emotions towards V that are unclear for him.

AFTER V’S DEATH VERSE.

TAG.  「 003 ; Jumin ／ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘⁿ ?  ᶠᵒʳ ⁱᵗˢ ᵈᵃʳᵏⁿᵉˢˢ ⁱˢ ᵇˡⁱⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉ 」

   After V died and Rika had to take care of the RFA, Jumin had changed drastically and for the worst.    He had locked himself within his penthouse, always in the floor that is his place to live—never leaving, everyday losing weight and will to live despite maids leaving food inside his room and Elizabeth the 3rd being by his side.    Jumin has severe depression and seems unable to move on, went as far as to quit acting. Calling it a hiatus and ditching everything he was currently working on, his father paying the price for everything which made him utterly mad but even a womanizer and easy to brainwash man like his father could understand what and who V meant to Jumin.

BAD ENDING VERSE.

TAG.  「 004 ; Jumin ／ ᴵ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ⁱᶠ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵘˢᵉ ᵍᵒ ᵃʰᵉᵃᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜᵘᵗ ᵐᵉ ˡᵒᵒˢᵉ 」

   Failing to make Jumin slow down with his jobs and taking care of himself, this leads for him to increase his unhealthy coping mechanisms much like drinking copious amounts of alcohol and smoking as if his life depended on it.    His image is starting to rotten despite his former meticulous care since, once again, he can’t bring himself to care about anything despite surviving and barely covering everyday needs like eating and sleep—choosing to ditch his dream of being an actor; he becomes the president of C&R International and is a copy of his father. A womanizer, trying to fill the emptiness and broken being that MC has left for an excuse of a human being.    Except, he stirs much more scandal due to dating men as well.

BAD RELATIONSHIP VERSE.

TAG.  「 005 ; Jumin ／ ᴬⁿᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵉᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˢʰ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵈ 」

   Failing to properly show how love works and to help him move on from V’s death, causes Jumin to become dependable of MC much like he was of V.    He doesn’t go as far as to assume they are the same person, but he can’t live a day without MC by their side. Threatening to end it all if they do leave him alone because he can’t afford to feel that emptiness again, because no one else can that empty hole within his chest, where his heart is supposed to be.

MINT EYE VERSE.

TAG.  「 006 ; Jumin ／ ᵀᵉˡˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˡˡ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᵉˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢᵉᶜᵒⁿᵈ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ, ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉˡˡ ᵃʳᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵃˡˢ 」

   Figuring out V had never been dead but had become a cult leader made him go mad, hysterically laughing it off and ditching it all: his life, future, RFA.    The man who was once known as Han Jumin, recognized actor for his talent and fame due being an heir no longer existed—tons of rumors that he had committed suicide, been kidnapped or murdered due venomous glares spread everywhere. His father put a reward for his son to be found dead or alive but it would be impossible since he had ceased to exist.    Brainwashed and acting as a loyal dog to V, his once grey eyes had been turned to mint and he’s the one operating in the shadows like some sort of hitman for V in case any follower misbehaved or the RFA tried to break into the mansion.ba.

ACCIDENT / AMNESIA VERSE.

TAG.  「 007 ; Jumin ／ ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢʷᵒʳⁿ ᴵ ˢᵃʷ ᵃ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ 」

   Both Driver Kim and himself had been involved in an accident of three cars and a truck; his driver had died before the ambulance had arrived but Jumin had barely made it.    Once he was taken to the hospital and everything that could be done, was done—it took three months for him to wake up with no memories of whom he was, to begin with.    Yet, oddly enough, he could recall the faces of the RFA members and has labeled as important—unlike his father, whom he loved deeply, disliked seeing him cry but could not recall any memory of him acting as family or support in any way.

IDOL VERSE.

TAG.  「 008 ; Jumin ／ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᶜʳᵘˢʰ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉˢᵗ 」

   Dancing, having a radio-show, appearing on reality and cooking shows, singing on stage and being cheered on but, more importantly, acting—how happier could he be?    This time around, his connection to the RFA is complicated given he doesn’t have that much time to interact with them. Little to nothing and has become an invisible presence like Rika herself has.    But Jumin adores working this much, except this time he does put limits on himself given he’s not part of a unit and is a single.

WRECK IT, RALPH VERSE.

TAG.  「 009 ; Jumin  ／  」

Tba.

MUTANT / FOR CROSSOVERS WITHHEROES,ETC. VERSE.

TAG.  「 010 ; Jumin  ／ ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵉˢˢᵉⁿᵗⁱᵃˡ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ᵃ ˡᵉᵛᵉˡ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᶜⁱʳᶜᵘᵐˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉˢ ᶜʰᵃⁿᵍᵉ ʳᵃᵖⁱᵈˡʸ 」

   A drunk man and a mother who is little known about to nothing, Han Jumin is a product of that combination.    Except when growing up, and seeing how much the pressure was starting to be put on his shoulders—he wished there were more of him. Unaware that he was a mutant himself due his mother’s DNA, what he said was actually his power.    He could multiply himself and give them orders since they have a limited free will—sometimes, he abuses of this but no one in the media needs to figure this out or else he’d be in problems.ba.

SELF-AWARE VERSE.

TAG.  「 011 ; Jumin  ／ ᴱᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᵒʷⁿ  ‘ᶜʰᵒⁱᶜᵉˢ’ 」

# 694512919

   Mystic Messenger game was corrupted when a virus corrupted the device of the user and therefore many files along with it, causing Jumin to become aware that he is a game—a dating simulator game with no choices in his own fate, the choices the player made where the ones that decided whether he’d earn a good or a miserable life.    Offended by this, and partially enraged, he’s trying to pair up with the other one character who knew about this all along to make everyone else become free themselves.ba.

DREAM DADDY VERSE.

TAG.  「 012 ; Jumin  ／ ᶠᵃⁱʳ ᵗʳᵃᵈᵉ, ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ ᴵ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᶜᵃʳᵛᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵐʸ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᵇᵘˢⁱⁿᵉˢˢᵐᵃⁿ 」

   In this verse, he had been once a married man and is currently in his late 30′s.    After his father’s retirement and him assuming his role of heir, therefore quitting acting his only passion, Jumin has been taking care of C&R International but, even someone like him, needs a vacation.    Plus, he had a child, Amanda, to raise on his own after his beloved one has passed away due an illness. Without asking Amanda who did protest without much effort and just for the sake of it, he left things in charge of his second hand and went on a vacation to Maple Bay, a quiet and small town.    A nice and tranquil change of pace.ba.

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE VERSE.

TAG.  「 013 ; Jumin  ／ ᴴᵘᵐᵃⁿ'ˢ ᵖˢʸᶜʰᵒˡᵒᵍʸ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ ⁱˢ ᵛᵉʳʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉˣᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵉʳᵖˡᵉˣᵉᵈ 」

Android /  694512919

   Cheritz is a world-known company that creates androids for people as companions—friends, assistants, lovers included.    Han Jumin is one of the many popular ones, however, the alternative version didn’t gain much popularity as the original one with a background story and everything settled if one wished to roleplay with it. Thus, the project of the alternative was stopped much to the few fans dismay that had ordered it but only a small amount of people received their Han Jumin, Ice Prince.

LOVESICK VERSE.

TAG.  「 014 ; Jumin  ／ ᴬˡʷᵃʸˢ ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵗʳᵃⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵃˡˡ, ᵐʸ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ'ˢ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ 」

Theatre professor.

Tba.

? VERSE.

TAG.  「 0? ; Jumin  ／  」

Tba.

TAGS.

「 Han Jumin ／ ᴹⁱʳʳᵒʳ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃˡˡ, ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵉˡˡ ᵐᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ? 」

「 Han Jumin ／ INQUIRY」

「 Han Jumin ／ MUSINGS 」

「 Han Jumin ／ VISAGE 」

「 Han Jumin ／ MANNERISMS 」

「 Han Jumin ／ HEADCANON 」

「 Han Jumin ／ INTROSPECTION」

「 Han Jumin ／ ROMANCE 」

「 Han Jumin ／ CRACK 」

RELATIONSHIPS.

✘ ·  ♡（   ）

[polar-stars]

2nd out of 5 parts of an ask by @smokeprincess24

Mika Aldini

👹 How does you OC act around different people and how does their personality change to match the environment they’re in? How do they act with: friends, family, strangers, children or their lover(s)?

Mika has some hesitance in exposing her soft, romantic side to others and is prone to deny it. She only lets people she truly trusts have insight into some of her rosy fantasies. Her mom is the one who she’s most comfortable talking about such things. 

Other than that, there’s not much of her behavior that differs depending on who she’s talking about it. 

🍅 How easily is your OC embarassed? What subjects make them flush and why? What event has made your OC the most embarassed they’ve ever been?

Mika is VERY easily embarrassed. Wether it’s about her being too obvious about her crush on Hiraku and it being pointed out, or her father’s way too open display of his love and affection for his only child…there’s a lot that can make Mika flush. 

💥 Are there any emotions your OC doesn’t know how to deal with, doesn’t understand or hates having to feel? Any reason behind this?

Actual heartbreak is something she’ll greatly struggle with. She has not quite suffered from one yet but has only seen it in works of fiction. Mika always knew in the back of her mind that its something that happens, however she won’t be prepared for just how deeply it can hurt. Given that she always sort-off idolized romance and only ever looks at the pretty parts of it, it’s definitely something that’ll make her feel very miserable.

She’s generally rather inexperienced with feeling plain vulnerable to begin with. Another emotion she’ll struggle with (rather soon) is guilt. 

🏀 Does your OC have any skills that people wouldn’t expect them to have? Do they have a hobby or pass time that others would consider strange or weird? How did they learn this particular skill or pick up this hobby?

Mika knows both how to ski and snowboard! People know that she’s rather sporty but the fact that she possesses these skills is a little surprising to some because many find it hard to picture the sun-loving, fiery Mika in snow to begin with ahdhd. 

Well, she’s not an all too big fan of winter and when she does end up in a snowy area during the cold months she does believe that doing sport is just the best way to deal with it. 

⭐ Does your OC like to sleep alone or do they enjoy sharing their bed? Have they been to any sleepovers? Have they ever been camping? What did they think of the experiences if so?

Mika has not much experience sharing a bed yet. It’s something she imagines as very comforting and lovely though and she wishes to experience it someday with someone she loves.  

🍏 When your OC says “I had a bad day” what does that tend to mean? Is it really as bad as they’re saying or are they being a bit dramatic?

Mika, much like Chieko, has a leaning to be overdramatic at times. So a „bad day“ from Mika-understanding is most likely a string of some annoying and frustrating events, but something she’ll most likely be over with the next day. 

🐉 How religious is your OC? Do they pray to any god(s) or do they not believe in that kind of stuff? What is their view of religion in general? Where do they believe people go when they die? If your OC is not religious why not and what do they believe in otherwise?

Mika is Christian and she’s registered in the Catholic Church, but later in life actually finds herself leaning more towards Protestantism. 

She does believe in God and visits Church to important occasions like Christmas, Easter and so on but she does not go there every Sunday. 

💧 What is something from your OC’s past they’re the most ashamed of and why? What is something they’re really proud of? And lastly what is something in their past that could make them shake with dread?

She’s mainly embarrassed by some of her more intensive outbursts over more trivial things but what she’ll truly look back upon in shame will come later on. 

What she’s so far the most proudest of is the time when she cooked for the Trattoria-Aldini-Branch in Rome and the practicum Takumi arranged her in Mizuhara’s “Ristorante F” after her graduation from middle school, as preparation for her Stagiares. 

🐟 What was your OC like as a baby? What were they like as a child? A teenager? An adult? How do you think they’ll develop ten years into their future? Twenty years? Will they live to old age?

Mika, as baby, was pretty loud and demanding. She began crawling relatively early and began crying and screaming the moment she wanted something. She certainly kept her parents of her feet.

Mika was a happy, adventure-loving child who certainly enjoyed to be outside a lot. She learned swimming at an early age and her love for dancing showed as soon as she could walk, honestly. She had always been a little feisty but to her family she’d also expose a love for plushies and Disney princesses.

As a teen, she’d become a confident and bold individual who’s tired of being the sole young chef of Tuscany and out to find a worthy rival. Mika certainly lives for the thrill of the challenges of Totsuki and practically embraces the competitive atmosphere. At the same time, her love for Disney movies involving princesses has ultimately developed in a deep fascination with all things romance and a strong longing to experience it herself.

As an adult Mika will have grown in experience regarding romance and does see everything a little less through rosy lens. She’ll remain a strong individual in her adulthood, who knows what she wants and how to step up against anyone who decides to be an obstacle. She’ll be a little calmer though and have her temper under a bit better control. 

🍇 Does your OC have any bad habits? Does your OC have any addictions like smoking or drinking? How did they fall into these habits and why? 

At times she does loose her temper a bit too quickly and it’s not always necessary to yell right away. She also tends to procrastinate when it comes to studying tings unrelated to cooking.

She drinks on parties and she does have a little tendency to party a lil’ harder than necessary sometimes. 

🔮What does your OC think is their best trait. What is actually their best trait? What about their flaws? Are they one to admit these flaws or do they like to pretend they’re perfect?

Mika thinks her best trait is her courage and I’d agree with her on that! 

A major flaw of her’s is that she can be a little bit inattentive to the people around her at times. She’s very unaware of this though. 

🌸 What’s a sentence that would make your OC’s day better? One that would make them laugh? One that would make their day worse? Why? What words would you have to say to them to completely ruin their day?

“Yukihira Hiraku is about to have a Shokugeki!” is a sentence that always puts her mood up. She loves watching Hiraku’s Shokugekis! She gets to see the person she admires in action and it’s also just a great experience overall as his matches are certainly thrilling, captivating and the rest of the audience is very into it as well.

A sentence that could ruin her day is anything that suggests something bad happened to Hiroshi. She’ll either end up pissed off at whoever might hurted him or worried for the rest of the day. 

🌷 How much effort does your OC put into their looks? Do they care much about how they’re dressed or what their hair looks like or are they not bothered? Could they be considered a snob or a slob?

She has a pretty well-developed fashion sense and does take her fine time choosing her outfits, no matter the occasion (unless it’s a school day because y’know then she knows what to put on: the uniform). She also takes good care of her skin, possesses some make-up skill and takes VERY LONG to shower. It’s all things she honestly just picked up from her parents mostly. 

❤️ What inspired you to make this OC? How long have you had them? How have they changed in the time you’ve been developing them?

Mika is one of the oldest Fanchilds of mine. She’s the fifth to ever be created, I think. She was created on that faithful night in 2016 where I decided to create more fankids after I had designed Chieko a few days or so earlier and took my drawing-tools to bed to sketch and color them ahdhd. Takumi/Ikumi is one of my first ships in the series as well and, back then, I didn’t saw much else option for either of them...so my decision to let them have a child was pretty automatic.

Mika did not change all too much over the years, really. What mostly got added recently is her frustrating love-triangle situation and also her story was just ironed out more over the years ahdhd but character-wise she remained more or less the same. Takumi and Ikumi honestly share a lot of the same character traits in the end and I think that’s a reason for that. 

🧡 What traits of your own do you see in this OC? Are they a little bit self-inserty? Don’t be shy, we all put parts of ourselves into the creations we love!

Hm, I don’t think I have all too much in common with Mika. She’s very brave and challenge-enthusiastic and I’m....one of the greatest cowards you’ll ever meet being frank. 

What we do share I guess is a strong love for the sea. Also, I do enjoy dancing (although I am not anywhere near the level she is) And I mean, she cooks Italian which is one of my favourite cuisines...but there’s really not much she takes after me ahdhd. She has much more in common with my mom than me being real. 

💚 Are you writing anything with this OC or planning on writing anything for them? Do you rp with them or are they just for fun to mess around with?

I have a few ideas but I don’t know if I’ll get to it soon.

💗 Ramble a bit about this character!

Mika, Mika, our beautiful helpless romantic Mika. Did I mention already how greatly her love-situation frustrates me? I really want her, the romance fanatic, to get happy with someone but ahhh who?? She’s also one of my first OCs and actually pretty dear to me and ahhh, WHY?!

But meep, aside from that and my whining about a situation I drove myself into; Mika is honestly really fun to write and I love the trio she’ll have going on with Kimiko & Hiroshi. It mirrors the classic Sōma/Megumi/Takumi-Trio in certain ways but it won’t be an exact rehash either so ahh. I’ll just enjoy writing this I think. 

[catofthebarricades]

my thoughts on Druck S3E4

by a german viewer

I’m so so late this time but i still really needed to share some of the things i noticed about The Episode, so here we go (it’s long, I’m sorry)

- i loved the first clip. It’s so refreshing to see Matteo actually smile, i could get used to that - “Buongiourno Luigi” thank you, David - Hans being confused af cracks me up every single time

- Matteo trying several times to type out a message like the chaotic gay he is - and being so satisfied with himself afterwards

- personally, I don’t think the conflict between Mia and Alex is that bad? Sure, I’d prefer it for them not to fight but I think it’s valid that Alex thinks of his future plans and wants to go after them. Obviously, there was a huge communication problem here and I get why Mia is upset, but I still prefer this story line to the London one that always felt very out of place for me

- Matteo seeing David and, like in trance, answering “Detroit” to Sara’s question, that’s so beautiful  - at this point it’s really hard to watch Matteo crush Sara’s little dreams, I just want her to find her own happiness

- “You’re half Italian” - “I’m writing Spanish!?” oh Jonas - I think it’s interesting how we see the society’s heteronormativity integrated in Matteo’s brain as well when he’s like, we need to find a girl for Abdi. It felt kind of random for him to say that, especially since he wasn’t aware he’s actually into Sam

- so many people have said this before but the sound design! during the exam! it was stressing me out so much, they did a phenomenal job

- “Na” - “hey” aaaand the na? series continues - of course they meet on the floor and talk, despite writing Abi. It had to happen.  - I wonder what the teacher thought when she heard Matteo ask for another cheese toast hang out during his Abi exam

- to be honest, I wasn’t that worried about Matteo cheating until I came on tumblr to see people freaking out about it. When Matteo said he had a plan, I he wouldn’t be so stupid to look at it in the exam room. So obviously he would hide it in the bathroom. I’ve seen loads of people in my year use that strategy and Matteo probably cheated before, so.... (don’t cheat on your Abi tho, it’s like, a really bad idea)

- I liked how clear it was why Matteo asked Amira that question, because we saw that text of his mom beforehand. The way he asked was kind of general as well in a way (he didn’t actually specify which god or religion), he could’ve asked the same question a faithful Christian like his mom. But Amira is the only religious person near him right now so he adjusts it to her.

- I also didn’t feel like her rant was worse than the other versions we heard, it’s pretty much the same. This scene is never easy to watch in any version, but here it feels so much more intense because of the close ups of both of their faces, and because Matteo looks so so hurt by it.  - That last “okay?” of Amira had this subtle friendly undertone, as in, I clarified this and now we can keep being respectful and friendly with each other

- side note, I loved Matteo’s hair in that clip! We can see his face for once, what an experience

- aaand we reached Freitag 16:06 - I wonder where they are? Because that’s obviously not a flat

- Matteo and David shaking hands as if they hadn’t almost kissed a week before, legendary - David’s hair is so on fleek, it’s amazing

- a bike montage with a nice indie song is the fastest way to my heart, let’s be real - Lock! Your! Bikes! Boys! I am begging you! I can’t stand for stolen bikes in this house

- David can join Eliott in the club of casually carrying an actual flashlight around with you - He picks up that red little thingy? I wonder how many of those kind of trinkets he has laying around in his room

- when i read the title of the episode I was so confused because I just couldn’t see Davenzi be that couple that jumps into a pool like Evak did? But of course Druck is that remake to turn this around by using an empty pool their minds, really

- I could physically feel Matteo’s heart stop when David appeared on the other side of those dividers

- another David’s laugh appreciation because it’s necessary

- I rambled about the phenomenal and clever sound design choices during that clip here so let’s just say I loved it and it’s absolutely incredible

- David parcouring out of the pool while Matteo takes the ladder? Just Sport LK things, i guess

this got long again, but we’ll end here

[transhumanitynet]

Machiavelli and Nietzsche, Philosophers Foreshadowing the 21st Century

l. Machiavelli has been for a half millennia reviled as an unscrupulous philosopher when it is unfair to presume that a philosopher who was raised in the 15th century and died in the year 1527 could subscribe to 20th-21st-century ethics. Machiavelli’s Europe was a continent where the devoutly religious would sometimes practice excruciatingly painful torture on heretics. Next, to them, Machiavelli was practically benign. Machiavelli can be considered the first modern philosopher in that he deliberately, cautiously attempted to escape the philosophical clutches of the past.

Machiavelli’s 15th-century focus was much narrower than Nietzsche’s, yet more incisive. In comprehending the 15th and 16th centuries when Machiavelli lived, religion is paramount in doing so. A nominally religious public perceived itself as virtuous and along came Machiavelli to tactfully tell the public otherwise. However, he did so not merely to criticize, but also to demonstrate a ‘better’ (expedient/pragmatic) way, to educate readers in how deceit can be, “the bodyguard of truth”–Winston Churchill

Machiavelli did not reject religious values, often he ignored religion; sometimes he transcended religion. One might write that Machiavelli anticipated a 20th-21st-century hollowing-out of religion by subtly advocating a well-balanced religiosity. In Machiavelli’s formulation, pious religion has its place albeit is no longer central. In the 15th and 16th centuries, this was something new for a well-known philosopher to expound.

At any rate, Machiavelli wasn’t Galileo, hinting that the Earth was not the center of the cosmos and, by extension, that humanity was not at the epicenter of God’s concern.

What is critical in understanding Machiavelli is how he understood how being moral– even so much as trying to be ethical–both an individual and a nation risk being ruined or destroyed by more ruthless individuals and groups. Machiavelli’s political advice anticipated the ideology and ‘realpolitik’ of Talleyrand and Bismarck.

15th century Machiavelli shared with 19th century Nietzsche a mittel Europa outlook. For brevity’s sake, one cannot go into how 15th-16th century Italy, divided into numerous nation-states and city-states, influenced Machiavelli’s philosophy. That Rome, the center of Catholicism, is on the Italian peninsula needs no comment; and that Machiavelli was influenced by Rome and its faith is not difficult to appreciate. The Protestant Reformation was late in his life and did not have much effect on him.

Machiavelli in ‘The Prince’ and other of his published works, never advocated that a potentate ought to abandon ethics, he advised that a ruler should not allow devout, pious considerations to hinder the prince (which means Principal) from obeying his conscience as a ruler. Machiavelli wrote in ‘The Prince’:

“Everyone agrees that a prince should have all good qualities, but because that is impossible, a wise prince will avoid those vices that would destroy his power and not worry about the rest. Some actions that seem virtuous will ruin a prince, while others that seem like vices will make a prince prosper.”

Don Corleone, the fictitious Godfather, said eloquently, “let your friends underestimate your virtues, and your enemies overestimate your vices…keep your friends close, and your enemies closer”

The corollary is probably the most famous quote from Machiavelli, “it is better to be feared than loved…”

The legacy of a bad ruler is complicated but not hopeless; the duty of a person of conscience is to mitigate as much as possible an inherited legacy lacking in conscience. Now it is valid to write that Machiavelli was not promoting positive ethics of any sort: however, this would require a book to explain. Even then it could not accurately summarize 5,000 years of records revolving around secular mores and faith-based conventions.

Suffice it to write that Machiavelli though exhorting less for effect than Nietzsche, was exploring the limitations of ethics. Machiavelli did stress the importance of states being militaristic; for him, the states of Italy could only survive and thrive through military preparation. All the same, Machiavelli did not promote militarization for the sake of militancy alone; rather, his 15th-century upbringing commanded him to be militaristic for patriotic & nationalistic ends. He, like Nietzsche, has had his militaristic imperialism excessively emphasized by his critics. Nevertheless, by the lights of the 21st century, Machiavelli cannot be perceived as any sort of a peace lover.

Today in a time when so many uses ‘Machiavellian’ to denote a person or group lacking scruples, it must be remembered how the same people who detest Machiavelli and his militarism pay taxes to fund WMDs capable of destroying the biosphere. Machiavelli’s sin was to a lesser extent the same as Nietzsche’s: not being diplomatic enough. Even though ethics are used as a means to an end, such is not supposed to be confessed to a broad uncomprehending public. And both Nietzsche and Machiavelli agreed on the public’s lack of comprehension.

—————————————————————————

II. Nietzsche’s philosophy was wide-ranging, covering art, history, music, politics, religion– and well nigh everything under the Sun. One of his more popular concepts is that of the Übermensch– the ‘superman’. The public has exaggerated Nietzsche’s ‘superman’ to be physically superior (e.g. the Superman of comic books, TV, and films). In his famous book, ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, published 1883, Nietzsche did suggest a goal of being more evolved.

Though naturally a superman is expected to be strong, a superman is also aesthetically and to a lesser degree, ethically ‘evolved’. Or to be more exact: ‘over’– that is, above & beyond. For Über translated from German means over, as well as ‘superior’. The overman rises above and beyond the herd aesthetically, intellectually, and sometimes ethically. Ethics were less important than intellect and aesthetics to Nietzsche, because for starters Nietzsche, though he did not reject religion altogether, did think religion frequently sacrificed strength and intellect in the service of ethics. Nietzsche felt that Christianity, being a prominent example of faith, excessively emphasized meekness and weakness. Meek in the sense one is humble before God and weak in different ways. Most commonly, weak-minded. Weak willpower is another factor in why and how Nietzsche critiqued religious morality. Nietzsche wrote, “God is dead.” Nonetheless, he did so to impress; and though this is nothing more than a hypothesis, he might have been looking to the remote future. By the second half of the 19th century, it became apparent science would be important in the 20th century and would alter religious beliefs and practices. Nietzsche writing that God is dead appeared original to a public not familiar with deism and by the interwar period, the majority of educated Europeans did think God was dead or dying. It must be reckoned in interpreting Nietzsche that he frequently wrote in a flowery Mittel Europa style.

Due to his influence on 20th century educated European God-is-Dead public, Nietzsche is sometimes held partially culpable for the rise of totalitarianism, another instance of exaggeration. Nietzsche can not be held responsible for totalism any more than the historical Christ can be blamed for excesses committed in His name. In the book of Matthew verses 34-36, Jesus preached,

“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law— a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household…”

Scarcely ecumenical, let alone filial. As Nietzsche was a Nazi icon, he has been widely associated with Nazism; however, if he had lived three more decades he would have considered Nazis to be guttersnipes. Nietzsche’s weltanschauung (welt-anschauung translated from German is world-view) meant he saw the world filtered through a 19th-century Mittel-Europa prism. Nietzsche attempted heroically to escape such a mindset, but there is no way someone living in 19th century Europe could truly escape. Not for long. Nietzsche tried with all his strength to transcend, so much so that it might perhaps have cost him his sanity, or at least what the definition of sanity was via the primitive psychiatry of the late 19th century. He died in the year 1900.

What Nietzsche did was incorporate 19th-century European weltanschauung in his own expansive world view. One might with accuracy write that Nietzsche comprehensively surveyed the world and attempted to transcend the past. For better and, naturally, worse. Worse because in forcefully transcending the past, one brings into play various unintended consequences.

Nietzsche, like Machiavelli, is not easy to categorize; though as we have seen above, Machiavelli was more politically oriented than Nietzsche. One of Nietzsche’s more infamous exhortations concerned, “the magnificent blond brute, avidly rampant for spoil and victory.” The above quote, in particular, illustrates Nietzsche’s origins and bombastic style more than substance. To be a 19th-century European male, one had to some degree accept imperialism and racism. Otherwise, a man risked becoming an outcast. The 19th century saw the rapid conquest of empire for a number of nations in Europe and elsewhere.

The “Eisen and Blut” (Iron and Blood) values of Nietzsche’s contemporary, Bismarck, could not have allowed Nietzsche to be overtly pacifistic. Nietzsche would have filed his draft card away, not burned it. Nietzsche’s most salient negative trait was his misogynist weltanschauung, the chauvinist in,

“the magnificent blond [male] avidly rampant for spoil and victory”. Nietzsche wrote that women ought to be treated with a “whip”. Nonetheless that he loved women as individuals and that his devoted sister took care of him, indicates Nietzsche’s dislike of women was derived from his bombastic, for effect, to impress-the-reader style. Nietzsche lived a bit before the era of Suffragettes. Plus, Bismarck’s ‘Blood and Iron’ left little room for femininity– ‘feminism’ still meant cosmetics, coiffure, gowns. Also, twelve decades after Nietzsche’s demise, men still dominate women. Hypocrisy has always been, “the homage vice pays to virtue”– Francois de La Rochefoucauld.

Machiavelli and Nietzsche, Philosophers Foreshadowing the 21st Century was originally published on transhumanity.net

[buzzdixonwriter]

Musical Chairs With Racists

I’d be a fool to predict, but I can prognosticate.

Prognostication is like prediction, only with a hedge bet built in.

There are any number of things that can happen politically over the next decade (and probably sooner but see, I’m already cutting myself some wiggle room).  There are two similar-but-different things I think are more likely to happen, along with two possible offshoots of each.

The two big ones are “A New Conservative Party Arises” and “The Democrats Absorb The Sane GOP And Turn Conservative”.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

The country has been playing musical chairs with racists since before the Civil War.

Simply put, for all the noble sentiments and ideals written into our fundamental documents by our founding fathers, they really couldn’t imagine them applying to anyone except free white Anglo/European males who owned property.

Whether by accident or design, the ability to expand those ideals was also written into our Constitution, and over the centuries has been applied -- sometimes sporadically, sometimes quite deliberately -- to guarantee “liberty and justice for all.”

It doesn’t matter if slaves get freed in order to benefit the slaves, or to punish the masters, or to reward the liberators:  Slaves get freed.

In the process, however, racists have constantly fought to maintain white supremacy at the expense of non-whites, male supremacy (a.k.a. the patriarchy) at the expense of non-heterosexual males (which includes females), Christian supremacy (preferably Protestantism) at the expense of other faiths and non-believers.

Before plunging ahead, let’s define our terms; we’ll focus on racism but these standards apply to the others as well.

Racism is systemic discrimination against others for the benefit of the dominant ethnic group. One can be a racist without being a hate monger so long as one believes the racist system one benefits from should be preserved.

Bigotry is an active hateful prejudice against others outside one’s group.  While racism always flows downhill (i.e., from the powerful against the less powerful), bigotry can lash out in all directions.  Anyone, even an oppressed minority, can be a bigot.

White supremacy is the particular strain of racism found in the United States.  One can be a white supremacist and co-exist peacefully -- even intermarry -- with non-whites so long as non-whites acknowledge whites rank above them.

As I’ve noted elsewhere, white supremacists identify and define themselves by whom they exclude.  

While American has been run by and for white supremacists for most of its history, for the most part they were relatively benign / unthinking sorts.

No real hatred or animosity…

…just supreme indifference to the fates of non-whites.

There was, and always has been, a virulent core of genuine hate mongers, people whose identity is so wrapped up in their sense of entitlement at being white that it clouds their judgment on all other matters.

They existed in all political parties from as far back as the founding of this country (and even earlier when one delves into colonial politics).  

The Democratic Party, however, has had a structural design that lends to its long term survival.

It is, by and large, decentralized.

This is not to say there are no dominant wings / cliques / political machines within the Democratic Party but rather there is no single group that has driven out all contrarian voices in the party.

This is vitally important.

While white supremacists certainly dominated the Democratic Party before and after the Civil War, the truth was they needed the support of groups that didn’t subscribe to white supremacy to maintain power.

This was a broad coalition scattered across the nation, not merely congregated in the South and Midwest.

Out of necessity, the white supremacists’ most extreme policies had to be tempered.

This is how politics is supposed to work, “the art of the possible” carving out deals between and among groups with conflicting goals and values.

Nobody gets everything they want, but everybody gets something.

The Republicans, on the other hand, were always a much more centralized party.

For much of the country’s history, that wasn’t a problem; despite their lean towards authoritarianism, there was still room for a liberal and a conservative wing in the otherwise moderate GOP.

But as white supremacists began chafing at the loss of their supremacy (through desegregation and integration and civil rights laws), the GOP (in the form of the infamous Nixon-Atwater “Southern strategy”) lured them into their tent (with a couple of side trips to the Dixiecrats and the American Independence Party along the way).

And while hard right conservatives mock the “Marxist dialectics” of the constantly bickering Democratic Party, St. Ronnie’s dictum of “Thou shalt never criticize a fellow Republican” has played them false.

For one thing, it has allowed far too many frauds and poltroons access to the public stage.

For another, it has drowned out all internal dissent among the GOP.

But the worst part is that it has created a winner-take-all mindset among the leadership of the party, with an inability to accept compromise with anyone one or anything outside the party core.

And “party core” means the white supremacists.

Reagan, for all his sins and shortcomings, was a savvy enough politician to recognize if he could get 60% of what he wanted, it was smart to let the other side have the remaining 40%.

That way they became invested in the deal, more willing to go along with it.

The one non-negotiable among white supremacists is the surrender of white supremacy.

They will not go along with anything that makes them equal -- no better, no worse -- than non-whites.

But as noted, by excluding their own children and grandchildren from mixed marriages, they have been drastically reducing their own numbers.

Current demographics continuing, by 2048 non-Hispanic whites will make up only 49% of the country.

White supremacy will finally fall.

White people know this -- hell, everybody knows this -- and many white people are going nuts over it.

In this national game of musical chairs, there’s only one seat left for the white supremacists to land on and that one is the Republican Party.

Trump is just the festering boil coming to a head; we still face the lancing and then draining stage.

Which leads us (finally!) to what’s going to happen to the political parties in this country.

Option 1:  A New Conservative Party Arises

The GOP has already been purging the old line conservatives.  

The grown ups of the party have either already left or been marginalized by hacks and demagogues.

The old line conservatives are people with appreciable talents and skills and more than a little insight.

Old line conservatism actually serves a very vital function for this nation, a dialectic (for lack of a better term) counterpoint that constantly asks “Is this really necessary?” and “How are we going to pay for it?”

Conservatives force progressives to think through their proposals in order to make them workable.

The core of the existing GOP is a white supremacist / conservative Christian base being led by the 2%, a short sighted oligarchy of billionaires who seek to shed every societal obligation while maintaining their maximum benefits from same.

They have convinced the white supremacists / conservative Christians -- and, lordie, that wasn’t much of a challenge -- that the only way to maintain white supremacy is by acquiescing to the 2%.

It’s a lie, the progressives know it’s a lie, the 2% knows it’s a lie and the bill will eventually come due, but for right now enough members of the ever shrinking white majority can be tricked into giving away the store in return for keeping the “whites only” sign over the water fountain.

The smarter conservatives know this will end badly for the GOP.  Option 1 sees them forming a new political party the same way disgruntled former Whigs created the GOP in the first place.

The new conservative party, freed of the shackles of white supremacy, can sincerely reach out to conservatives among the African-American, Latino, Asian-American, LGBT, and -- most importantly -- female voters.

They can also appeal to conservative Democrats (and there are some, they just don’t get as much press as the progressives) and split some off, giving this new party a few congressional seats and political offices from the very beginning.  

Option 1.5:  Snowflakes Become Scapegoats

What we see already among the Trump supporters will get amped up all the way to eleven as the fragile little white boys lose their collective minds.

Unable to inflict genuine harm on the country, the white supremacist base will go through a meltdown of historic -- not to say histrionic -- proportions.

Oh, there will be a lot of violence:  Assassinations, bombings, various acts of terrorism and protest.

But no longer a sustained political and cultural force that steers the fate of the nation.

The violence and histrionics will do something unfortunate.

Human societies have a bad habit of looking for scapegoats, the “other” they can demonize and discriminate against (see the entire fnckin’ history of this country for example).

By losing their minds (and their self-control) the fragile little white boys are going to end up volunteering for scapegoat status.

Among non-racist whites, there will be a conscious effort to disassociate themselves from these scapegoats (full disclosure:  I have long identified as “Italian-American” and not “white” because I don’t want to be lumped among white supremacists; call it hair splitting but it’s a distinction that may prove crucial in the future).

The wheel will turn, the first shall be last, and the 2% that led them astray will abandon them for more lucrative pickings.

Payback, as Yogi and Smokey would say, is a bear

.

Option 2:  The Democrats Absorb The Sane GOP And Turn Conservative

If the GOP doesn’t implode quickly enough, old line conservatives may find a haven among the Democrats.

For decades polling has indicated the coming generations will lean far more Democratic than previous ones.

This is because coming generations will be mostly outside the white supremacist camp.

If the Democratic party as a brand identity is going to be the dominant force for the next 30-40 years, conservatives who want to influence the course of the country will need to have a (D) behind their names on the ballot.

The Democrats, wanting to secure their generational base, will cut deals and alter policies to give the old line conservatives a home.

Upside:  The Democratic Party keeps the African-American, Latino, Asian-American, LGBT, and female voters.

Downside:  They lose the progressives.

Option 2.5:  Pedal To The Metal

Now at first this may seem to be a similar fate to the white racists in the GOP but it’s not.

Once free from mainline Democrats, the progressives will become far more politically radical.

And if conservatives fulfill a function by putting the brakes on wild ideas, progressives and radicals provide an equally important function by slamming that accelerator down hard!

We have not really had a liberal, much less leftist party in this country since the demise of the Kennedy Democrats.

By and large the Democratic platform is not that different from those of Eisenhower Republicans.

With a non-racist shift towards conservative political and cultural values, a radicalized left will be able to raise issues and fight for them in a manner they’re currently blocked from pursuing due to political alliances.

It will be a startling and energizing time to be alive.

  © Buzz Dixon

[huraiyra]

a list of every meme of 2017

the year of being alright / general hope

the hollywood sign

melania trump and the present

#saltbae

italian memes / (country) during the war *insert stereotype food* [ie. pizza on the roof titled "italian sniper", teabags titled "ww2 british bombs"]

lemony snicket defining a word [ie. (a word) which in this case means (something)]

cash me ousside howba dah

___ machine broke

no fear ... one fear

roll safe

those weird poems (ie. i am dogg. i licc the spune)

yeah can i get UUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

white guy blinking

sexy mr. clean

beyonce at the grammys

#bootbae

___ will now have stories

expanding brain

wot in tarnation

best film oscar's screw up (the card reveal)

this is the future that liberals want

student athlete

if you or a loved one has been diagnosed with mesothilioma you may be entitled to a financial compensation

y'aint

the italian hand meme

whomst'd've

meryl streep yelling

you are valid

christian bale & kermit nodding at each other

please do not swear on my profile thanks

the worst example of cultural appropriation ever / LGBTs stole the rainbow from ___. it's theirs. they made it. give it back.

pepsi

united airlines

___ but bass boosted

🅱️o️️🅱️a ️ 🅱️ola

spotify playlists

in case you haven't noticed. i'm WEIRD. i'm a weirdo. i don't fit in. i don't. WANNA fit in. have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? THAT'S weird!

bone hurting juice. ow oof ouch

two bros. sittin in a hot tub. five feet apart cuz they're not gay!

the ceo and president of dennys is a capitalist running dog whose wealth must be seized ans redistributed to the people

the clown in the gutter. and then add on the girl who saved a kitty, going down the gutter (as if being dragged by the clown)

thrussy

mocking spongebob

cracking open a cold one with the boys

covfefe

the babadook is a gay icon

___ is one thicc bih, let me see that _ussy

the floor is ___

___ is gay culture

buenos dias, mandy / IMBECIL

how to talk to short people

dancing hotdog

stopped to clean the star / nothing but respect for MY president

h-hewwo?

then perish.

you would not believe your eyes, if ten million fireflies

the breaking bad guy screaming

sometimes things that are expensive are worse

right in front of my salad?

___ don't interact

country girls make do

before the liberals try to deface this national monument, i thought you'd like to see it one last time

distracted boyfriend

this is what having a manic episode feels like

i'm sorry, the old taylor can't come to the phone right now. why? oh. 'cause she's dead.

you've heard of "elf on the shelf", now get ready for ...

scream like goku at hurricane irma

hot pockets

monkey haircut / hands replacement

homeboy's gonna like ... get it

i diagnose you with gay

couple costume ideas

location of headaches

shen comics / my bike got stolen recently

the girl reading this

karma's got its kiss from me

walk into room and point

once i learn how to ___ you bitches are done

elf practice

i will survive zootopia comic

why would you say something so controversial, yet so brave?

bitcoin

if you watch ____ at exactly 11:__ then your new year will start with ___

[maxmundan]

I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut. I am a smart ass through and through, and many times this inability to know when to speak and when to keep quiet and who should or shouldn’t be told to their face that they are an idiot has gotten me into big trouble. In junior high school I had been regularly beat up and shoved into trash cans due to my habit of making sure every meathead there knew exactly what I thought of them and their intelligence level at all times. Later, I would decide that it was better to be feared than crushed, and I would start telling everyone that I was Hitler’s grandson. They tended to stay away from me after that. Hitler never had any children, of course, and thus was unlikely to have any grandchildren, but most of the guys at my school were in no danger of making the debate team or winning the spelling bee any time soon, if you know what I mean. Junior high school had been very hard on me, and I feel like I just ever so barely made it out with my life. I’ve learned a lot since then, and I’ve made a concerted effort to not mouth off to people I don’t know very well, or whose ability to control their temper I have been unable to gauge. Here’s the problem though. I drink. I drink a lot. I drink to excess, among other vices that I’ve cultivated, and when I drink, my control over the time delay between some insulting thought entering my brain and that same ugly thought popping out of my mouth becomes pretty nonexistent. I can say some pretty nasty things. One time I was on a blind date with this young lady named Elaine. She was the friend of a friend’s wife, who had set us up together, thinking that we were both fiercely proud of our intelligence and that, because of this, we would be perfect for each other. It was a stupid thought. I took her out to dinner at this nice Italian restaurant and we fought the whole damn time. About everything. We fought about art and science and music and movies. We couldn’t agree on a single thing. And the more I drank, the more insulting I got. I went from disagreeing with her to telling her how unbelievably moronic I thought her opinions were. I ended the date by telling her that I would rather fuck a man than her. She burst up from the table, throwing her full glass of red wine directly in my face and stormed out of the restaurant. What had gotten into me? What a terrible thing to say. Here’s the weird part, though. It wasn’t even true. I had thought she was pretty hot and, until that moment, I had been hoping we could get past our differences and I was going to get into her pants. That shit about fucking a man had just popped into my brain and out of my mouth without even a moment’s thought. The more wasted I get the greater the chance that I am going to say something that will just burn it all to the ground. This brings me to a night I spent doing way too many drugs and drinking far, far too much alcohol; a night I got lost and beaten and bloody and wet and ended up sleeping it off in the local holding cell; the night I met the inbred hick fucks. I like to party. That much has been established. I like to drink, and I like to drink to fucking excess, and if you invite me over to your house and pour me a glass of wine, or a beer, or a shot of whiskey or tequila, you are not getting me out of your house until every drop of alcohol you have has been consumed. That’s just the way it is. Don’t invite me over if you are saving your alcohol for a different, special occasion. It doesn’t even matter if you hide the alcohol from me. When you are out of the room, say going to the bathroom, or paying the pizza delivery man, I will go through all your cupboards and look under your bed and behind the old photographs in your closet to find it. I am going to have your alcohol, that’s just all there is to it. If you don’t have a lot, chances are that we are going to be taking a little trip to the store to get more. You’re going to have to pay, of course. I’ve been out of work for a while now and I can barely afford to take care of myself. You wouldn’t expect me to go without food or shelter, would you? I’m sure you don’t want me to stop feeding myself, am I right? So, you’re going to have to pay. We might very well get bored of the alcohol at some point and decide to move on to something a little more challenging and exciting, like cocaine or crystal meth. That would be fun. Don’t you think that would be fun? What about a little heroin? We could do speedballs for the rest of the night and really get fucking crazy. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Angel dust? Did someone mention angel dust? Damn, I’d sure love to do a little of that. It’s been so long. Do they still even have angel dust? Of course, it goes without saying that you’re paying for this too. I can’t afford that kind of shit. It’s expensive. We talked about this. I thought you understood. If I pay for this little bit of fun for the two of us, then I have to go without one of life’s essentials. Do you want me to be homeless or starve to death? Of course you don’t. So just pay for the coke and smack already and we can get this party started. The particular night in question, I was going to a cast party. You may have guessed already that I am an actor, due to my savoir faire and barely controlled narcissism. Yes, I’m a struggling actor. You say that like it’s a bad thing. Of course, I’m a struggling actor. I think I’ve made $10 doing it my entire life and that was when I played Twinkie the Kid at a grocery store opening for a half hour when I was 17. That’s a story for another time, though. The night of the inbred hick fucks was a cast party. I was doing a show called “The Feeling Child.” It was an amazing piece of shit, I’ll tell you that. You know “The Handmaid’s Tale” by Margaret Atwood? Well, this was sort of the opposite of that. It was a science fiction play about a future world where abortion was mandatory. The evil commie lefties had taken over and placed a strict limit on the number of babies people could have. They had convinced everyone that the lie of climate change was in fact true, and this new law was necessary to cut down on the out of control overpopulation that was depleting the planet’s resources. So, this evil, leftie government was forcing good, god-fearing, Christian parents to kill their fetuses. I played the leader of the anti-abortion rebellion who had been arrested protesting at one of the abortion mills and was now being tortured by the authorities for the crime of just wanting babies to live, damnit. It was written by a born-again right-winger. I guess that goes without saying. Only a born-again right-winger would write something so fucking stupid. The play was a disaster from the get go. I have no idea why I even agreed to do it in the first place. I must be a glutton for punishment. Either that or I have absolutely nothing going on in my life, and I will sign on to any piece of shit that will get me in front of an audience, where I can feel the adulation and hear the applause. Nothing else, not even the drugs, can quiet the voices in my head of crippling self-doubt and self-loathing like adulation and applause. It got even worse. The director was under no illusion that this piece of shit was going to Broadway and was afraid, I think, that the audience was going to laugh instead of cry or become outraged when they saw it, so he decided to do this thing Kabuki style. That is right, Kabuki style, which is an ancient form of Japanese theater. So, me and the rest of the cast had to perform in a very stylized physical way. We also had to hold paper cut-out masks in front of our faces the whole time. There is a scene where my tongue gets cut out because I just can’t stop talking about how fetuses were meant to live, and god would hate us for what we were doing. The director decided to symbolize this by having a red ribbon attached to my mask. When the big tongue cutting scene happened, which was the climax of the whole atrocious play, I just pulled the ribbon through the mouth of my mask and let it drop all the way to the floor. Needless to say, it was a hoot. The opening night of the play, about four or five minutes in, the audience started laughing. They started to laugh really loud. They didn’t let up. They thought the play was amazing. They thought it was a comedy. Hell, they thought it was a really terrific comedy. Now, I’m no idiot, so when the audience started to bust up laughing, I decided to go for it. I played it for laughs. I started exaggerating my movements and holding for laughter and using my comedy training for things like double takes and physical theater bits. I even did a spit take at one point, shooting water through the mouth hole of my mask. The audience loved it. They ate it the fuck up. When it came time for the curtain call, every last one of them got up on their goddamn feet and gave me a standing ovation. I shit you not. A standing ovation. It was one of the crowning achievements of my acting career to this point. I mean it was fucking amazing. It felt great. I felt like a star. Of course, the writer and director were a little pissed about the whole thing. More than a little pissed, actually. they were furious. They refused to talk to me, or even look at me, after the show. To this day, they still haven’t ever talked to me. As far as they are concerned, both of them, I am persona non grata. This was the party after the performance, though, and I was riding a pretty great high, so I was bound and determined to get wasted. I started off slow, just getting my game on, with a couple of Mango Wheat Brown Ales or some such shit, I don’t really remember. Then, a bit later, someone produced a bottle of Stolichnaya from the freezer and man, was it on. I can drink straight vodka all night. I just started pounding shots. I couple of cute girls came into the kitchen where I was and started egging me on, so I upped the pace a little and began chugging straight from the bottle. By the time I reached the bottom of it, though, the chicks were nowhere to be seen. What the hell happened to those girls? They must have disappeared when I wasn’t looking. I didn’t have long to wonder about the whereabouts of the girls before my friend Sycamore Taylor walked in holding a big blunt in his fingers and asked if I wanted to take a little toke. Well, of fucking course I wanted to take a goddamn toke. Who the hell did he think he was talking to? Sycamore was as big a stoner as me, if not worse, and he was always rolling these big, fucking bomber joints that were half weed and half tobacco. It took like ten rolling papers to make one, and goddamn they wiped you out. The one this night was a particular monster and just the first hit off it gave me cotton mouth so bad I had to get something else to drink to go with it. There was a bottle of Somrethingorother Cabernet Sauvignon sitting unopened on the counter, so I grabbed that and started rifling through the kitchen drawers to find a corkscrew. I couldn’t find anything, so I handed the bottle to Sycamore, thinking, “What the fuck is wrong with these people that they don’t have a corkscrew? Isn’t that the bare minimum if you’re going to throw a party at your house?” I was throwing open all the cabinets and even looking through the trash. There had to be some way to open this fucking bottle of wine. Sycamore was just standing there, looking at the label on the bottle, not helping me in any way, when he said, “Shit, man. Check it out. This bottle is a 1996. I don’t think we should drink this. It’s probably pretty valuable.” “Are you some kind of fucking idiot?” I asked him, snatching the bottle from his hands, “If they didn’t intend for people to drink it, they would have never brought it to a goddamn party, right?” Sycamore acquiesced and agreed that this was pretty logical thinking on my part, but we still couldn’t open the damn bottle for the life of us. I ended up just taking a big steak knife and carving my way through the cork till I could finally get my lips at the delicious wine. Fuck, that tasted good. By this time the blunt had gone out and we needed to relight that sucker and give it a good smoking. By the time I had crushed the tiny butt out on the kitchen floor with my boot, Sycamore had disappeared too, and the bottle of wine was empty. I was completely alone in the kitchen, leaning up against the refrigerator. I decide to go in search of more alcohol and lurched forward with that intent. I was a lot drunker than I had given myself credit for, though, and my legs didn’t operate in anywhere near the fashion I wanted or intended them to, and I fell flat on my face instead. I banged my chin pretty goddamn viciously on the kitchen floor so that I bit down hard on my tongue. I could taste blood in my mouth. I decided the best thing for me to was to stay down on the floor like that. I might really fuck myself up if I tried to get back on my feet. I don’t know how long I was there, but eventually someone, I don’t know who, came in and lifted me back up. I must have blacked out around this time because the next thing that I remember was sitting on the couch in another room with a glass full of whiskey in my hand, watching John Waters “Pink Flamingos” on the TV. It was the part of the movie where Divine buys the piece of meat at the butcher and shoves it up her dress between her legs as she walks. I was having black out experiences a lot these days. I would be missing hours, sometimes entire nights. The worst was when I would wake up in the back seat of my car and realize that I must have driven from some party or other to wherever it was I found myself in the morning but had no recollection of getting there. I could easily kill myself or someone else in one of these blackout experiences. At a certain point, I realized I needed to give up drinking and driving before something terrible happened. I decided to sell my car. I polished off my glass of whiskey and looked around the room. I was the only person there. Well, not the only person. There was a shirtless guy passed out on the couch next to me. Someone had drawn cartoon penises all over his chest. “That’s totally fucked up,” I remember thinking. “Where had everybody gone?” I wondered. I pushed myself gingerly off the couch and went in search of more alcohol. “There must be something here,” I thought. I wandered back through the kitchen where a whole bunch of people I didn’t recognize were laughing at some story I couldn’t quite figure out. I asked them if there was any more beer, but they just ignored me. I had no idea where all my friends had gone and by this point I couldn’t even remember whose house it was that I had been partying at. I pushed a couple of guys out of the way of the refrigerator and threw open the door. There had to be some alcohol inside. There wasn’t. I started to ask the guys if they knew where to find any, but they were giving me a particularly dirty look, so I slithered out of the kitchen to continue my search. There was nothing. I looked everywhere. I found a couple of half full bottles of beer, but they had already become party ashtrays. I even tried to drink one but got a cigarette butt in my mouth that I had to spit out on the floor. What’s more, there didn’t even seem to be anybody I knew in the house anymore. I ran from room to room, but I didn’t recognize any of my friends or anybody from the cast of the show I had just done. Where did everybody go? “I guess I might as well head home,” I thought. I stumbled out the front door with the intention of walking home. I was having trouble moving in a straight line, but I figured if I really focused I would probably be able to make it. A sort of jock looking dude about a foot taller than me stopped me on my way down the driveway. “Hey man,” he said, placing his hand on my chest to slow me down, “You’re really drunk. why don’t you let me give you a ride home?” “I’m fine,” I answered, belligerently, pushing his hand out of my way. “Seriously,” he said, reaching out for me but failing to grab my shirt as I dodged his reach, “You’re going to fuck yourself up going off like that.” “Don’t worry about me,” I spit back at him over my shoulder, “I’ve done this a thousand times. I’ve walked home drunk more times than you’ve masturbated, and from the look of you that’s a whole fucking lot.” “Well, fuck you then, asshole,” I heard him shout at me as I lurched from the driveway out into the road, just narrowly stepping out of the path of a pair of headlights that was rushing on me quickly. The problem was that the guy was right. As I walked off down the street, it occurred to me that I had no idea where I was and thus, no concept of the correct direction to choose to get home. I had only the vaguest memory of getting to the party in the first place. I know I had been driven there by one of the other cast members, but I was damned if I could remember which one. I’d had a few fucking drinks, okay? How the hell was I supposed to remember boring details? I hadn’t been paying attention to the streets either. I had just been laughing and telling jokes and otherwise making a spectacle of myself.   “God-fucking-damnit,” I thought, “Why am I always such a colossal fuck up?” I figured the best thing I could do was to keep walking. If I did, maybe I would come to a place I recognized, and from there, be able to find my way home. It’s wasn’t like I just moved here yesterday. I’d lived in this town for a couple of years. I’m not some newbie, wannabe poseur who just fell off the turnip truck.  I just happened to be in a strange part that I didn’t recognize. I walked for about fifteen minutes, turning frequently, but always trying to move in the direction that I assumed the center of town might be. I’m pretty arrogant about my sense of direction. Unfortunately, I was way off. I found myself at the bottom of a cul-de-sac I had been sure was going to lead somewhere, so I marched back in the other direction and turned the opposite way from the one I thought I had come. “This has got to work,” I thought. There were only so many directions I could go. I had to find the town center sooner or later. I was wrong again. I walked about a block and a half on this street before the houses started to disappear and I began to encounter bigger and bigger plots of land. “Oh shit,” I said to myself, slapping my own face with my hand, “I’m on the fucking Bottoms. How did I get to the Bottoms?” The Bottoms were what we all called the huge stretches of farmland on the outskirts of town. I was nowhere near where I had thought I was. The Bottoms were about a twenty-minute drive from the center of town, about thirty minutes from my place. It was going to take me for-fucking-ever to walk home at this point. I briefly wondered what time it was. It must have been after 2am. The party hadn’t even started till 10:30. It occurred to me that I might be really fucked here. I’d never spent much time on the Bottoms in the couple of years I’d lived in town. I mean, why the hell would I spend a lot of time in this area? I’m not a big fan of cow shit and there wasn’t fuck all else on the goddamn Bottoms. Why would anybody with half a brain even come down to this shithole if they didn’t have to? I’m not a frat boy into drinking two shots of Jägermeister and then drunkenly pushing cows over and I don’t need to pick magic mushrooms out of fresh, wet poop. I buy my mushrooms from the dealer like a respectable drug addict. I just kept stumbling down the road. I started looking around, hoping to see a car coming that maybe I could flag down and hitch a ride home. That seemed to be the best idea, but there was nothing, not a car in sight. This wasn’t exactly New York City. If it was as late as I thought it was, every goddamn person in town might be in bed already. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I screamed at the top of my lungs, so the cows could understand my pain, “could this be a bigger disaster?” Then it started to rain. With my luck, I should have predicted it. Oh, it had been misting for a while, but all of a sudden, the skies opened up and it started to pour. The rain was pounding down on the pavement and the marshy farm land the road ran through, splashing mud all over me. Within a few minutes, the original color of the clothing I had worn was impossible to distinguish, covered as it was with a thick layer of dripping clay. “Fuck,” I thought, “these were brand new duds I picked out specifically for the party.” I started to run as fast as I could down the road, screaming at the top of my lungs as I went. I have no idea what I was screaming and was pretty certain nobody could hear me anyway. After a few minutes, I slowed to a halt, realizing that running was counterproductive. I could easily be running farther away from where I wanted to go. I stopped in my tracks. “I’ve really fucked up this time,” I thought. I had no idea how I was supposed to get out of this situation. I probably should have accepted that ride from the jock dude back at the party. The rain continued to pour. If anything, it was raining harder than it had been a few minutes ago. “I guess it’s just never going to fucking stop,” I said to myself. Then I started to laugh. I just threw my head back and let out with as big a belly laugh as I’d ever laughed in my life. “I guess I’m going to die out here,“ I thought, and as I did so, I realized that the laughter had morphed seamlessly into tears, and I was bawling like a baby. I really committed myself to self-pity at this point. I plopped my ass down in the mud at the side of the road and cried my eyes out as the rain pelted me till I could taste the mud in my mouth as it rolled down my face. “What a shitty place to die,” I thought. Then I saw the headlights.   At first, I wasn’t sure that’s what they were, as they crept slowly down the long road. My mind could have easily been playing tricks with me at this point. After a couple of minutes, though, I recognized the outline of a vehicle headed my way. I jumped to my feet and started waving my hands hysterically and shouting. I must have looked a sight, a soaking wet and mud-drenched lunatic standing in the road screaming in the middle of the night. Nobody in their right mind would pull over and let me get in their car. The most likely outcome is that they would just drive on by and leave me there with my misery. I wanted them to stop so fucking badly, though. It could be the difference between life and death for me. I found myself praying for the first time in many years, repeating a mantra to myself over and over again, “Please God, let them stop for me. Please God, let them stop for me.” The car got closer and closer to me and it did appear that they were slowing down. I could see now that it was an old Galaxy 500 in pretty bad disrepair. Even through the driving rain I could see that this was one junker of a car that really had no business being on the road at all. It certainly wasn’t one of those beautifully restored models that real car lover guys often have. It looked like it had been driven non-stop from the 50s to this moment in time without so much as a tune-up. “Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers,” I thought. To my surprise, the car pulled over to the side of the road and the driver’s side window rolled down. Inextricably, the rain seemed to double in intensity at that moment, obscuring my vision, so I couldn’t make out any details of the head or face that looked at me from the open window. “Please God, let them give me a ride home,” I prayed silently, not moving a muscle. At that moment, the face in the window spoke. “Hey buddy,” it said, “are you alright there? You don’t look like you’re doing so good.” “I’m not,” I replied. I wanted to say so much more. I wanted to get down on my knees and beg for my life, beg for him to save me, to give me a ride home. Nothing came out, however, and I just stood there in silence for a minute or two. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the driver spoke again. “Why don’t you get in the car dude? We can give you a ride home.” “I’m soaking wet and covered in mud,” I told him, taking a hesitant step towards his car. “No shit,” he replied, “I can see that. It won’t make a difference in this car. Just get your ass inside and we’ll get you home.” I couldn’t believe my luck. A minute ago, I thought I was going to die out here, alone on the road, and now my salvation was at hand. “Thank you,” I said hesitantly, as I stepped towards the car and opened the rear driver’s side door. It was dark inside, but I could make out that there was already someone in the back seat. I looked towards the front and saw that there was another person in the front as well. I still couldn’t make out their faces, just the outlines of their figures. “Three guys in here,” I thought, “I guess that’s okay.” Now, I don’t usually hitch rides and I certainly never pick up hitchhikers. I’ve heard too many of the stories and half the people around here seemed like they walked out of a Manson family look-alike contest, so the last thing on earth I’d want is to share a ride with them. I was hesitating in a limbo between getting in the car and stepping back out onto the road. I was getting a really weird feeling that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and it was leaving me very unsure as to what I should or shouldn’t do. It was then that the guy in the back seat reached out and pulled me into the car. I flopped down on the seat beside him, spraying an arc of mud across the inside of the car as I did so. “Goddamn,” the guy in the back seat said at this point, “this fucker really is covered in mud.” “That’s okay,” the driver said, turning to look at me, “Would you close the door though, dude? A lot of rain is getting in the car.” “Oh yeah,” I replied, as I pulled the car door shut, “sorry about that.” “No worries,” the driver said, “Now where we takin’ you, Mr. Mud?” “Uh, I live in t…t…town,” I stuttered, “near the corner of 5th and G.” “Alright,” he said, “then let’s get on the road.” He and the other guy both turned their faces back towards the front of the car then and the driver pulled out onto the road. I could hear the rain pounding on the roof as we started to move. If anything, it was falling even harder still. “Thank God I’m finally out of it,” I thought. “Thank you,” I said to the whole car, as I settled back into the seat, resting my head on the cushion. I was still very fucked up and drunk. You would have thought the walk and the rain might have sobered me up a bit but that was far from the case. I turned towards the guy sitting next to me in the back seat and realized that he was staring at me. I had the distinct impression he was sizing me up. I hadn’t paid much attention to the way the guys in the car had looked to this point, but I noted now that they could almost be triplets. All three were blond, white guys with short, military-cut hair and camouflage hats like hunters wear. “So, what’s your story, Mr. Mud?” the one sitting next to me said, “You look like you’ve fucked this night up one side and down the other.” “What do you mean?” I answered tentatively. As I did, I looked over at him and noticed for the first time that he was very heavily tattooed. He was wearing blue jeans and a grey t-shirt and had tattoos all down his arms and up his neck. It’s possible he even had a couple on his skull that were showing through his short blond hair a little bit. In the diffused lighting inside the car, I couldn’t really be sure. Now, I have nothing whatsoever against tattoos. I like them, in fact. I even have a couple myself. One on my right arm of my dog, Oscar, and a Chinese Symbol that means freedom on my chest that I had gotten the first time I got sober. There was one on this guy that bothered me a bit, however, just below his left ear. It was partially hidden but still unmistakable as the double lightning bolt SS symbol of the Nazi Stormtroopers. “I mean all THIS, Dude,” He said, waving his hand at me, “All this mud and water and stench and the scratches on your face. You are one fucked up dude, am I right?” “Yeah, I guess I’m a little drunk,” I said, trying my best to sound confident. I turned to look at the guy in the passenger seat, who was now turning around staring at me. He was smiling the most hideous grimace of a smile I’d ever seen and there was nothing in his eyes, no life, no warmth. He was a killer, through and through. He had the same SS Tattoo under his left ear. I swung my gaze towards the driver to see if he had one too. Mercifully he was still looking forwards, towards the road, but he had an identical SS tattoo under his ear as well. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” I thought. I live in little town in Northern California called Arcata. Arcata is the most liberal town you are ever going to find in your life. My guess is that every old hippy left on Earth has ended up here and every young hippy makes a pilgrimage to be among their own kind. It’s my kind of place, full of vegan restaurants, political action committees, and hot hippy chicks. In the end, though, Arcata is just a very tiny, progressive island in a vast sea of redneck ignorance. Some of the dumbest, ugliest motherfuckers you’ve ever seen in your life populate the surrounding towns, like McKinleyville, Garberville, and Laytonville (which I always referred to as Satanville for its hellish, frightening qualities). The most conservative people in Arcata vote Democrat every time, but in the surrounding communities there are a pretty fair share of racists, neo-Nazis, and white supremacists. It was looking like I’d fallen in with three white trash mutants from outside Arcata. Now, I’m sure you’re probably able to guess exactly how I feel about motherfucking Nazis. You are correct, sir, I cannot fucking stand them. We’ve fought long and hard to cut through the moronic racism in this country and shame the drooling, KFC swilling, KKK hood wearing redneck pigs back under the rocks they originally emerged from. What’s more, we had gone to war in Europe not so very fucking long ago to eradicate these ridiculous, sadistic scum from the face of the Earth. Not only were Nazis and white power jerk-offs amazing assholes, but they were always history’s big losers, constantly on the wrong side of both victory and history. Why any human being would want to throw their hand up in a “sieg heil” and declare yourself one of this spineless, pathetic crowd is beyond me. Yet, here I was, trapped in a car with three of them. The driver kept his eyes on the road and without turning, he said to me, “I’d say you’re more than a little drunk, wouldn’t you, friend? I’d say you’re shitfaced, you’re two sheets to the wind, you’re one toke over the line, aren’t you?” This Nazi sure knew a lot of colorful terms for being wasted. “Alright, I’m totally fucked up,” I replied, just deciding to go with it now, “Is that a crime?” The one sitting next to me busted out laughing, and slapping me on the shoulder, said, “I think it might be. What do you guys think, guys? Isn’t getting fucked up out of your mind a crime?” The guy in the passenger seat turned towards me again and in the coldest voice I’d ever heard said, “Yeah, it’s a crime. I think it’s called drunk in public. Maybe I oughta make a citizen’s arrest.” This guy was the one I really needed to watch out for. It’s possible he could jump in the  back seat and slit my throat at any second. “Ha,” I said, laughing myself to try and join in their fun somehow, holding my arms out with the wrists turned up as if I was waiting for handcuffs to be put on, “you got me dead to rights. I’m busted. Why don’t you put the cuffs on and take me to the clink?” The guy sitting next to me grabbed my arms and pulled them towards himself so that I was spun around in the back seat. His grip on my wrist was tight, and he had long, rat-like fingernails that were now digging deeply into my skin. I couldn’t tell for sure by the light in the car, but it was possible that he was drawing blood. “Hey motherfucker,” he screamed at me, moving so his face was so close to mine that I could see the spittle from his pasty lips spraying off him at my mouth and eyes, “Do we look like cops to you?” “Uh…,” was all I could say in response as he continued to hold my arms tight. The one in the passenger seat reached back to grab me now too, leaning way over the back of his seat to wrap his arm around my neck and put me in a headlock. “Well?” the passenger seat guy screamed, “Do we look like cops to you, motherfucker?” “N…n…no,” I answered, trying to wriggle out of their grasp, “you guys do not look like cops.” Apparently, that was the right thing to say, as they both released me now and settled back into their seats. I looked at my wrists and saw that the asshole next to me had, in fact, drawn blood. “How fucking long are that guy’s nails?” I thought. “You got that right,” the guy next to me said now, “We ain’t no fucking cops. Maybe you ain’t so drunk after all. You can figure that out at least.” All three were guffawing now. They thought this was the funniest comedy ever. Nazis have a pretty lousy sense of humor, it turns out. Maybe that’s why there are no Nazi comedians I can think of off the top of my head. They just kept repeating “Ain’t no fucking cops” over and over and laughing at the top of their redneck lungs. Suddenly, however, the laughter stopped dead. I looked around the car and the two who weren’t driving were both looking at me with the fiercest intensity I’d ever seen. I could practically see the steam coming off the tops of their heads from the angry fire of their stares. The one in the passenger seat leaned a little closer to me and said, in a voice that could cut through steel, “What DO we look like, Mr. Mud?” Without warning, the driver pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He turned towards me also and asked, “Yeah, what DO we look like?” I said nothing and just looked around the car, from one impenetrable face to the next. “C’mon Mr. Mud,” the guy in the passenger seat said, “you can be honest. Tell us what we look like.” I realized later that I should have said “You look like nice guys” or “You look like cool dudes.” That would have been the safe and appropriate response.  When I get really fucked up, though, as I’ve been telling you, I get very belligerent and the time between thinking a thought and that thought spilling out of my lips becomes almost nonexistent. So, instead of saying something sensible that would help get me safely out of this situation, I opened my big, fat mouth and said, “Inbred hick fucks. You guys look like inbred hick fucks.” This was a mistake. Next thing I knew, the three of them were dragging me out of the car and out into the middle of a muddy field. I obviously do not know when to shut my big, fat, fucking mouth, because I just kept screaming “INBRED HICK FUCKS” at the top of my lungs. If I had had my senses about me I would have understood that this wasn’t going to improve my situation any. Inbred hick fucks do not like to be called inbred hick fucks. Go figure. They must have dragged me for quite some ways because this part seemed like it went on forever. “What they hell is going to happen to me?” I wondered. Were they going to kill me? Rape me? I’d fucking seen Deliverance, you know. The last thing on earth I wanted was to be made to squeal like a pig, not by these stinking scumbags.   Finally, the three of them came to a stop and threw me down hard into the spongy, muddy grass on the ground, so that my face became half submerged in muck. I tried to scream “INBRED HICK FUCKS” one more time but my mouth filled with filthy water and it was all I could do to spit it out before the beating started. The first kick hit me right in the crotch. I jerked in pain and tried to roll myself into a ball, but the kicks started coming hard and fast now, landing from all sides. My stomach, my back, my ass, my ribs. Kicks were landing all over my body and Jesus fucking Christ, it hurt. Those motherfuckers must have all been wearing steel-toed boots. They just kept kicking me and kicking me. All I could do was to put my arms in from of my face to at least protect that. “Please God,” I found myself praying, “don’t let them ruin my pretty face.” I was very worried that one good kick to my kisser would be able to knock out my teeth. I didn’t have the most attractive teeth in the world. I mean, I was usually a lot more interested in getting royally shit-faced than I was in going to the dentist or practicing proper hygiene, but I sure liked my teeth better in my mouth than lying on the ground with the mud and the cow shit. We must have been out in the middle of a field because I could hear the cows mooing over the sound of the still driving rain. The rain didn’t seem to be bothering the three assholes at all, though, or slowing them down a bit. They didn’t say a word while they did it, or even make a sound. They seemed totally focused on the business of beating the living shit out of me. Finally, the one who I think had been the driver shouted to the others, “Okay, that’s enough. We don’t want to kill this fucker.” And like that, the beating stopped. Thank God they didn’t want to kill me. It actually came as a bit of a shock. I didn’t expect Nazis with moral boundaries. I looked up at them, wiping the rain, mud and what I assumed to be blood out of my eyes. The three of them spit on me, and then the one who had been sitting next to me in the back seat kicked me one more time, square in the face and shouted, “Who’s the inbred hick fuck now, fucker?” “Well, it’s still you,” I thought, touching the bruise on my face where the toe of the boot had connected, “kicking my ass doesn’t change that.” I kept this thought to myself, though. For the time being, at least, I had learned my lesson. The three Nazis walked back to their car then and left me lying alone, sprawled on the ground in pain, soaking wet and covered in mud and blood. I tried to raise myself up to my feet, but my legs gave out and I immediately fell back in the mud. “Shit,” I thought, “those guys really fucked me up.” I forced myself painfully to my knees. I didn’t think anything was broken, but until I started to walk I couldn’t possibly be sure. I had no idea what hour of the night it was at this point. It could be four or five in the morning for all I knew. I couldn’t judge how much time had elapsed since those fucking rednecks had picked me up. I looked around, in all directions. All I could see was grass and mud and rain and cows. It occurred to me then that, the vicious beating aside, I was much worse off than I had been when the inbred hick fucks had picked me up. I had been lost to begin with, but now I didn’t even know what direction to go in to find a road. I was well and truly fucked. I plopped my ass down in the mud one more time and just started to scream at the top of my lungs. I don’t know how long I sat there screaming. It could have been five minutes. It could have been an hour. It was impossible to tell. I was bleeding from multiple spots on my face and body and there was so much pain. Every part of my body hurt. Those stupid bastards had really fucked me up. Why the hell had I insisted on telling them what I really thought? At one point during my screaming, I looked over and there was a cow just a few feet away, looking absently at me. It must have wondered what this loud, obnoxious creature was doing out in the middle of its field. The cow didn’t look particularly menacing, more quizzical than anything else, but I did catch myself wondering if there was any way I’d be able to defend myself if the cow decided to charge me. Luckily, that never happened. I didn’t want the headline in the morning to read “Unknown Actor Trampled to Death by Cow.” I just kept screaming and screaming. I wasn’t doing it for any particular purpose. It was more that I just couldn’t think of anything else to do. If I got up and started walking; if I was, in fact, able to make it to my feet at all, I ran the risk of getting myself even farther from the road and making my chance for survival worse than it already was. I screamed for what seemed an eternity. “Somebody has got to hear me,” I thought. I decided I would scream and scream until someone, anyone, eventually showed up to help. “Please just don’t be more Nazis,” I thought. I was still screaming incoherently when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I turned half way around to see the flashing red and blue lights of a police car. “Oh, thank God,” I thought, “I’m saved. These cops will take me home.” You might not be surprised to know that I really don’t like cops. I hate them, in fact. As a general rule, they are never there when I fucking need them, but always manage to show up when I’m speeding, or running a red light, or transporting a shitload of heroin and hashish across state lines. Cops are not my friends any more than Nazis are. On this one occasion, however, I was overjoyed to see them. I stopped screaming completely at this point. I didn’t want to look like a total idiot. I’m sure I looked bad enough without the screaming. The lights were about a hundred yards away from me. Those fuckers had really dragged me far from the road. I kept staring at the lights to see if anyone was coming towards me, but for the longest time there were just the lights, no movement at all. “What the hell was taking them so long?” I thought. Couldn’t they see I was in trouble here? Finally, I started to see two tiny figures moving towards me in the rain. I stared at them as they got closer, trying with all my might not to start screaming again. It took every bit of my will power, though. In the end, I couldn’t fight it anymore and started waving my arms and shouting, “Hey, over here. I’m hurt bad. Over here.” When the cops got close, I could see that one was a guy and one was a girl. Rather than looking like they were happy to see me, however, they both looked like they were pissed that they had to get all wet on account of me. “Okay, quiet now,” the male cop said to me when he got within a couple of yards, “You can stop screaming now.” I stopped immediately. I hadn’t realized that I had still been screaming. The two cops stopped right in front of me, looking down. I got the distinct feeling that they were observing me like they might a bug they were about to crush. They stood that way for a few moments, before the female cop said to me, “Well, what exactly is going on here?” “Yeah buddy,” the other cop added, “don’t you think it’s time you left these poor cows alone?” “What?” I replied to them, trying to get to my feet, “These fucking Nazi guys brought me out here and beat the shit out of me.” “Hey now,” the female cop said, “watch the language. Is it necessary to have such a foul mouth?” As she said this, the other cop reached out with his foot and pushed me back down into the mud. “Why don’t you just stay where you are?” he said, “You can tell your story from there.” “They beat me up,” I answered, trying to get all the story out now in one breath so that they might believe and help me, “I was walking home from a party and hitched a ride from these guys with Nazi tattoos and they started giving me a hard time, so I called them inbred hick fucks, sorry but that’s what I said. I called them this name, so they pulled the car over to the side of the road and dragged me out here and beat me up. There were three of them and I tried to fight back and defend myself, but they were all attacking me at once and there was nothing I could do except try and defend my face from getting kicked.” “Wow, this guy’s really got a story to tell,” the male cop said, looking at the female cop. He then turned back to me and added, “How much have you had to drink, buddy?” “Uh…,” I answered, stunned, “what’s that got to do with anything?” “It has a whole to do with a lot of things,” the male cop responded, “There’s actually a law against public intoxication.” “Yeah, I’ve heard that somewhere before,” I said, looking from one cop to the other for some sign of compassion. I didn’t see any. I tried to find something else to say but nothing came to my lips. I was dumbfounded. I had told them the whole story of those violent Nazi scumbags and these two stupid cops actually thought that I was the criminal here. These fucking cops were proving to be as useless as all the rest. “C’mon now,” the female cop said as they both reached down to pull me up by my arms, “haven’t you bothered these poor cows enough?” “Yeah,” the other cop added, “maybe we should let them get some sleep.” Both cops started laughing then as they dragged me, tripping and stumbling, the hundred or so yards back to the police car. Every once in a while, one cop would look at the other one and repeat their hilarious joke, “Let them get some sleep.” Then the two of them would both bust out laughing. When we got back to the road and the police car, the female cop threw open the door and the guy cop tossed me unceremoniously in the back seat. “You’re going to get a little time to rest,” he said to me as he closed the door, “Don’t you dare vomit back there.” I must have passed out on the way back to the police station because I don’t remember any details about it at all. I remember being wet and filthy and uncomfortable but there is nothing else. The two cops could have laughed at me or taunted me the whole way, or they could have passed the entire ride in total silence. I have no way of knowing. I do remember arriving at the police station, because the guy cop pulled me so hard from the car that I smashed my head on the doorway as I came out. I thought cops were supposed to protect your head. Maybe that was only getting in the car, not getting out. Fuck, it hurt. I could tell I was going to have a big bump there on top of the damage that the inbred hick fucks had done to me. The two of them each held one of my arms to keep me steady as they dragged me up two flights of stairs. I was thinking the whole time about who I was going to bother when I got the one phone call they always give you. They carried me into a wide room with another cop standing behind a big counter at the end. I didn’t like the look of this one. He looked like a real asshole. In fact, he looked pretty similar to the fuckers I had been in the car with and who had beaten the shit out of me. He had blue eyes and short blond hair and that typical Nazi look of total condescension when his eyes met mine.  “Christ,” I thought, “the two who had arrested me and brought me in might be the nice ones.” Chances were that I was pretty fucked here. “What do we got here?” he said to the cops who brought me in. “Drunk in public,” the female cop said. “We found him crying and screaming in a cow field,” the guy cop added, “He needs a night in the drunk tank to sleep it off.” “Alright then,” the cop behind the counter said, “Let’s get to it then.” The two who had arrested me left me with the asshole looking cop then and disappeared back into the night. I guess they were off to arrest some other poor slob who had been beaten senseless by Nazis. The majority of the booking process that followed occurred in almost complete silence. The asshole looking cop may have said one or two words to me the entire time but that was the extent of it. He took my mugshot and my fingerprints, and I had to blow into some balloon like thing, I guess it was to measure my level of drunkenness. It was totally unnecessary. If he would have just asked I would have gladly told him how drunk I was. “Alright,” he said when we were finished with that, “I think it’s tank time for you.” “Don’t I get a phone call?” I asked him. I had been going over my options and I planned to call my friend, Satlin, who was a guy I’d known for a long time and who had been at the performance of the terrible play earlier in the evening. Damn, that seemed like a lifetime ago now. I’d been wracking my brain and Satlin was the only one I could think of who might be interested in me getting the hell out of here. It wasn’t that he cared so much about my wellbeing, but Satlin had a sick sense of humor and would want to make sure I was safe and ready to give another over-the-top performance of “The Feeling Child.” In response, however, the asshole looking cop just slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. After he had giggled and chortled his fill, he looked at me and said, “No phone call. Now, take off your clothes.” “Wh…what?” I replied to him. “I said give me your clothes,” he said to me, biting off the words right in my face, “You’re not getting in my tank wearing all that filthy, stinking shit.” “M…my clothes?” “Yes, your clothes. Go ahead now. I’ll wait.” So, I proceeded to strip naked in front of the asshole cop. He didn’t seem to be enjoying it, thank God. It wasn’t one of those things, at least. As I mentioned earlier, I naturally always think the worst of cops and It would surprise me not the tiniest little bit to find out they made a habit of raping and murdering the people they arrest. To be perfectly honest, though, it felt pretty good to take my clothes off. I had been wet and covered in mud for so long that I had kind of gotten used to it, but it was a bit of a relief to finally be rid of the clothes. When I got down to just my underwear, I thought of asking if he wanted me to continue but I knew the answer already, so I just stripped them off and threw them onto the pile of my clothes on the floor. “Okay, what now?” I said to him when I was finished, standing completely naked in front of him. “Now I say nighty-night,” He answered, taking me by the arm and leading me down a short hallway to a room with a very thick door and an extremely tiny window. I assume the window was for checking on what was inside rather than looking out. The asshole looking cop opened the door and I peered inside. There were two other guys already in there, sitting on the floor. For some reason, they had been allowed to keep their clothes. The walls and floor were all heavily padded, and other than the two guys, there was nothing in the room but a dirty toilet in one corner. “Home sweet home,” I thought. “Hey look, I got a friend for you guys,” the asshole looking cop said, then threw me roughly into the room. Luckily everything was padded because I smashed hard into one wall and slid to the ground. What was it with people throwing me around? The two guys didn’t even look at me. they were both in their own little worlds. Then the asshole looking cop slammed the door and left me alone with my new friends. I looked up from where I was now squatting uncomfortably against the wall. The excitement had roused the two other guys in the cell and they were now looking in my direction. Both of them looked like redneck guys in their mid to late 50s. They were wearing jeans, flannel shirts, and red MAGA caps, and both of them had long cracker beards, like the assholes on Duck Dynasty. They eyed me like a piece of meat. I was trying to figure out if they wanted to kill me or fuck me, or both. “Christ almighty,” I said to myself, “how many fucking rednecks does a guy have to deal with in one evening?” They were both the same evil person as far as I was concerned, so I don’t remember which of them spoke first. Maybe it was the one closest to me, maybe it was the other one. It doesn’t make any difference. One of them, however, asked me then, “So, what are you in for?” “I was arrested for being drunk in public,” I answered, feeling that I had nothing really to gain by lying about my situation at this point, and really, who gave a damn what these rejects thought of me, “but in truth I had the shit beat out of me by these three guys and I was left out in a field to die. The cops decided not to believe any of that, though. They think I did this shit to myself somehow and decided to drag me in.” The two of them sat up a little straighter against the wall, and this time I’m certain it was the one closest to me who said, “Those motherfuckers. They never fail to let the bad guys run wild in the streets and arrest the decent, law-abiding folks.” “Right?” I responded. I was pretty sure that when he said “bad guys” he meant immigrants and African Americans. I thought it best to keep that to myself for the time being, however. “What the fuck did they do with your clothes?” the other one said to me. “They told me to take them off,” I answered,” I thought they were going to give me new ones. “Those motherfuckers,” the first one said again, “Did they at least give you a motherfuckin’ phone call?” “No,” I said, feeling like I was starting to win them to my cause, “I asked for a phone call and they just laughed at me.” “Goddamnit,” the second one said, and the first one chimed in with another “motherfuckers.” “Yeah,” I told them, “It doesn’t seem right to me. Does it seem right to you?” “Hell no,” the first one said, “it does not seem motherfuckin’ right. You are owed one goddamn phone call, like everybody else.” “Those bastards are robbin’ you of your rights,” the second one added. Both of these were certainly insufferable redneck racists in real life, but I sure needed someone on the me-team at this point, so anyone was welcome. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or some such nonsense, right? Never underestimate the comradery of shared whiteness. The two of them got up on their feet at this point and started pounding on the door and walls, shouting “Give this guy a phone call,” and “Everyone deserves a phone call,” and other stuff like that. I watched them in amazement for a while. I was pretty certain they had as good a chance of getting me beat up again as they did of getting me a phone call, but there was no way I was going to stop them. After a while, I got up myself and started pounding the walls and shouting with them. I was not unaware of how ridiculous I looked doing this, being naked and all, with my junk bobbing up and down every time I pounded the foam rubber wall. All this accomplished nothing, however. The cops never showed up and eventually, my two new friends gave up, sitting back down in pretty damn near their original positions and passing out. Mercifully, it wasn’t too much longer before I passed out myself. I was roused by a sharp kick in my already badly bruised and painful ribs. “Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I exclaimed, as I opened my eyes to see the asshole looking cop standing over me. He had my clothes in his hands. They were folded neatly, so maybe someone had washed them in the night. “Get up, buddy,” He said to me, “It looks like you’re in luck.” “What?” I replied, not understanding. “You’re in luck,” he said again, “It looks like somebody loves you. Now get your ass up and let’s go. I don’t have all day.” I looked around the room and my new friends were both gone. I wondered for a second what had happened to them, but then the asshole cop kicked me in the fucking ribs again, so I got myself up and followed him. He led me out of the padded cell and motioned silently to a bathroom just outside, handing me my clothes as he did so. “Why are they letting me go?” I wondered to myself, and what had the asshole looking cop meant when he said, “It looks like somebody loves you.”? I slowly got into my now clean clothes. It was difficult because of all the cuts, abrasions and bruises I had suffered from the night before. I had been hoping all that had been a bad dream. Apparently, it was all too real. I checked my poor, battered face in the mirror. “Fuck,” I thought, “Those inbred hick fucks really did a number on me.” I opened the bathroom door and the asshole looking cop was still there waiting for me. He took me by the arm and led me back to the very same room where this trip to the looney bin had begun. Satlin was sitting there, waiting for me. I should have guessed. Who else had enough riding on my continuing to breath air? He had an expression on his face that said, “What idiotic situation have you gotten yourself into this time?” It looked like he was having serious difficulty holding back a laugh. Satlin has always been fond of telling other people that they should only spend time with me if they want their entire lives turned upside down. Of course, this comes from a wealth of his personal experience. One time Satlin and I been walking together to the movies, when a car came screeching around a bend in the road and plowed us down in the intersection we were crossing. The car hit Satlin’s leg and spun him to the ground, but I jumped and and ended up on the hood, hanging onto the windshield wipers. The first thing Satlin said after the car had sped away was “This is all your fault.” I was pretty certain he was really enjoying seeing me like this. The asshole looking cop pushed me, not entirely gently, in Satlin’s direction and said, “He’s all yours. Don’t let him take you on a tour of any cow fields.” Then, he threw his head back and let loose with one last hideous guffaw. Fuck, I fucking hate cops. Almost as much as Nazis. Of course, there’s probably a lot of crossover there. On the way home, neither Satlin or I spoke a single word to each other. I wasn’t in the mood, with my head banging and pounding like someone was playing an NFL game inside of it. Satlin must have known it wasn’t a great time to give me any shit about what had happened. There’d be plenty of time to hear the whole story and to bust my chops later. When we got to my apartment, I got out of the car without saying goodbye and walked into my place. The first thing I did was to draw myself a hot bath and place my wounded body into the blissfully warm water. “What a fucking night,” I thought. I spent the rest of the day in the bath, not being able to pull myself out, wondering if I’d ever learn to keep my big fat mouth closed. The moral of the story, of course, is I should give my life to Jesus, and I should spend my days praying and imitating Norman Rockwell paintings so that shit like this doesn’t happen to me. If that’s too extreme for me to handle, then maybe I should go to an AA meeting and get a grip on my drinking problem, or at least learn how to leave a party while there are still drugs and alcohol waiting to be consumed. None of those things are going to happen, of course. The best I may achieve is to learn to keep some of my more unflattering thoughts inside my head where they belong, instead of blurting them out in people’s faces. At least around inbred hick fucks.

Max Mundan, Inbred Hick Fucks

© Max Mundan 2018

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[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 21 May – St Eugene de Mazenod O.M.I. (1782-1861) Priest, Bishop, Founder of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, Evangeliser, Missionary Preacher, Apostle of the poor and marginalised – born Charles-Joseph-Eugène de Mazenod on 1 August 1782 at Aix-en-Provence, southern France and died on 21 May 1861 at Marseille, France of cancer.   When his body was exhumed in 1936 it was found to be incorrupt.   Patronages – refugees, missionaries, families.

Eugene de Mazenod was born into an aristocratic family, on 1 August 1782 and baptised the following day in the Église de la Madeleine in Aix-en-Provence.   His father, Charles Antoine de Mazenod, was one of the Presidents of the Court of Finances and his mother was Marie Rose Joannis.   Eugene began his schooling at the College Bourbon but this was interrupted by the events of the French Revolution.   With the approach of the French revolutionary forces, the family was forced to flee to Italy.   Image below - St Eugene aged 5.

He became a boarder at the College of Nobles in Turin but a move to Venice meant the end to formal schooling.   With their money running out, Eugene’s father was forced to seek various employments, none of which were successful.   His mother and sister returned to France – eventually seeking a divorce so as to be able to regain their property that had been seized.   Eugene was fortunate to be welcomed by the Zinelli family in Venice.   This is how it happened:

One day when Eugene was playing at the window of his house, Fr Bartolo Zinelli (1766-1803) appeared on the other side of the street and asked him, “Are you not afraid of wasting your time?” “Alas, responded Eugene, it is really awful, but what can I do?   I am a foreigner here without any books available to me.”  “Well, then”, replied Don Bartolo, “I am right in my library at the moment and here I have many books in Latin, Italian and French.”   Having said this, he took up the stick that was used to bar the shutters and put a book on it and passed it over the narrow, approximately one and one half meter street.

After having read the book, Eugene, following the advice of his father, went to Don Bartolo’s house to thank him for this kind gesture.  “Well,” said Don Bartolo, “do you see this lovely library?   All of these books are available to you as well.”   Then, Don Bartolo showed Eugene his study where he and his brother Don Pietro used to study and told him, “You can take the place here of my younger brother who has died.”   Eugene could not contain his joy.   “Well, then, you can begin tomorrow already.”

Fr Bartolo Zinelli  took special care of Eugene and saw to his education in the well-provided family library where the young adolescent spent many hours each day and was a major influence in the human, academic and spiritual development of Eugene.

Once again the French army chased the émigrés from Venice, forcing Eugene and his father and two uncles to seek refuge in Naples for less than a year and, finally, to flee to Palermo in Sicily.   Here Eugene was invited to become part of the household of the Duke and Duchess of Cannizaro as a companion to their two sons.   Being part of the high society of Sicily became the opportunity for Eugene to rediscover his noble origins and to live a lavish style of life.   He took to himself the title of ‘Comte’ (“Count”) de Mazenod, did all the courtly things and dreamed of a bright future.

Spiritual journey of conversion At the age of twenty, Eugene returned to France and lived with his mother in Aix en Provence.   Initially he enjoyed all the pleasures of Aix as a rich young nobleman, intent on the pursuit of pleasure and money – and a rich girl who would bring a good dowry. Gradually he became aware of how empty his life was and began to search for meaning in more regular church involvement, reading and personal study and charitable work among prisoners.   His journey came to a climax on Good Friday, 1807 when he was 25 years old.   Looking at the sight of the Cross, he had a religious experience.   The sight of the oblation of Jesus on the Cross, with his arms outstretched in love, led Eugene to respond in love:  “What more glorious occupation than to act in everything and for everything only for God, to love Him above all else, to love Him all the more as one who has loved Him too late.”

Priest In 1808, he expressed his desire for dedication to Jesus the Saviour by beginning his studies for the priesthood at the Saint-Sulpice Seminary in Paris and was ordained a priest at Amiens (Picardy), on 21 December 1811.    Since Napoleon had expelled the Sulpician priest from the seminary, Eugene stayed on as a formator for a semester.   As a member of the Seminary, notwithstanding personal risk, Eugene committed himself to serve and assist Pope Pius VII, who at this time was a prisoner of emperor Napoleon I at Fontainebleau.   In this way, he experienced at firsthand, the suffering of the post-Revolutionary Church.

On his return to Aix, Father de Mazenod asked not to be assigned to a parish but to dedicate himself fully to evangelising those who were not being touched by the structures of the local church:  the poor who spoke only the Provençal language, prisoners, youth, the inhabitants of poor villages who were ignorant of their faith.   His constant message was, to invite people to enter into the same experience of Jesus, that he had at his conversion.   Looking at everyone and every situation through the eyes of the Saviour, he showed the poor the human and spiritual dignity that was theirs and taught them how to live in relationship with the Saviour.   The goal of his priestly preaching and ministry was always to lead others to develop themselves fully as humans, then as Christians and finally to become saints.

Oblates of Mary Immaculate On 25 January 1816, “impelled by a strong impulse from outside of himself” he invited other priests to join him in his life of total oblation to God and to the most abandoned of Provence.   Initially called “Missionaries of Provence,” they dedicated themselves to evangelization through preaching parish missions in the poor villages, youth and prison ministry.   In 181, a second community was established, at the Marian shrine of Notre Dame du Laus.   This became the occasion for the missionaries to become a religious congregation, united through vows and the evangelical counsels.   Changing their name to Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate, the group received papal approbation on 17 February 1826.

Foreign Missions In 1841, Bishop Bourget of Montreal invited the Oblates to Canada.   At the same time there was an outreach to the British Isles.   This was the beginning of an inspiring history of missionary outreach to the most abandoned peoples in Canada, United States, Mexico, England and Ireland, Algeria, Southern Africa and Ceylon during the Founder’s lifetime. In 200 years this zeal spread and took root in the establishment of the Oblates in nearly 70 countries.

Bishop

From 1837 to 1861, he was the Bishop of Marseille, in Provence (south-eastern France). During his episcopacy, he commissioned Notre-Dame de la Garde (image below), an ornate Neo-Byzantine basilica on the south side of the old port of Marseille  . He inspired local priest Joseph-Marie Timon-David to found the Congregation of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Marseille in 1852.

Towards the end of his life, Eugene had become very free.   Faced with the prospect of the Cardinalate which had been promised and which slipped away from him because of political considerations, he had this to say:  “After all, it is all the same whether one is buried in a red cassock or a purple one;  the main thing is that the bishop gets to heaven”.

Shortly before his death on May 21, 1861, in keeping with his temperament, the elderly and seriously ill bishop said to those around him:  “Should I happen to doze off, or if I appear to be getting worse, please wake me up!   I want to die knowing that I am dying”. His last words to the Oblates were a testament that summed up his life:  “Practice well among yourselves charity, charity, charity and outside, zeal for the salvation of souls”.   Saint Eugene died on Pentecost Sunday, to the prayer of the Salve Regina.   It was his final salute on earth to the one he considered as the “Mother of the Mission”.

St Eugene was Beatified on 19 October 1975 by Blessed Pope Paul VI and Canonised on 3 December 1995 by Sr Pope John Paul II.

21 May 2017 – more info from Vatican Resources on St Eugene:  https://anastpaul.wordpress.com/2017/05/21/saint-of-the-day-21-may-st-eugene-de-mazenod-o-m-i/

Above -  On the 150th anniversary of the Death of St Eugene in the Basilica he built, Notre-Dame de la Garde. Marseilles

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Chicago Tribune: 50 FFWPU / UC members allegedly joined Aum Shinrikyo in Japan. Aum later carried out the 1995 sarin gas attack on the Tokyo subway.

                           1995 Tokyo subway attack

Chicago Tribune   January 5, 2001 By Uli Schmetzer, Tribune Foreign Correspondent.

In Japan, Spirituality Search Can Lead To Cults

1,100 Former Followers Of A Guru Known As The Voice Of Heaven Have Filed Lawsuits Claiming Damages Totaling $546 Million.

KISARAZU, Japan — The cure came to Tsuneo Kikuchi in the form of a dapper, silver-haired messiah—“His Holiness” Hogen Fukunaga, who promised Kikuchi long life and a place among the chosen when “the world falls apart.”

In the guru’s private chamber, an austere room with a ceiling of painted stars, Fukunaga, known to his followers as the Voice of Heaven, ordered Kikuchi to take off his socks so he could examine his feet.

"Your little toe is too short," the Voice of Heaven said. "It means your foot is out of balance. It means you have a health problem. Now let me check if the powers of heaven are flowing."

The kind of metaphysics preached by Fukunaga, 55, has attracted millions of Japanese, many disillusioned by the decline of Japan’s economy and the social displacement that has followed. Sociologists say many questionable spiritual organizations are operating in the vacuum created by a protracted recession that has eroded the confidence of this work-oriented society.

For generations, many Japanese workers believed that their future in their nation’s hierarchical corporate system was guaranteed and that their jobs would last forever.

These assumptions have been shattered.

Unemployment and economic uncertainty have created feelings of betrayal and insecurity that have led large numbers of Japanese on a search for spiritual guidance. In some cases, the search has led to membership in a cult.

"In Japan moral precepts have collapsed," said Masahiko Nakamura, a psychology professor at Ehime University. "Parents have lost authority. Teachers cannot control their students. Older people have naught to cling to. Nothing has replaced the old spiritual education since the war, and no one has taught us about God or the power behind mankind. The Japanese are lost. We don’t have the Christian belief that God is watching over us," he said.

The search for a new credo and an alternative to corporate cradle-to-grave security has spawned a bevy of individuals peddling their own weird brands of salvation. These spiritual gurus run organizations structured on the corporate system of strict hierarchy. Most seem determined to export their credos to branch offices abroad.

The worst of these organizations are the doomsday cults. Secretive and often brutal in preventing desertions, they prophesy Armageddon or promote a “new world order.”

The public was reminded just how dangerous some of these groups can be when a Tokyo court last year sentenced to death two members of the Aum Shinri Kyo for their role in planting sarin nerve gas on the Tokyo subway in 1995 and cyanide in public toilets a year earlier.

The most notorious of the doomsday gurus is Shoko Asahara, 44, now on trial for murder in the subway attack. The incident allegedly was part of a plan to destroy the “old world” and make room for a new creation—populated by Asahara’s disciples.

Police were told Asahara was trained by the Agon-shu sect.

Fifty members of the Unification Church sect allegedly joined Aum, including arms dealer Kiyohide Hayakawa.

Another cult, Sukyo Mahikari, sees Japan as the cradle of a new world order. Yoshikazu Okada, who reinvented himself as “Savior of Mankind,” founded the group. Today it has branches worldwide, including in the U.S.

Okada was exposed before his death in 1974 as the lieutenant colonel in the Japanese Imperial Army who devised the strategy for the so-called Rape of Nanking, in which Japanese troops allegedly murdered 300,000 Chinese and raped 20,000 women after conquering the Chinese city in 1937.

In an effort to crack down on sects, Japanese police in November charged Koji Takahashi, founder of the Life Space Cult, with the murder of a 66-year-old follower. When the member suffered a brain hemorrhage, the guru tried to cure him by beating on the patient’s head.

During a raid on Takahashi’s Tokyo headquarters, police found young children who had been kept out of school and being fed only once a day.

Meanwhile, Fukunaga has been charged with fraud and illegally practicing medicine.

Kikuchi recalls that Fukunaga circled him, touched his head a few times and finally said: “Your energy is stagnant. Only 30 percent flows, 70 percent is stationary. It means something bad can happen to you anytime unless you follow our instructions.”

All Kikuchi, 69, had been looking for was a cure for his high blood pressure.

Yet he was impressed, not so much by the pledge of long life or the diagnosis but by the photos in the guru’s outer office. They appeared to show Fukunaga shaking hands with world figures including President Clinton, Pope John Paul II, Mother Teresa and Mikhail Gorbachev.

What happened during the next 12 months to Kikuchi is not unusual for victims of neo-religious cults and sects anywhere in the world. He lost his self-respect and some $150,000 to the Ho-No-Hana Sanpopogyo—Way of the Flower/Three-Teachings cult.

The so-called foot cult was founded by Fukunaga, who wears $5,000 suits and custom-made Italian shoes. His wife, according to senior cult members, regularly spent $6,000 to $7,000 a month shopping.

Before he was allowed to see Fukunaga, Kikuchi was taken to an automatic teller machine near the cult’s Tokyo office and told to withdraw $1,800 for a personal audience.

Kikuchi was a man of means. He owned several restaurants in this small coastal town 50 miles south of Tokyo. Today he claims he was coerced during a number of visits by cult officials to shell out another $22,000 for a five-day training seminar at the cult’s sprawling headquarters below Mt. Fuji.

The purpose, he said, was to “purify” his mind and body.

"I was a fool," said a rueful Kikuchi. "I paid all that money to be brainwashed and tortured. The instructors kept 28 of us awake day and night, making us repeat Buddhist mantras, making us write mantras into a 100-page notebook and chorus for hours the guru’s seven commandments and the slogan: ‘I am happy and healthy, I’m happy and healthy…’ "

Any lack of enthusiasm was punished with latrine cleaning.

At the end of the seminar, tired, groggy and ready to accept or do anything, the trainees were asked to state if their minds had been liberated. Kikuchi said he felt no different.

"So they retrained me twice and all the other trainees started screaming and yelling at me until I admitted I now felt different. They are very determined people and made me sign a piece of paper pledging to recruit someone else within 72 hours. I would have signed anything," he said.

He recruited his wife. She paid another $22,000 and recruited their daughter-in-law who in turn recruited her husband, who, in desperation to find a recruit, offered as trainees his three children ages 9, 11 and 13.

"It didn’t stop there," Kikuchi said. "They told me to join a private school at 7 million yen [$6,900] per adult. But we had become suspicious by then. The Voice of Heaven never told us anything about the future. All he ever said was: `Who can you bring to us next?’

"Before he went to the seminar my son was in debt already for $100,000. But the Voice of Heaven told him he would recover everything if he joined. Today my son is broke and I am poor," Kikuchi said.

Two years ago Kikuchi and a group of other former followers sued His Holiness. Their suit is one of hundreds waiting to be litigated.

In May, police arrested the guru and 11 of his senior associates. Prosecutors charged them with practicing medicine without a license.

Investigators said that over the past decade the cult accumulated cash and assets worth $870 million from 30,000 members who paid consultation fees and bought fake remedies and icons peddled as cures for anything and everything.

So far 1,100 former followers have filed lawsuits claiming damages totaling $546 million. A court in central Fukuoka district already has awarded one group damages totaling $227,000.

Fukunaga might yet face manslaughter charges in the deaths of four recruits who died during rigorous initiation rites at Mt. Fuji.

Legal experts say Japan’s criminal justice system is ill equipped to combat the cult phenomenon.

"The biggest question is on what basis will the authorities decide whether this is fraud," said Takashi Hirohashi, editor of the monthly New Religions magazine.

Following his arrest, Fukunaga exploited this dilemma. He simply told investigators he could no longer remember what the divine voice had told him.

Worse, he said, he wasn’t receiving any more instructions.

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2001-01-05/news/0101050185_1_gurus-new-world-order-spiritual

FFWPU and Aum Shinrikyo connections