“Do not speak to your betters, wretch!”
Another kick to the gut had me coughing and choking on the floor of the cell. The chains binding me jangled and rattled in a mockingly musical manner. Fighting to get my breath under control, I let myself crumple to the bare stone to avoid drawing any further ire. The man who’d kicked me had curly black hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. His green velvet cloak was pinned by a gold brooch studded with emeralds showing a pair of boars trying to run in opposite directions but tied to each other by the hind legs. There was neither pity nor mercy in his eyes. Seeing no more outward signs of defiance from me, he turned back to Radim Starek.
“Not this one.”
Starek gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. Radim Starek was bald and fat, with jowls that overhung the collar of his brocaded ochre coat. He wore tall boots and had an elaborately beaded sash about his expansive waist. The switch of braided hide tucked under his arm was the usual rebuke, though this time it had delivered by the customer’s boot leather. As the two stepped out of the cell, a subtle movement caught my eye. Something had fallen from the pouch of the green-cloaked man. I waited until both he and Radim were gone before slithering over to take a closer look. It was a short, thin length of steel with a decorative silver knot soldered to one end. A toothpick. A smirk bent my features as I moved back into the corner of the cell. I hid the toothpick along the base of the wall and waited. It was hard to suppress the urge to use this first sliver of hope too soon.
Ever since the pirates had taken our ship and I’d been clapped in irons, I’d been looking for an opening to get away. Even after I’d been sold ashore, I refused to abandon the possibility of escape. But I had to not squander my opportunity. I had to still be here for the dinnertime count to maximize the time before my absence was discovered. So I waited.
As the light outside started to dim, one of Radim’s trusted slaves delivered a tiny bowl of barley gruel. It was stewed to a consistency of a thick paste, and no implements were provided. There was enough of the bland mush there to keep me alive, but not sufficient for much else. I ate it anyway and left the wooden bowl where they expected to find it. After the bowl was collected, I got the pick out from where it lay. The toothpick was not the perfect implement for teasing open a lock, but the locks on my irons were not that complex.
Cool air washed over the raw skin of my neck and wrists as I freed myself from my bonds. Just to be able to stand without the weight of chains upon my back buoyed my spirits immediately. The wooden door to the cell was bolted from the outside, but there was no lock, and my arm fit between the iron pars of the window. I pawed about blindly along the outer face of the door, my shoulder jammed against the bars. My fingertips barely touched the edges of the bolt. Clenching my jaw against the curse in my throat, I teased the bolt with my fingertips, trying to ease it along its tracks. Frustration built anew as it failed to budge. As I eased back to let the blood flow more freely into my arm, I heard the bolt rattle. It was loose, why wasn’t it moving? I reached back out again and epiphany struck. I was leaning against the door to push my arm through as far as it would go. That was binding the bolt against the bracket.
Grabbing the edge of the window with my free hand, I pulled the door towards me to release the pressure on the bolt. I ached from the rough wood biting into my skin, digging in the splinters. But the bolt nudged along its track. Elated, I walked my fingertips along the iron, dragging it slowly free from the bracket on the frame. Choler welled up inside of my as the bolt stopped. I was too close, I just needed to…
The door swung out as I was trying to open the bolt further than fully open. I squelched the momentary giddiness as I stumbled into the hallway. Rather than let a momentary laugh give me away, I breathed deep of the less stagnant air here. Recovering my toothpick, I closed the cell door and returned the bolt to its closed position. Gloom filled the hallway. I tempered my excitement. Out of my cell was not free. I still had to get out of the building, and past any guard Starek had. Only problem was, I didn’t know my way around. I’d been chained up in that cell since I’d arrived. There had to be windows somewhere, because sunlight leaked into the cell block. A few moments of creeping about and I spotted the twinkle of starlight. It was through a slot in the wall near the ceiling. Approaching it, my fingers found the lower lip of the window. I reached higher and frowned. There were bars, about as closely spaced as those in the window of the cell door.
Still, I grabbed hold of the bars and pulled myself high enough to peer out. The window was at ground level, and the cool stone my body rested against retained the earth inside a courtyard. A sliver of moon gave enough light to pick out the square shape of the open area. Neatly fitted stone setts paved the space, giving it an orderly air. The curtain-dimmed glow within windows higher up showed several floors. This place was not small.
I lowered myself back to the floor and moved along the wall to my right. The hall ended in a stout wooden door. Unlike the cells, this one did have a lock, and a keyhole that pierced the mechanism. It was not as simplistic as the locks on the irons, and probing the mechanism with the toothpick had my nerves on edge. I bit my lower lip to avoid cursing as I figured out the lock. I could disengage the mechanism, but in order to withdraw the latch, I needed a second implement. I paced back down the hall, my bare feet almost silent on the stone flags. An examination of the lock on the door at the other end of the hall found very much the same manner of mechanism. Trying not to let out a noise of irritation, I paced back the other way again. I was out of my cell, but I couldn’t get out of this hallway. I was tantalizingly close.
It just wasn’t right. I couldn’t have failed already. I could-
I could feel something metal underfoot.
Kneeling, I ran my fingers over the metallic object. It was a grate covering a drain. Why was there a drain in here? My mind went back to the windows and the neatly paved courtyard. When it rained, water would spill through the windows and would need someplace to go. I traced my fingers along the outside of the drain cover. It was small, but I’d lost weight in captivity. I might just be able to fit through it if I got the grate off. Holding the toothpick between my lips, I hooked my fingers under the metal grille and pulled up.
The sudden grinding noise was like a deafening cry in the silence.
“Who’s out there?” one of the slaves from the other cells called.
“Is somebody out there?” Another asked.
“What’s going on?” came a third.
I ignored them and strained against my atrophied muscles to tear the small grate out of its dirt-encrusted frame. Dragging the cover aside, I reached down into the hole. There was a small dribble of moisture along the bottom. Not a lot, but enough to tell which direction it was flowing. The space was tight, but I slipped in feet-first and pulled myself along the channel. Fitted stone brushed suffocatingly close to my face as I entombed myself within the drain. The water ran along my spine and soaked my shorts as I pulled myself along. Both of my sides brushed against the edges of the channel, and I had to almost bury my face in my arm to avoid scraping my nose off. I could only inch along iota by iota, but the trickle of water helped slicken my path.
Into the inky blackness I passed, my nose clogging with the scent of my own body and of stale mildew. I nudged my rear along by pushing against the ceiling with my hands until my knees threatened to get lodged. Then I dragged my legs straight again using my heels. Wiggling down the passageway, I dare not stop, nor think about what would happen if I ran into an obstruction. There was much that water could get around that I could not. With the walls pressed in on me, I fought not to cry out. Holding the toothpick helped. I dared not speak, lest I accidentally inhale it. Progress was maddening, as ages crept by and I knew I couldn’t be past the back wall of the cells. But I had to keep going. Stopping or retreating were no longer options.
My feet emerged into a wider passage. Not a wide passage, and one that ran perpendicular to my drain. Testing the flow of water along its bottom, I twisted my body to transition to sliding in that direction as I wormed around the corner. I almost got wedged against the far wall when my backside reached it. Scrunching up my bruised middle, I dragged my feet along the far wall as I tried to convince my spine to bend just a little bit more. The corner of the drain bit into my ribs and I forced as much of the air from my lungs as I could squeeze out. The corner struck me in the armpit and I slipped free, flopping into the flow within the new passage.
I gasped around the pick between my teeth and blinked against the blackness. There was no light down here, so the random pinpricks of closed eyelids danced before my open eyes. This space was not roomy, but it was bigger. I could now scoot along instead of wiggling. I followed the water. Drains tended to get larger the further down the flow you went. Sooner or later, it should spit me out in a river or harbor. Of course, there could be another grate there. I shoved the thought from my mind. I would deal with that when I came to it. For now, I had a passage to scoot along, and I didn’t want to ask what were the skittering things I kept brushing aside as I moved. At least they didn’t bite me.
A brazen rat bounded over my chest.
My heart pounded and I almost yelped as it passed further up the drain. Only the determination to not get the toothpick lodged in my throat stilled my voice. In the dark, amidst the vermin, awash in gods knew what, I struggled to regain my composure. If I kept moving, I would be free. Every moment of rage and frustration spent in chains flooded back to me. I was not going to lose it here. Willing my fright-frozen limbs back into motion, I resumed dragging myself down the tight passage. No, it was not a tight passage, merely narrow. The first drain had been far tighter. I could almost see this one as roomy. I tried not to laugh at myself. It wasn’t even taller than the length of my thighs. Whatever descriptor, I was moving again, and faster than I was before.
All drains were built to lead somewhere, and this one was no exception.
I lost the toothpick in the cistern as I splashed into the fetid liquid accumulating in it. The cistern was tall enough that I was able to stand up as I fought to spit the retch-inducing taste out of my mouth. My hands rested against the vaulted roof of the tiny chamber as I coughed and spat in a vain attempt to rid myself of the lingering flavor of a half mouthful of the foul fluids. I couldn’t stay here, I’d choke myself to death. Picking along the perimeter of the cistern, I looked for an exit. It was not hard to find, though I did have to crawl into it. This passage had a dry, flat bottom and a rounded barrel vault of a roof. Still not very big, it struck me as an overflow release for the cistern.
Wet and reeking of aromas I didn’t even want to contemplate, I refused to let the physical ordeal drag on me. Forward was freedom. There was no way I was still under Radim Starek’s slave house. This passage came out into a larger dry cistern. I could not feel the roof and I dare not venture away from the wall into the inky blackness. Unpleasantness crunched underfoot, and stale, stagnant air filled the space. Though I had trouble smelling it over what I was dripping with. I followed the wall to my right. It was no better or worse a choice than any other, and easily reversed if I found out otherwise.
I almost didn’t believe my eyes when a gray light oozed into the space. What time was it? Was this the first seeping light of dawn? No, however long I’d spent in the passages, it hadn’t been all night. The weak light was spilling down from a gap in the ceiling. The parallel lines of a ladder cut into the wall led up to it. My atrophied limbs protested the effort as I mounted the ladder and forced them to climb. They shook and trembled lifting my reduced body weight, but lift it they did. The light was brighter at the top of the ladder.
The ragged edges in the gap in the ceiling showed where metal bars had been removed. The floor surface around it had been torn up and was in the process of being refinished for laying a new mosaic. The vaulted roof of the passageway was in better shape, having been replastered already. A pale grid ran along the smooth surface, stopping where it reached sculpted elements. At the far end, a pair of figures had their backs to me. One sat, fastidiously copying lines from a sketch onto the wall grid. The other stood, shaking his head. A lantern rested on the floor between the two.
“It’s not going to fit at that scale. The grid is too big, there aren’t enough rows.”
“I know,” the seated one said.
“Then why are you still doing it?”
“I mentioned that the scale was off on the sketch because this hall was shorter than the others, but do you know what he said?”
“Let me guess,” the standing one said, “It was something like ‘I am the Master, and you are only the apprentice, you do what I tell you to.'”
“Almost word for word. So, I’m copying the sketch and am going to run out of room before I get their heads on the wall.”
“He’s going to yell.”
“He’s going to yell either way, at least this way I can say I did what he told me to.”
“Good luck,” the standing apprentice said. I ducked below the level of the floor as he turned in my direction. I didn’t dare shift my hands or feet to lower rungs and hung there, the pain and trembling in my limbs growing as the apprentice’s footfalls scuffed across the stone floor. The space grew brighter as his smaller lamp approached, leaving me painfully exposed. All he needed to do was glance down at an inopportune moment, and…
The unhurried footfalls continued to grow closer as my aching fingers began to slip. Hanging my body as low as I could manage was harder work than I’d asked of myself since being caged. In my position, I couldn’t figure out how to surreptitiously adjust my grip on the stone rungs. Staring helplessly at the molded plaster along the ridge of the ceiling vault, I listened to the footsteps growing closer. Surely there was no way he could miss me hanging right there, eyes-wide. And yet, all that passed over the hole was a sleeve and a paint-stained hand. As his steps began to recede past me, I had to pull myself onto straightened legs before my grip failed entirely. While this lurched my head and shoulders above the level of the floor, it was at least reasonably silent.
I glanced over my shoulder towards where the first apprentice was still transferring the sketch to the wall. While the way he sat left his back towards me, it meant he had a clear view of everything in the passage past him. The only other choice was the direction the second apprentice had gone. I had to keep moving, staying here was not an option. Putting an arm on the floor level, I resumed my climb, careful to minimize the noise I made. Rising to my feet, I kept one eye over my shoulder and another on the doorway as I inched away from the first apprentice. Reaching the arch, I had to turn my head to take in the next room.
The small lantern of the second apprentice provided only a dim ambient glow to most of the domed space. It glowed from somewhere up in scaffolding that had been erected to provide access to the dome interior. Patches of the original mural still clung to parts of the dome, though it was dominated by the gleaming white where a wedge shaped span had received fresh plaster. The light reflecting off this span was all that reached the tilework pool that had been drained of water and had collected a layer of old plaster dust. This had to be part of a bath house, albeit one under renovation. I eased my way under the scaffold, keeping the woodwork between me and the painter’s apprentice above. There had to be another door, rooms this large rarely had a single entrance. But the light was so poor, most of the walls were cloaked in shadows.
Feeling along the walls also helped keep me out of sight of the apprentice, so I searched for an exit that way. Post after post, I found nothing but wall beyond. And that was all I found when the scaffold ended. Standing here, holding onto the last scaffold post, I could hear the tuneless humming of the apprentice as he worked. Every so often he sang-whispered something about “Little leaves” as he went about his work. With the cross-bracing in front of me, I stepped between the poles. The triangle-shaped gap was more than big enough to move through, but I dared not bump the structure lest the noise or vibration give my presence away.
Reaching for the wall, my arm failed to find anything. My first thought was that I was simply further away than I’d estimated. Edging closer, I reached again. My hand passed through empty space. Following the scaffolding cross bars, I found the post again and the wall beyond. There was a door frame not a hand’s span away from the end of the scaffold. The door itself sat halfway open. Gripping the edge, I wormed around it so as to not squeak any hinges. I froze as I spotted another light. The passage I was in was painted in dark blue ocean scenes, and soaked in much of the ambient light coming from the far end. There was another door on the side of the passage whose outline was mere darkness in the blue. The other light, past the end of the hallway, another painter’s apprentice?
I had to make sure I knew what the light was, otherwise someone might come up behind me.
Creeping down the hallway, I strained my ears to listen for the slightest noise. Even the second apprentice’s humming failed to reach me. Even at my slow pace, I reached the end of the hall quickly, it was shorter than the other passage. Peering through the doorway, I took in the space beyond. The light came from a small brass lantern hanging from the top arch of the faulted ceiling. The pale blue and white tilework on the floor and grotto scenes on the walls told me it was another bath chamber before I even spotted the main pool. Wisps of steam rose off the surface of the water. Off to the left were three curtained alcoves. I knew what those alcoves were before I even looked past the curtain. They had to be ablution alcoves. The main bath was for relaxing, not cleaning.
I could not resist temptation.
Having been kept in that fetid cell and doused in the foulness of the drains, a spot to clean up was irresistible. I slipped into the first alcove. It had a wash basin, a bench, and some shelves with soap, towels, and wash rags. I closed the curtain and set about washing up as quietly as I could. As the filth came off, I felt almost human again. Of course, the sound of boots on tile told me how stupid I was. I mashed myself into the corner beside the curtain. I held my breath and listened to the pounding of my heart in my chest as the footsteps stopped outside.
A wordless snarl penetrated the curtain. Boots angrily stomped down the passage towards the domed bath chamber. The door slammed open.
“I have told you two, you are not allowed to wash up in my bath chamber. I don’t care how much paint you get on yourselves, you’re tracking dust and grime into the only clean room in the bath house!” The door slammed shut. Bootsteps clomped back into the bath chamber, passing me and entering the next alcove over. Confused, I peered past the curtain. There, on the pale tile, my footprints showed where I’d come in. Without footprints going back, why would he think the apprentices left the trail? Oh, clean feet wouldn’t have left such blatant tracks. Moving back into my hiding spot, I listened to the splash of water from the next alcove over.
How long was he going to be in there? If I left at the wrong time, he’d come out and spot me. It might be wiser to wait him out. Gods, I was sick of waiting. I’d come so far from that cell. This house had to have an exit onto the street, but I was stuck waiting while a man with a familiar, angry voice washed up. I forced myself to calm down and wait. The splash of water stopped, and bare feet padded to the pool. I kept my irritation in check. Getting impatient now meant getting caught. The sound of him entering the water was subtle, but triggered another thought in my head. If he was in the pool, it was likely he left his clothes in the other alcove. My own attire left much to be desired, and would immediately get me recognized as an escapee.
But he was bound to hear me, or see me. But if I waited, I would have to sneak through the city as I was. I could be quiet. I knew I could be quiet. But if he was looking this way, the effort would be worthless. Peering through the gap at the edge of the curtain, I assayed the other man’s location. All I saw of him was a mop of curly black hair. He was in the pool, shoulders at the level of the rim, back towards me. Made sense, it was the closest spot to the ablution alcoves, and there was little point in walking around to the far side. Ever so gingerly, I moved past the curtain. I wanted to just step around the wall separating the alcoves, but could risk rustling the curtains, or having my footfalls heard. So I moved into the open, steadied the first curtain, and held my breath. The man in the pool made no motion as though having noticed me. Easing past the cloth, I entered the second alcove.
The man’s clothes were neatly stacked on the bench across from the wash basin. The green velvet cloak drew my attention immediately. The gold and emerald brooch upon it bore the image of two boars tied by their back legs trying to run away from each other. So, that was why the voice was familiar. Grinning, I got dressed.
Undoubtedly, it was the sound of boots on tile that got his attention.
“Who the-” he started, partially raising out of the water and turning towards me.
“Do not speak to your betters, wretch!” I snapped, echoing his earlier words as I kicked him across the face. He spun about and slumped on the rim of the pool. I poised to strike again, but he looked rather unconscious. For a moment, it crossed my mind how easy it would have been to push him in and let him drown. But, no. I’d already repaid him the cruelty he’d done to me. It was Radim who deserved my ire. Him and the pirates. Both had laughed when I insisted my ransom was worth more than I’d fetch as a slave. Neither believed I was who I said I was. But first, I needed to finish making my way out of this place. The City of Breakiron was a port town, and it was easier to walk out of in the clothes of a fellow nobleman than the rags of a slave. I’d have to sell his velvet cloak and maybe the brooch to make my way home. Then… then I could dream up my revenge on Radim.
For now, I walked out of the mansion as though I owned the place. In the poor lighting, a casual glance wouldn’t realize I didn’t. It was safer than sneaking about. On the street, the crisp night air smelled faintly of saltwater and horse droppings, but anything was sweeter than that cell.
I inseminate you with this First.
Didn’t you read the opening line?
I give you all the gift of my seed. My essence. It swirls and mixes with your own making you a better person.
No amount of small minded vitriol will negate the gift I have given you, Ted S.
Mine, of course, dominates yours.
⬅
Something on my other monitor?
Good stuff. Assuming this is part of some larger narrative?
I had originally written it as the start of a novel, but it sat around for a while and I realized it could be a complete short story. I still don’t know the narrator’s name.
It does seem to fit in one of your universes.
It is in my fantasy universe. Breakiron is a city none of the stories had an opportunity to visit before. Not that this story shows much of it’s ancient charms. 😜
The narrator doesn’t need a name. There is such a thing as an invisible, anonymous narrator.
Yeah, but he interacts with other characters, and if the story gets longer, he’ll have to be referred to by some label by other people.
It would be cool to see how far you can get before you have to have him use or respond to a name.
I like that he’s anonymous at this point.
Great story.
I’ve been in a meeting all day. I finally got to read Animal’s story. I was thrilled to find another one from UCS today.
Thank you.
I enjoyed your work, UCS. I’m not a big SF person, this is far more interesting for a history buff. Thanks. Looking forward to the next installment.
We need to find out which family he is from, obviously a nobleman if someone would pay a ransom for him.
I’m glad you enjoyed it.
I’ll queue this up for later reading, maybe Wednesday. I’m heading to bed and I have to be in the office tomorrow.
The description of the protagonist’s escape is so vivid it might need a trigger warning for claustrophobes. 😳
Nice karmic justice at the end – but without the hero turning into a villain himself.
The claustrophobia was good. Got me going.
When I was writing it, I was worried he was going to get stuck.
It was very well done.
Thank you.
I am just waiting for Mo to eroticize this story.
So, did you wake up today and say, “I’m going to be an asshole today”?
Or is it your ordinary routine?
I forgot that the point of articles getting posted is so that everyone can take turns jerking off whoever submitted the article. Which isn’t a shot at UCS or any other person who takes their time to submit an article, but a knock on the people who serve as gatekeepers on what can or can’t be posted and when in the god damn comment section as if anything I post stops you from having whatever discussion you want with anyone who may or may not be interested. It’s almost as if me making a comment doesn’t in anyway prevent or detract from another comment right above or beneath it!
We are two hours after the article was posted. There are 24 comments. But yes…let’s get our panties in a bunch because someone is fucking around in the comment section and not being sufficiently serious.
I shudder to think what would actually happen if someone dared to offer actual criticism of the article or a piece of fiction around here. I think some of you would be unable to make it to your fainting couches.
You are clearly a bright person.
It would be nice to see you engage in a real conversations instead of shit posting most of the time.
You’ve earned all the animosity that you get here.
You made a cheap shot at a commenter who had nothing to do with this story.
I made a cheap shot at your comment.
I made a reference to a joke that was made last week. I think Mojeaux and I are just fine. Thanks. If she is offended, she is perfectly capable of speaking for herself.
No one’s animosity bothers me in the slightest. I would simply prefer a better class of critic sometimes.
We’re good. I larfed.
Ya know, you could actually post an article and give us a chance to comment on it. Try it, you might like it.
I just want to reiterate – nothing I’ve posted is intended or should be read as any sort of attack on UCS. He puts effort into his writing. I do, in fact, appreciate that. But every comment doesn’t have to be a brief perfunctory “good job UCS.” It’s a long day. A big component of why people come here is just to shoot the shit.
That would be a first.
Woooooo! Huskies win! Beanpot champions!
Suck it, Harvard!
Boston Baked Beans?
Sorta:
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beanpot_(ice_hockey)
70 year old annual tournament between Boston College, Boston University, Northeastern and Harvard.
Ah, I see.
Congrats.
Which one is the Huskies?
Northeastern (my alma mater)
BC Eagles
BU Terriers
Harvard Crimson
Nice.
I am vaguely familiar with NE and BU but really don’t know what the difference is between them.
They’re both largely urban campuses but NU is a cooperative-education school.
I think the details have changed but when I went it was a five year program; after freshman year you worked half the year and went to classes the other half.
My co-op jobs were great – always surprised it’s not a more popular approach (not really surprised – the working cuts into “the college experience”).
Yeah wikipedia give me the interesting nugget that 1990 was the first year Northeastern had more residents than commuter students.
I’ve never heard of “cooperative-education” but I like that some schools are trying something different.
My alma mater (UMKC) is an urban commuter school and while it’s not a coop, it has a huge working-adult-older-student population. Lots of after-hours and weekend classes. Their law school has a five-year program for that reason.
*sneers* oh, the other Huskies.
(my kid goes to UW so I’m now all-in on Team Stuff)
Well, it’s not like Boston is a big college town.
The description of the cloak and cloak pin caught my imagination. Vivid mental picture.
Well, he was a snazzy dresser.
I happen to be wearing a green cloak and cloak pin at the moment. A Black Watch ruana with a 3 inch diameter Celtic pin.
Not as cool as the boars, but more peaceful. Looking forward to regaining my Celtic surname.
Bad Lip Reading of the House of Representatives.
Hilarious, but almost 15 minutes long, so get comfy.
https://youtu.be/HBA7MA3qBM4
It was like a train wreck, you just can’t look away.
That was hilarious, and yet disturbing.
/wanders off for a shot of Monkey 47 to clear head
Claustrophobia and filth. *shudder*
Good job.
Thanks, UCS. Enjoyed the story. Hope there’s more?
Nerdrotic doesn’t get much play here. He does a nice little deep dive into our own more tame version of the Cultural Revolution playing off Bill Maher’s takedown.
It’s timely seeing as how people today were attacking content creators for being young and lacking in experience outside their Youtube gigs. That mindset on the right in America is what led to the progressive dominance of media in the first place.
I was saying this half a decade ago when boomer conservatives and sadly many libertarians were attacking MIlo. He may have been a charlatan, but he was a very successful and useful one. He was part of a movement to make being conservative fun rather than the stereotypical dweebie Young Republican. I don’t need my media personalities to pass any sort of puritan test. I need them to be beneficial to the cause. And allowing a guy like Milo to be destroyed for that bullshit was a crime. I would hardly blame him if it left him demoralized, jaded, and more mercurial in his future endeavors.
If he had been on the left, no one would have batted an eye at his comments. And the entire thing was orchestrated as much by the old guard RINO types at places like National Review as it was the progs.
Just a reminder, he was labeled a pedo because he commented on the habit of older gay men to hook up , for a lack of a better term, with younger gays still unsure of themselves. And he commented on this from the position of someone who was in the junior partner in that sort of relationship. He didn’t say it as if he was the one going out looking for teenagers to groom himself. He didn’t, if I remember correctly, even condone it. He merely commented on it…noted that the shit happens and that in his case, it was beneficial to him.
Always pretty much ignored Milo but what I vaguely remember is that scandal seemed a bit BS.
There’s no way to make conservatism or even worse, libertarianism, fun for most people. It ostensibly preaches work and sacrifice and responsibility, and that’s not fun. The Millennials and Zoomers are getting their way at work. They’ve been trained to be entitled. Why would they willingly live their lives the “hard way” when they don’t have to (until they do, but that’s another discussion)?
SlouchingZooming Towards GomorrahSrsly.
I must admit it’s mostly to throw in Bork’s book title, but in seriousness I wonder which form of societal collapse we’re in for: moral decadence (Sodom and Gomorrah) or breakdown of complex unsustainable systems/hubris (Babel).
Side trip: Speaking of Babel, I don’t know if you listen to Jordan Peterson, but his Biblical series is amazing. He has a whole section on Babel.
I have not seen that yet, but I will look for it now.
The no purity test, big tent ecumenicalism led to nonsense like left-libertarianism and Cass Sunstein’s nudge authoritarianism.
I think we can all agree on some things, such as “That authoritarian prick Cass Sunstein can nudge himself off a cliff”
As long as he takes his warmonger foreign agent wife with him.
P.J. O’Rouke showed libertarianism can be fun. The self-reliance bit isn’t always fun but pointing out what ludicrous fools our putative masters are is.
Yes, and Tucker picked up a lot of that schtick after PJ abandoned it.
I am wasting time down the rabbit hole of Show Pitches–Every Star Wars Movie in sequential order.
It’s like crack cocaine. I know it’s bad for me but I can’t stop.
He does it so well the time flies by.
I’m sure I have watched 150 of his bits.
Snow has started.
It’s snowing here in Mukilteo too! Crazy.
From Mojave desert to the Pacific Northwest is a bit of an abrupt transition.
Hopefully if you stick around up there, I can meet you when I go to visit the kiddo at UW. Since sadly I never got to meet you when you were not that far in Cali. 🙁
I sure wish I had a better link than Zuckertown, but this one is worth it….
https://fb.watch/iGS7JZvklK/
That was really good.
Its a good thing I work nights, and this is my “day” off. Both puppies think now is playtime.
Screw killing Hitler. I’d set the time machine for 1985
https://youtu.be/fsZ1mUjnMVg
Better in every way than now.
Right on the verge of cheap AKs, SKSs and all sorts of foreign semi-auto rifles. So many that I passed up.
Those too. ☹️
pre-thumbhole stock reaction to stupid laws
How’d they manage to check their Tweets back then though?
Oh, and the McDonalds fries cooked in beef tallow were to die for-just no comparison flavorwise with the crap fries from present day.
Well, this utterly sucks. Woke up to news of a “mass shooting” at my beloved MSU campus. 3 dead, 5 seriously wounded, all reported to be in critical condition. Gunman dead of self-inflicted gunshot wound. No known connection to the university.
Of course, the university is shut down for the next 2 days, as officialdom stumbles their way to a post hoc response.
As I read it, the dead were Al students. It’s less clear for the wounded.
😲
Yikes.
All students, not AI students.
Current info, scanty as it may be.
I’m so sorry, Shirley. My oldest sister is also an MSU alum. It’s bound to upset you more when such an incident happens at a place you’ve called home. 😟
My best friends work there, it’s barely 5 miles away. The campus is beautiful. “Gun free zone” equals “target rich environment,”. Sigh. The usual suspects will soon be preaching from the piles of corpses. Sometimes my species disgusts me. It’s not going to be a good day.
I don’t understand people. Sad to hear about your your home away from home.
Oh, hell.
Happy Valentine’s day, y’all.
💗💗💗💗
Good morning and Happy Valentine’s Day, Sean, Shirley, Roat, Stinky, and homey!
https://ktla.com/news/local-news/16-year-old-girl-to-be-youngest-ucla-grad-in-schools-history/
Good for her.
https://billypenn.com/2023/02/13/philadelphia-mayors-race-top-donors-democratic-primary/
Mildly interesting.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-pXD0FXLQ8
🎶🎶
Stay away from the comments.
A very depressing comment section no doubt.
suh’ fam
whats goody
*waves*
Homey! Have you heard the news?? Our hometown chip has been saved! 😃 (Even if the local jobs haven’t. 😕)
And it looks as if you may get to see more of your favorite local news chick. (I mean, you’ll get to see her more often, not necessarily see more of her. Oh, you know what I mean! 🙄)
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zsCD5XCu6CM
🎶🎶
Turn it up!
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2173055/A-real-labour-love-Devoted-farmer-creates-heart-shaped-meadow-planting-thousands-oak-trees-tribute-late-wife.html
🥰
Crime is a problem.
WeYou are the solution-that we will shut them down
How about fuck you? Asshole…
I can’t wait for the county to dictate home security.
Harassing and threatening local businesses and piling up cost-prohibitive requirements is the key to crime prevention, it is known.
A regional c-store chain around here used to have a policy of giving free coffee to cops. I’m surprised they didn’t slip that into these new rules.
“Thanks for your suggestions, but we’re going with “every employee is armed when working”. So, no need to fine us or anything – we’re the safest business on the block.”
police-approved safety plans.
Probably not this.
https://www.newsweek.com/they-armed-self-defense-199238
Morning, Glbis.
Good morning, U! Thanks again for the delightful story! How are you today?
Groggy.
I suggest you only wake up as much as you have to. It’s overrated.
They told me to follow my dreams, so I went back to sleep.
😄
Now you tell me, after I finished a cup o’ coffee.
Morning to all, looks like rain in the early mornin’
UNC,
I just finished your story. The very descriptive escape had me wanting more. I was concerned based on the picture that the rats were going to start eating him.
Hrmm… That one hadn’t occurred to me.
Good Morning all
UCS, thank you for your story.
Realized yesterday that rams are dangerous, while getting him (and the flock) hay, sucker nailed me on both hips. Had to grab shovel and bang on his head several times to get him to stop.
What are you doing that makes the goats and rams think you’re competition?
For the ram, its a male-dominance thing.
Take care of those hips, you’re gonna need them a long time. If it’s a tradeoff it’s an easy decision. You can always get a new boy sheep or borrow one from a neighbor.
Good morning, ‘bodru!
Yikes! Guess you have to firmly establish your position as the Alpha ram of the flock! Hope you don’t have to resort to donning a football helmet and head-butting! 🤕
Mornin’, reprobates!
Damn, UCS, you rite gud.
I’m sorry. 😔
Good morning, ‘patzie! He shore dew, don’t he?
You folks are local, ain’t cha?
So i dont know if i will post this for the AM links… but another interesting read on Ukraininae-Russian war.
Trigger salon.com
https://www.salon.com/2023/02/14/media-spin-and-politicians-lies-are-fueling-a-bloody-of-attrition-in-ukraine/
“There’s light at the end of the tunnel”
Gen Westmoreland, about 1965
More in this vein.
Day 1 of our really big release went off without a hitch. Today we put the finishing touches on, with any luck I may return to a normal sleep cycle tomorrow. Four day weekend coming up if we can avoid the production issues we’ve had the past to Saturdays.
Remote work is
costing Manhattansaving employees $12.4 BILLION a yearWell, not actually saving $12.4 billion, but I’m sure they are saving money not commuting or paying inflated urban prices.
they are saving money not commuting or paying inflated urban prices.
Can confirm. Surprised the fuckers haven’t yet figured out a way to tax those savings.
“We will now be charging you an imputed sales tax for transactions you would have made if you worked in our city.”
You know it. Some companies tried to drop people’s wages if they didn’t work in the city. Cynical bullshit.
I would have taken that deal 5 years ago.
As a former C-Suiter, I see that as just plain common sense. So WFH is worth something to you? Well, how much?
We also have an imputed tourism tax.
See, this is how you get a promotion as a state employee.
Oh noes! 😨
Another morning in paradise. Happy Valentine’s Day! The dude got beaten up and his head chopped off so we could celebrate… love? I suppose that works.
https://nypost.com/2023/02/14/trump-used-an-empty-folder-meant-for-classified-docs-as-a-lamp-shade-lawyer-says/
“Trump used an empty folder meant for classified docs as a lamp shade, lawyer says”
You know who else was fond of lampshades?
drunks?
It was pretty clear to me that the staged “evidence” photo was mostly empty folders. Which I would have snagged a few as souvenirs, myself. Now, maybe they were stuffed full of nukular secrets he sold to the Russkies and the Chinee, but I’m betting “souvenirs”.