The room I was led to was tiny, just enough space for the bed and a chest. The blankets were a green wool, fading towards gray from time. The stuffing in the mattress was straw, but I let out a contented sigh as my aching form sank into it. I slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep until I grumbled about the dawn light falling into my eyes. Rolling out of the bed, I approached the window. Taking hold of the curtains, I stopped. The seven towers of the academy were all clearly visible through the slightly warped panes. A smile crept unbidden across my lips. It felt as though the hard part were over.
I drew the curtains for privacy and got ready for the day.
With a decent night’s sleep and the chance to properly clean up, I looked and felt like a different person. The darkness that had crowded my spirits was gone. The optimism welling up within me bordered on the euphoric. I had to fight to keep it contained and not act like an idiot. The smile I gave the serving girl as I got my breakfast was genuine, and appeared to brighten her mood a bit. The meal consisted of an unidentified mush, sausages, and greens that had been cooked in the sausage drippings. I had no real complaints, and turned my attention to the next task at hand – how to enroll in the academy. The only real way to find out the process was to go and ask. Looking at the towers, I reflected upon my options. In the end, I more or less picked the Lapis Tower because blue seemed like a suitable color for wizards.
The building looked more impossibly tall the closer I came to its base. Though I’d seen it from a distance and knew it did not come close to rivaling the height of the mountain, from this angle it looked taller. The spire of blue-glazed tilework looked as if it speared the heavens themselves as I stared up the face of it. My gawping drew amused chuckles from those who more habitually walked the district, and I forced myself to look back at a more terrestrial level. Within a soaring arch, the teal doors stood open, though the daylight cast the interior in gloom. I strode across the threshold, feeling a palpable excitement as I stepped inside the tower.
The first chamber occupied the entirety of the ground level, leaving the outer walls impossibly thin for the weight of the structure. A single ring of pillars separated the outer vaults from a central dome. I could see no passage to the upper levels. Carved statues of naiads bearing lanterns clung to the ribs of the vaults, their lights meager motes drowned by the spilled daylight at the doors. Aquatic-themed mosaics filled the wall panels, and the distant gurgle of a fountain echoed through the space. A long desk of the same teal wood as the doors formed an arc between two of the pillars. A single bored man sat behind it, reading a book. His brown hair was slightly disheveled.
I approached the desk. My footsteps rang sharply in the acoustics of the chamber.
Eyes reddened by lack of sleep looked up from their reading.
“You look lost,” he said.
“I’m looking to join the academy,” I said.
He let out a long sigh. “Applicants go to the Hofmeister-Provost’s office.” He dragged a board onto the top of the desk. It was affixed to the corner of the desk by a brass chain, and a map had been painted on its face.
“A wooden plank?”
“People kept walking off with our map,” he said, then pointed to a spot. “This is the building you want.” The path from the Lapis Tower to the Hofmeister-Provost’s office was not complicated, and I nodded.
“Thank you.” I headed back out and down the street. The open, airy layout put me in the mind of a country estate rather than a sprawling metropolis. Following the path, I soon came upon a plaza paved in mottled flagstones. A gurgling fountain marked the center of the space, and helped draw the eye to the two curving staircases of the building at the end. Gleaming, almost-white granite walls were highlighted with dark, porphyry-framed windows and doorways. Gilded lettering carved over the entryway marked it as the hall I was seeking. I hurried up the stairs and tried to push through the door. With a heavy thunk, it refused to swing inwards. Sheepishly, I took the handle and pulled it open. The entryway of the hall was decorated like an atrium but gave off the air of a fortress gate. The golden limestone arches along either side enclosed alcoves containing dark wooden writing desks. The interior of the domed ceiling bore seven coats of arms – one for each of the towers. A marble-fronted counter topped with wood sat atop a raised dais at the far end of the chamber. It stood like a bulwark, a single clerk seated behind the wide expanse. A ten-foot bronze seal set into the polished granite floor bore a warding sigil of some sort, cast into the metal.
Anxiety grew unbidden as I approached the counter and was forced to look up at the small clerk behind the counter. The man’s drawn, pallid face turned towards me.
“May I help you?” he asked, the sentence drawn out, his accent a slow drawl.
“I’m looking to enroll in the Academy,” I said, stiffening my posture and keeping my voice level. He sighed and made a gesture, which took me a moment to realize was putting down a stylus.
“Do you have Letters of Introduction and Recommendation?”
“Uh.”
“If you have to think about it, the answer is no.”
“Who should these letters be from, and what do they usually say?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “A Letter of Introduction is from a person of note in your home region. It vouches for your character and good background. A Letter of Recommendation is from a Wizard in good standing within one of the towers of at least Journeyman rank. It attests to your potential as a student and user of magic. While neither is strictly required, not having at least one will effectively prevent your admittance.”
“I think I’ll come back later.”
“As you wish,” he said, picking up his stylus again.
Slinking from the building, I scrambled for an answer to the question of letters. I didn’t know any wizards, and I doubted any would write a letter for a stranger on the street. I did know a great many people who would be regarded as notable, but they were on the other side of the Small Sea, and none knew I was here. I shook my head to shed the clinging doubt. This was not an insurmountable obstacle. I didn’t drag myself all the way to Zhalskrag to sulk back north. It was too soon to start thinking I was doomed to return to that apartment in Salzheim and insist people start calling me Furst.
Mid-step, I froze.
My foot and my gaze lowered at the same time. My foot found the setts of the pavement, and my eyes found the ring on my hand. I’d last used it to seal the promissory note Soren provided to pay Zeelan.
***
There was no shortage of merchants selling writing supplies, and I soon had a stack of lower quality paper for drafts, and several good sheets of parchment, not to mention the ink, stylus, wax, and ribbon. I spent the remainder of the day agonizing over the wording of my letter. It had to sell them on me. It had to not be obvious that I was writing it for myself, but also still be true if someone did realize it. I accumulated a pile of discarded drafts, and sometimes went back to extract paragraphs from earlier iterations. As I painstakingly transcribed the letter to the parchment, I ended up second-guessing every word and turn of phrase I’d spent so much effort in crafting. I could not make a change once I’d copied to the parchment. I’d have to start anew. They would not accept that a nobleman would be serious about a letter sent with obvious corrections.
Forcing myself to not keep changing the wording on my letter, I scrivened it over to the higher quality medium. I chose blue sealing wax because it was available, and blue was an appropriate field for the Raven Coast Roc. The hardest part was when I realized the Hofmeister-Provost’s Office had closed for the day by the time I finished. A sleepless night was averted by virtue of my ongoing shortage of slumber from the trip. I returned to the Hofmeister-Provost’s Office bright and early, arriving shortly after they opened their doors for the day. The same clerk I’d seen before was there. For all I knew, he was the only clerk for that particular desk. He greeted my reappearance with a sigh. I presented my Letter of Introduction, but he didn’t even glance at it. Wordlessly, he extracted a sheaf of papers from behind the counter and handed them to me. It was a pre-printed form. The Academy at Zhalzkrag having a printing press didn’t surprise me, but the fact that they wasted it running off forms for the bureaucratic cruft of their organization did. The second surprise came as I flipped through the sheaf.
“Is this all one form?”
“You may use any of the writing alcoves in this chamber to fill it out, but you may not take it from this building. Complete it to the best of your ability and return it to me with any Letters of Introduction or Recommendation you may have.” He picked up his stylus and turned his attention back to whatever he was actually working on. I looked around at the alcoves. Each one had a stylus chained to the desk next to where an inkwell was locked in place. Evidently these had a tendency to walk off with people in the same way as the map at the Lapis Tower. They all had decent lighting, so I picked one with an ample supply of ink and sat down.
The easiest question was ‘Applicant name’, where I left off all the titles and territorial indicators, putting down simply ‘Kord Grosz’. They got harder, as I wanted to avoid lying but not give away too much about my family. It was a relief when I turned the page and found it starting to ask questions about magic. Why I wanted to study magic, what I’d done, specific theorems, and so on. These were far more engrossing questions, and it proved difficult to constrain my answers to the space provided. I lost myself in the questions, even as they strained the limits of my understanding. As I began struggling to compose cogent remarks, I asked inwardly if everything in the form was a prerequisite for admittance, or if it was an assessment of where an applicant’s understanding ended. I hoped it was the latter, as the last few pages were completely beyond the limits of my knowledge.
Well, except the very last question. “Where can you be reached within the city of Zhalskrag when the Academy has completed its review of your application?” That one I readily answered “The Playful Fox Inn,” and brought the form to the clerk. He made his sighing noise again, set down his stylus and took the form from me. The clerk checked the first and last pages, and gave a cursory glance over my letter of introduction.
“You will be notified if the Academy has any interest in your application.”
“How long should I expect to wait?” I asked.
“You may not want to stand around the atrium waiting for a response,” the clerk said, taking up his stylus and returning to whatever he’d been working on.
“Days? Weeks?”
“They’ll get back to you when they get back to you,” he said, not even looking up. I was not going to get a helpful answer out of the man, and making a scene would not be good for my cause. Anxiety already had its teeth buried in my entrails and was starting to gnaw. Squelching that feeling was never easy, and I strode out of the Hofmeister-Provost’s atrium before I lost my composure.
***
There was no shortage of booksellers in the city, sufficient to glut even my curiosity. It would have been easy to get carried away and burn through my funds on books. As I perused the shelves, I fought the urge to just start grabbing heaps of volumes, and carefully selected only one. I could only read one book at any given time, so forcing myself to wait until I’d finished to buy the next would help keep my spending in check. After agonizing over the first choice, I pulled one title from the shelves and carried it to the front. The petite, flaxen-haired girl behind the counter spotted the book I set down, and her gaze wandered up in the same appraising manner I’d noticed at the tournament.
“We have a reading group that meets in the back room for works of this type,” she said quite cheerfully.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yes, there’s usually some form of discussion going on.” I was perplexed by the hopeful note in her tone.
“So they would be…”
“Through that doorway back there,” she said, pointing. I left the book on the counter and meandered back to the indicated space. A woolen curtain hung over the door, its faded weave still bearing hints of a colorful pattern. Pushing it aside, I looked through. Like the front, the back room had walls lined in bookshelves. Unlike the front, the back had a circle of mismatched chairs ringing the center of the space. In the big armchair, a fat man with a bald pate sat facing away from me. He was energetically engaged in what could only be tangentially called a debate with the only other occupant of the room. That was a spindly, gray-bearded old man who looked like he didn’t believe in trimming hair, or in bathing. Their debate consisted of lecturing at each other in insistent but muted tones, ignorant of the fact that the other was speaking at the same time. The words they used came from volkssprache, but were strung together in nonsensical chains.
I let the curtain drop and fought the urge to tiptoe back to the front counter.
“I think I’ll just take the book,” I said.
The girl sank as if disappointed, processing the sale mechanically. She gave me a melancholy wave as I left. Book tucked under my arm, I brushed the odd episode aside and headed back to the Playful Fox. As I stepped through the door, the innkeeper gestured me over. He was a plain man, weary-eyed and stoop-shouldered, who’d had few words for me before now.
“Someone was asking around about you.”
“From the academy?” I asked hopefully.
“Not even close. Looked like a warrior, not a magician. Big fellow, not quite as tall as you, but broader and dangerous-looking.”
“What did he want?”
“Didn’t say, just asked if we’d seen you. Or some other man who happens to be unusually tall, wears spectacles and rides an oversized horse.”
“What did you tell him?”
“He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted, so I wasn’t going to tell him anything.”
“Well, thank you for your discretion.”
“Do you know him?”
“Your description doesn’t narrow it down much.”
The innkeeper raised an eyebrow.
“Where I’m from, there are a lot of people who are about my height but broader and meaner.”
“Eh, I suppose that could be a bit vague.”
I hurried away to my room, anxiety starting to gnaw with a renewed vigor and new purpose. No one knew I was coming here. I hadn’t told anyone my plans. But I’d been attacked twice by would-be assassins. One of those times had been in a place where I hadn’t known I was going to be. Drawing the curtains and bolting the door, I sat in the corner. Despite my best efforts to focus on the book, my mind kept asking if this presaged another attempt on my life. I still had no idea why anyone would want me dead. Of all the people I might have irritated, none were to the point of hiring multiple assassins, and all stemmed from events after the attempts. No, no one would be trying to kill me over anything that happened at the tournament.
So why, then?
Maybe it wasn’t personal, not something that I had done. Who would benefit from my being removed from existence? There were no rival claimants to the title of Furst of Karststadt. And besides, no one had held the title for quite some time. Would someone see my taking my father’s title as a threat? That was absurd. I very distinctly recall poring over a map of the north until Lenz’s tutor said very pointedly I would not find any lands bearing the Raven Coast Roc on it.
If it wasn’t for gain by my removal, then what?
A vendetta against my family?
My ancestors had certainly made no small surfeit of enemies. But how was I to judge such a grudge? I’d thought Otto Hackenhof liable to bear enmity for the headless Hackenhofs Jochen had left. I shook my head. No, I knew ancient family history, but I’d managed to forget that I was part Hackenhof. This exercise was going nowhere, but it preoccupied my thoughts. What were the chances the person was seeking me for some other reason, or not seeking me at all? No, eyeglasses in of themselves were rare. Add in my height relative to the Kurzmen, and the most apt single description of Graymire, and there was no chance they meant someone else.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
Amazing how you’re so adept at depicting bureaucracy… 🙄
I fear that UCS is writing what he knows, yeah.
😆
I know nothink.
lol I had that thought too.
Holy shit. Harris ad on KC game. Full throated Team Gimme talking points. She’s going to build three million houses.
Yeah, that was vomit-inducing.
With what labor and supplies? Assuming she means “above current levels of building”, that’s 50 percent increase. That will be a lot of trees cut down.
We have defined a house as a structure of at least one cubic yard.
Get in the crate, bigot.
the board-foot is back up to $0.50….was $0.40 there for a moment
with lumbermills shutting down nationwide
it would be easy to find the lumber
but I suspect it would be a while to get capacity up on windows and roofing
as with all things lately it seems, I expect to see plenty of garbage populism:
otherwise sanctimonious “conservative” small businesses hypocritically applauding government interference so long as it’s profitable
That must be why they just built so many electric car charging stations.
Planning!
What she is promising is homelessness for all.
Progress!
Equity!
We all end up in the same place.
(Well, except for the ruling class—they need moar in order to carry out their duties)
Look, John Lovitz aint got nuthin’ on this bitch. I think she just makes things up on the spot as she goes. I am waiting for her to say “….Yeah….that’s the ticket!”
I leap for the remote every time that voice starts up.
That’s no shit. I heard Hillary and Schumer both in the last week or so. I had forgotten the skin crawl/gag reflex that the sound of their voices set off for me.
She also doesn’t mention that the market is expected to build way more houses than that already.
So she’s promising absolutely nothing .
Trump shooting: At first I thought just some knucklehead screwing around probably no idea Trump was anywhere near. After info comes out…nope. It was someone there to shoot him. Good grief, an AK at 3-5 hundred yards? Not exactly the weapon of choice. Amateur hour.
Active or passive it was the cabal last time, this time my money is on the Iranians.
https://youtu.be/NoO_Xo1nuE8
That’s my fear…these screwballs can only fuck it up so many times before they get it right even if only by accident.
This country’s political assassins are a damn embarrassment.
Operation Coyote?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2Z5L2jcpDc
762AK to 500 yds
545AK to 500 yds
I’m a fan of the 5.45.
Since I don’t want to sit through the video, what’s the bottom line?
Don’t want to sit through a 9 Hole Reviews video? Wtf is that? I’d watch Henry Chan picking out table china.
https://i.redd.it/kwhpi7alaaha1.png
An AK at 3-5 hundred yards?
“Ouch! That hurts! Stop that!”
Good grief, an AK at 3-5 hundred yards?
That’s where he was when SS engaged him. My understanding was he was set up a couple holes ahead on the golf course.
https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2024/09/breaking-trump-would-be-assassin-identified-ryan-wesley/
58 yo wm.
Who wants to die in Keev.
Do better, the left. Your soldiers are ridiculous.
This is why I dont gamble.
Poor Gary Busey, he looks terrible.
I honestly thought it was Busey when that picture popped up.
Unciv. Do you have a preferred meeting time for tomorrow?
It’s about 6.5 hours from here to there, so I should be in town by 3-4pm. Any time after that should work.
5 pm then. Right after I get off work.
Sounds good.
See you then
Well done. I like the descriptions of the interiors+, especially/even if ev had to look up a few words.
I wonder how people wrote in the past, and not in the ‘on paper or clay/etc’ sense. How much [insert period writing surface here] did they need for notes, drafts, editing and finalizing the document? It couldn’t all have been kept in their heads, and I’ve certainly seen hand-edited docs. They also had far better/more/some penmanship practice than I. Bastards with perfect script, I lament thee.
Like losing a perfect game with two outs in the 9th, ya know it’s happened: How many times did someone fuck up the VERY last sentence of a final draft? Expensive whoopsie-doodle. Last character of a tablet and break it in two? Misspell something and maybe someone cracked the rock on YOUR head!
We live in a glorious age where rapid editing is so easy. We live in a mournful age when practical literacy is ever so high.
we set margins
and left room for footnotes
and inserted tables
and changed ribbons
and made the £ sign by typing L, backspacing, and then typing f
clickitty clack
a buddy was nearly reduced to tears when a lab report got away from him and blew all over a wet parking lot
I almost had the urge to brush up on my penmanship after reading this.
Unfortunately I am cursed with left-handed writing which always looks like shit because our language was designed for righties.
I switched back to cursive because lefty cursive is less awful than lefty print.
It depends on whether I do the “overhand” or “underhand” thing – neither of which was ever very comfortable & the decision for which depends on whether I want to get ink or pencil all over my fingers.
My mother had perfect left-cursive (or had, she’s 81) and I have writing, cursive or otherwise, that makes chicken scratch look legible. And I am a righty.
Seriously, my writing is so bad that even I cannot read it half the time, and people think I am… slow.
@ZWAK: Magically, I somehow have better penmanship than Dad. Looks like a serial killer’s.
He has a (I think hand-written) note from Charles Manson somewhere. Dad wrote him a letter and got a meaningless, but legit, response. Handwriting in that vein, we have. Bro has gorgeous script. He also ordered children to march around the house in unison as a kid, before I was born. Strange cats, we are. He’s a laser and I’m a shotgun, but remarkably similar in physique and mental acumen.
Sure don’t miss typing resume cover letters on my IBM Selectric. Always seemed the mistake was in the last frigging paragraph. And didn’t want Whiteout or that correction tape stuff on the letter.
Or getting the box of resumes back from the printers and discovering a misprint.
@Don: That time makes sense to me. Dad was a columnist for the Evansville Courier for 40 years. I missed the ribbon age, but I LOVED getting to walk through the printing press back in the 90s. We didn’t frequent that area often but I could drift through the rest of the building freely cuz everyone knew me. I’m thrilled I don’t live in the Ribbon Age. I’ve used typewriters for funsies, but never for practical use.
@rhy: The Righty majority reigns supreme. Tech signing is fun, with the stylus affixed to Their gain. We lessers have to use a finger to triangulate the string. Bastards *want* us to be sinister.
@trsh: HA! Bitch Mrs. Kinney in 2nd Grade insisted on No Cursive for me within a few weeks. She was write to do so. (Even Mom hated her.)
@ UCS+ I’m more thinking of Back in the Day editing. Medieval times when paper/ink+ was far more expensive. Especially thinking of vellum, hella pricy. If ya fucked THAT paper up at the last minute, uh. Again, an expensive whoopsie. I wouldn’t want to be the scribe with a list of ’em on my resume.
I wrote college papers at the very tail end of the typewriter era (class of ’93).
I don’t miss it one bit.
@Ev – Parchment was thick enough that it was possible to scrape off a mistake with a blade and write over it. Just don’t keep screwing up the same spot.
That makes much sense, UCS. It’s fun when the ink leaves enough of a trace to be detectable. It’s been done many times, IIRC, some degree of accuracy. It’s only done on ‘important’ docs, though. I’d love to see the “And the teacher/ King is a tiny fuckface of a child” scribbles on the margins of everyday, ‘meaningless’ docs not interesting enough to explore further. (I imagine that occurred. I did it … people are people and haven’t evolved further.)
fun fact – among the cuneiform clay tablets, we have a good number of standardized practice pieces for scribes in training, including mistakes.
Enjoying a meal of beef stroganoff with roasted Brussels sprouts, a zucchini/squash dish infused with lemon pepper, and braised red cabbage.
The recipe for the cabbage is here: https://www.marthastewart.com/939039/braised-red-cabbage
The only changes I made were to use extra vinegar instead of red wine (which I don’t have), and a pound of bacon instead of 4 ounces.
Sounds great. I did a simple Italian sausage ragu
As it turns out, Martha Stewart has endorsed Kamala Harris.
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-13853447/Martha-Stewart-reveals-voting-rare-presidential-endorsement.html
That’s just what I would expect from someone too stupid to limit the amount of bacon in a recipe to four ounces.
Four.
Ounces.
“Someone who was stupid enough to”
Instead of “too stupid to”
Holy cow—Maria Taylor forgot to put on her skirt (or pants/slacks/trousers) tonight!
She, uh… she has very long legs.
something something know how to use them something?
It’s from “Let it Ride” Jennifer Tilly responds “Yeah, they go from my ass all the way to the ground.”
I don’t see a problem here.
I gotta admit, I’d far rather see and listen to Maria talk football than all of the air-headed bimbos that seem to be a required decorative bauble in the NFL but have no idea what they’re talking about.
(Tracy Woolfson knows her stuff but her voice is not meant to project so she’s hard to listen to.)
My favorite sideline reporter was Michele Tafoya. When she resigned last season she hinted slightly that it was because she didn’t feel free to express her views even off work, and she didn’t like being pressured to push agendas she didn’t agree with. (She was NBC Sunday Night Football.)
Now she is super active on X and makes intelligent libertarian/conservative points often.
She’s also a Minnesotan and loathes Tim Walz.
I “follow” her on X.
*pours bourbon and tosses on tin foil hat*
USSS set it up
That’s it. That’s all I got
Inadvertently dedthreded.
Slutty Sunday After Dark will be completely unsurprised when Ryan Wesley Routh (3 names? Really??) gets Epsteined.
https://archive.is/JTIFY/0d307a0e6880d5d840bc320663b95b0e5bd60443.jpg
https://archive.is/wMkoW/d577cbf521859a0367452d9d7428fcc4c0e7c4ec.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/nwQ6k/d44cc57d860a517dabdeb649d3c67e0703ff2a93.jpg
semi-NSFW.
https://archive.is/HD9nR/4ad9718e64843eade712a9ca268d84ce4ee319ef.jpg
https://archive.is/kYyJR/9e7f946e49826dac8385a268b8f19d46f1c8fb99.jpg
NSFW.
Jeebus, Moj. Just watched the Chiefs game. What a nailbiter.
The Cowboys looked like ass, which I am sure makes most NFL fans happy.
Yes, my sphincter was clenched all the way through.
Jet fuel can’t melt mountains!
https://i.redd.it/42d8oh8ljc3c1.jpg
lol, that’s great. That is one of my earliest “news” memories.
Remember Ulysses Grant refusing to move?
Classic American individualist…. said he would rather die on his own land. And did.
Harry Truman
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_R._Truman
In from a long weekend of racing. I am sore and sun baked, but we did okay.
The HH sounds like it was “the bee’s knees.” I will have to consider a mainland trip to attend.
Watching the propaganda machine figure out the narrative on the new Trump assassin in real time has been interesting. Lots of crazy out there.
But the most interesting for us happened while I was watching CNN.
We had an age, but no name.
Then, they have on an ex-FBI expert. He reports the guys name and selected nuggets from his social media that point to him being a Trump supporter disgruntled about Ukraine.
They next launch into a panel about how Trump being non-commital on Ukraine may have incited Ukraine to take action.
Key feature… former FBI acting as experts were the initial sources on TV news, not the FBI or local police spokespersons.
The Ukraine debacle is a money laundering operation with a lot of powerful people’s fingers in it. They have stolen nearly a trillion dollars of US taxpayer money thus far and plan on much more. The list of people that want Trump putting an end to that is probably easier to make than the list of people who dont want him to.
How many movies/stories have we seen where post-heist the thieves engage in all kinds of intrigue and shenanigans over the loot? Is it prudent to believe a single word any of the interested parties have to say? Hell, this could even be a distraction to distract from the first bumbling attempt…”See, we are not completely incompetent and totally had nothing to do with the first attempt!”.
I like that last version.
This is a more believable patsie.
I just found the holding and disseminating of information interesting… and more informative that what the information was.
They have taken down his social media… but before that happened, some industrious nutcases got screenshot.
Someone found that one of his first followers was a CIA employee.
His first follower? Really?
C’mon now, I am sure I am on at least one list out there but counting my CIA followers…..oh, it’s zero. The first follower he gets?
That is just coincidence I am sure.
I love the movie ‘The Taylor of Panama’. It is a close-up inside look at the kinds of bumbling idiots and their dumbfuckery that these types get up to. I think that is what we are looking at here.
It is unusual that he is alive and in custody.
We’ve been overdue for a plot twist.
Time to get up and make money to send to foreign countries!
Hrm, doesn’t have the same ring as “Get up and kick some ass!”
😕🌄☕
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=LTh9IuSTOY0
🎶🎶
RIP Tito.
https://www.msn.com/en-us/entertainment/news/tito-jackson-dead-at-70-heartbroken-children-confirm/ar-AA1qDuuq
Lots of people dying young these days.
Lots of people being ages that I didn’t used to see as young too…..
Kick up, and get some ass!!
Good morning, Sean, cyto, and Suthen!
Good morning Ma’am.
We had a wonderful weekend, I hope you did as well.
Today looks to be the same.
I was able to spend both weekend mornings on my back patio, AKA Tranquility Base, so yes – it was a wonderful weekend. Thanks! Glad yours was as well!
https://babylonbee.com/news/media-assures-americans-that-the-real-threat-is-the-side-that-keeps-getting-shot-at
Today, in new car tech: A fan blowing cool air on your cell phone while it charges.
🙄