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submitted by HaulA23Augl to u/HaulA23Augl [link] [comments]


2020.08.13 03:38 Aaron-Hutchyl Season 3 Episode 3 part 2 (S1-S4 Custom Fanfic)

< Aaron's team decide to go in stealthy and climb over the side walls to infiltrate Richmond >

Aaron - "I guess we're putting those ninja skills to the test. You guys sure you're up for the task?"
Clementine - "I was born ready! Let's do this!"
Mariana - "Yeah. What she said!"
Javier - "If you guys are confident on doing it then so am I. We're in this together."
Kate - "I guess myself, James, Gabe and Eleanor will be the distraction. We look the like the least threat to them anyway. A woman with a teenage son along with a nurse and some random dude? Might look convincing enough for them to give us mercy and let us in as their distraction. Paul and Tripp will be the other stealth squad."
Paul - "Then it's sorted then. Good luck people. Kate's team, you guys approach the gate as soon as you see us heading around the side to climb the walls. Here you go Aaron's team. Take these rappels and harnesses. You'll need them to be able to scale the wall safely. Try to not get spotted. Good luck ya'll and keep an eye out for that girl Jenn as they most likely have her held captive somewhere in that city."

< All 3 teams split up and get to their stations. Paul's Team and Aaron's Team both head around the sides of the city walls to scale them while Kate's team approaches the front gate to distract The New Frontier >

Max - "Hold it right there! Don't move any further!"
Lonnie - "Wait a second. You're the people we just raided. Shouldn't we put them down Max?"
Kate - "Please don't! Those guys you're after aren't with us. We came here in hopes of mercy and a place to stay. Please! I have a step son with me and a nurse."
Max - "I suppose we can think things out. You guys don't seem like trouble. But that other kid that we saw earlier along with his Jesus looking friend is nothing but trouble and if we find them here, they're fucking dead. They almost killed me and Lonnie. Open the gates Andy. We'll take them inside. We can ask Joan and David if they want these guys to be apart of the community."
Andy - "Rodger that Max. Opening the gates. Get your men ready to take them inside. I'll handle the rest from there."
Max - "Cool. You can take them to see Joan and David then."

< Andy opens the gate and takes in Kate's team of people >

Inside Richmond...

Andy - "Listen guys. While no other guards are around, I just want to let you know that I'm Paul's inside man and I will do what I can to help you be comfortable and I'm also here to help save your captured friend. My name is Andy St John. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Kate - "Well I'm Kate. This is Eleanor, James and the little one is Gabe. Our friends are here too but they're climbing the side walls to sneak in and grab our captured friend while we pose as a distraction."
Andy - "That's smart but those guys need to be careful around here. If they get spotted, you guys are toast. These guards are not the most observant but they aren't stupid either. I'll try to find them to help them get around Richmond without them getting spotted. Right now I gotta take you guys to their leaders Joan and David. Joan sounds alright but I know there's something not right about her. David on the other hand is just a class A fucking douchebag. I'd be careful around him. He claims that he's ex military or something and lost his family."
Kate - "Wait wait wait! What's his second name if you know it?"
Andy - "Garcia."
Kate - "HOLY shit! Gabe. That's your father and also my husband. He's alive!"
Gabe - "Dad's alive? We need to see him then!"
Kate - "I know you want to see him but we need to be careful. We don't what he may have turned into. And you know he was quite abusive to me sometimes."
Gabe - "I guess you're right. But I still want to see him though. Can we?"
Kate - "Of course you can but it doesn't look like we much a choice anyway."
Gabe - "Yeah."
Andy - "Well. This kind of changes things a little. With you being his family, he'll for sure trust you. We can use that to our advantage. I'll take you to them. Just follow me guys."

< Kate's team follows Andy's lead and he takes them to the main city hall to speak to David and the leader Joan >

Meanwhile at the city walls...

Aaron - "Alright. We're in. You guys alright? You make it over ok?"
Clementine - "Yeah Aaron. Never felt better."
Mariana - "What she said."
Javier - "I'm good. Now if I'm right we should probably look for some kind of holding cells type of building. That's where Jenn will most likely be held. Keep your heads down and stay quiet. Hopefully these guards are stupid and don't recognise who we are. Here Aaron. Put on this mask since it's you they're looking for. The rest of us should be able to just be able to walk around no problem without anyone getting suspicious."
Guard - "What are you guys doing sneaking around the the sides for? You should head back to the main area. You might end up worrying everyone if you're caught wandering about over here. Lucky for you guys, I'll let you away with this. Just be careful okay?"
Javier - "I hear you loud and clear man."
Guard - "Follow me I'll take you back so you aren't making anyone else panic."
Javier - "Okay. Lead the way."

< The guard escorts Aaron's team to the centre of the city. Aaron's team's cover hasn't been blown >

The centre of the city...

Guard - "There you go guys. Just be careful next time. Have a nice day. Cool mask by the way kid."
Aaron - "Thanks and you too kind sir."
Javier - "Alright guys. We should split up. I'll go off on my own since I can stay hidden a lot better on my own since I'm big. You 3 all stick together. You're all small enough to hide together. Good luck. See you on the other side."
Mariana - "Stay safe uncle Javi!"
Javier - "You too sweetie."

< Javier splits up from Aaron, Mariana and Clementine >

Aaron - "Clem, Mari. I see a building with bars on the windows. That must be where Jenn is held. We should try and get in there."

< Aaron, Clementine and Mariana all head to the prison like building and they get approached by a guard >

Guard - "Stay away from that building kids. There's a really dangerous psychotic girl locked in there. God knows what goes on in her mind. Just keep your distance okay? Trying to keep folk safe."
Clementine - "Okay thanks."
Aaron - "That has to be Jenn."
Clementine - "I don't doubt it. He said psychotic. And Jenn has been like that before. You might want to approach her carefully Aaron. She might be pissed at you because you didn't save her."
Mariana - "I think see how we can get in. There's bars around the sides. We can probably get through them if they aren't sturdy."

They head around the side...

Clementine - "What the fuck? The bars are broken. No one appears to be inside. Shit. She must of broke out. That means my traumatised and most likely angry best friend is on the loose somewhere in the city. This is fucked. I just...fuck!!!"
Aaron - "Easy Clem. Just chill out. We'll find her. It'll be okay."
Clementine - "I know. I just can't help but worry for her dude. She's like my bestest friend of all time and she could be in danger or dead. I've seen what she does when she's angry and without me around, she might get herself killed! FUCK!"
Aaron - "Shh shh. It's okay. We just have to find her. It'll be okay."
Clementine - "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up. I really do. This situation is just fucked though. Listen. I'm gonna take a small break and chill out in the middle of the city for a bit while my head gathers all of this. I would really like it if you could come and be there for me by my side. Like a true friend."
Mariana - "That sounds sweet and all but I hate to ask Aaron but I could use your help though looking for Jenn though. It's something I will have a little trouble doing on my own. I'll give you time to decide who you want to go with. Meet me by that empty garage over there if you want to help me find Jenn. I'll wait 10 minutes for you and if you decide to not come, I'll do it on my own."
Clementine - "Well if you want to come and give me some friendly company, just meet me in the middle of the city by the fountain. See you in a bit."

< Clementine and Mariana leave to do their own things >

7 minutes later...

Aaron - "I guess I should decide on who to go with now. Clem is sad and wants my company while Mari is keen on finding Jenn. Man. This is hard to pick between. I don't wanna leave Clem to be alone and sad but I don't wanna leave Mari to look for Jenn by herself in case something happens to her."

WARNING! MAJOR CHOICE - Should Aaron head to the fountain in the middle of the city or should he head to the empty garage meetup point to help Mariana look for Jenn?


View Poll
submitted by Aaron-Hutchyl to TheWalkingDeadGame [link] [comments]


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submitted by dhvf4516Jul to Home_Made_Fun [link] [comments]


2019.10.22 12:27 rysikund So.. Pilot


So, after watching first and second trailer i didn't wanted to watch this tv show cause it looked just bad, but after the premiere my friend told me to watch it. Not because it's good, but cause i will have good laugh
I've got to say, he was right. After that i went to see how much of bad ratings were and i was astounded to see that it had better ratings than Joker.
Than i though "Hell maybe there is someone that will point out something good about it", but i couldn't find a lot. Most of them were just saying that it had lesbian lead actress, Alice and pretty much it.
So i waited to see if it will be better with next episode and.. that didn't happend, and so far this episode gave me big laugh with one scene cause it was so ridicoulus. After that i though "Okay i will wait till season will end and i'll give critic after it" but with episode 3 i just couldn't believe how bad it is done.
I'll try show some problems that i had (and i can bet, that i'm not the only one) with Pilot.
I never done something like that so sorry for any mistakes.

So, first thing, narration. There is just to much of it in this episode, but about that later.
We see her in some kind of frozen lake in.. somewhere, we don't know at the moment. Apart of that staying in the water in this kind of condition is hard, but swimming under the water? What caught my eye more, was how thick was ice. To walk safely on ice, it has to be 4 inches thick and here it was more like layer of ice. I'm pointing that out, cause her mentor(?) was walking on ice and had box with him that he covered the hole which was i suppose pretty heavy.
In the middle of that we had flashback, and again, we'll have a looot of them.
Again, more narration, I suppose they don't have enough time to show it, but if you put some much story in narration alone is quite ridicoulous. Saying that Batman left Gotham because he didn't care? Wow.
Again, making Batman the bad guy. "He gave up on us."
Now the camera moment with "Commander" Jacob and him being.. terrible at his job. So, there is problem with surveilence cameras, and there was not much of a reaction. Signal wasn't turned off and same thing, not much of a reaction. Unknown woman with a KNIFE gets to camera that was pointing at signal with 2 guards watching it.. and he just stares a the TV. She talks for about 30 seconds that Batman nor Crows will not save them.. still not doing anything. Alice knocks camera off and it shows a guards body and NOW he reacts to it. How the hell is he a commander? So many red lights that points out that something is off and he doesn't even react to it? At least start to escort people to exit.
Agent Moore didn't gave a fu** and just straight out shot 2 times at the guys stomach (with which i don't have problem with)
The catching Sophie scene gave me the first chuckle. How did they plan this? Were they running in circle waiting to see when will they make her fall? What if none of them will do their job?
Now we have phone call. Not brilliant acting skills shown from Ruby and we found out that they are step-sisters (conversation feelt very unrealistic).
Another flashback, short, but flashback and suprise suprise, more narration.
Now first thing that i "liked" was how Jacob was behaving when he saw Kate. He just looked like father and it felt normal (like pointing out tattoo) and that Kate was possitive about Bruce.
Another flashback and more narration followed by another flashback. (We're only 12 minutes in)
We are introduce to Luke and he's .. strange character. Asking if somebody is related ro Bruce with "What is he's favourite soup" is not to bright and later we found out that nor is Luke. (Later it is shown quite well)
Now we have party that i suppose Mary prepared aaaannndd.. another flashback. About that flashback, that music was very off-puting and loud, so is the one in fight scene.
Conversation Kate with Alice and again, i don't know why but sound in here is very loud, escpacilly when Alice is talking. "Than take me and let her go" Well, she already has you, so why would she do that.
And damn, that hit in the head.. or did she got hit in the head? Few seconds later we see her in secret hospital that her step-sister is running (What is this all about anyway?) and.. there is no head wound. Not even a scratch, only her shoulder which is cut and that left me confused. Did they forgot that she was hit in the head, they CBA to do makeup so it looked like she was hit in the head, or her head is that strong that this kind of hit would not make any kind of skin damage to her face. She was dropped by someone, unfornately we don't know by who.
Jacob and Kate quarrel and more of bad acting from Ruby. Jacob is mad at her that she went ther without any backup and this is very good point. "You don't love me" Fu***** hell, he literally sent half of the squad just to look for you, and yes he doesn't treat you like everyone else, you're he's only daughter left for god sake.
Luke at his finest. Not only he's not stoping her, he let her do anything. Why he's not using taser (we saw that he has one) or calling police? He pretty much just looks at what she's doing.
Kate finds out that Bruce is/was Batman. It would not be a problem if not that we're only 30 minute in. BTW. what are these weapons? Bat-axes? Bat-sickles? Bat-hatches? Bat-crossbow? Damn.
"It will be, when it fits a woman." That line is terrible. Woman, that means ANY woman. That mean that it could be drug addict, alcoholic with mental problem, but it's fine 'cause she's a woman. Because of that line(not only may i ad) this tv-show had this huge hate. Not because she's a woman, but because how it was delivered and it was delivered terribly. One word would be changed and it would be fine. "It will be, when it fits me" and it would be fine.
Marry gives her information that she might know where Sophie is.. How did she know? Where did she get this information?
Before we get to Batwoman reveal, we have 2 usage of grappling hook. I guess she is fast learner when it comes to Batman equipment (Rey, is that you?). Second guy that was hooked, looked normal but first one was strange. There is ceiling there and the line from that grapple should bend, cause of that stud wall that he was thrown in to.
After that we have super hero landing, and BANG, we can see the Batwoman suit.. and it is awful. (In episode 2 we know the price of it and it's just doesn't look like one) If it was cosplay, fine. It's not cosplay. It look like it's made from some kind of rubber. When you put this and Nolan's Batman suit, Batwoman suit looks cheap as hell.
Of course we also have Clegane Bowl, where Batwoman and Alice fight. At the end of the fight Alice want to take detonater, but Batwoman hits it with batarang (I guess Alice didn't watch The Dark Knight and she didn't learn that you should have more than just one detonator) and with frustration Alice throws her butterfly knife in to the CONCRETE wall. And then Sophie falls, but Batwoman catches her and they fall on some kind of bed that prevented them from taking fall damage (I guess Batwoman DID watch The Dark Knight).
Batwoman comes back, but nobody is there anymore. She takes knife that was in the wall, then she goes to the edge of the building and we get truly comic book moment with the girl (First thing that came to my mind was Remi's Spider Man) and we can see Batwoman glide out of the building and special effect of that glide is very bad.
Aftermath is that Gotham starts to believe that Batman is back and we get to know that Sophie has husband. We also get another father-daugther moment that is natural. Also it's good to see that Kate accepted that Bruce is/was Batman and that she doesn't have big grudge about what happend (at least for now).
At the end of the episode we get to know that Alice is actually the sister that was missing.


The story is confusing and (probably) creators of the show realized that show was so chaotic that they had to add those narrations and it's not even a good thing. It's lazy.
Retrospections that is more like slide show with yellow glow. If that's how memories are supposed to look, than i don't even one second of them. Dialoges are melodramatic and "nobody talk like that in real life". Scenography is cheap and so does costumes. It's boring, serious and without humor. And when i say without humor i mean at all. I laughed, but not because something funny was said, but because something ridicoulous happend (Episode 2 takes the cake with that)
And the biggest problem of them all.. Batwoman. Ruby Rose is stiff as hell and in some moments sounds like robot.
We get emotional scenes, Kate finds out that Bruce was Batman, she becomes Batwoman and we find out that Alice is Beth. Everything in 40 minutes. It's to much. We don't get to feel emotional scenes, cause we're not attached to them, we bearly know them. They characters are not developed. Kate finding out that Bruce is Batman should happend at the end of episode. Kate getting suit in first 30 minutes is also too fast. And Alice sister reveal should happen in maybe episode 4-5. Plot is pushed to fast.
Character development at the moment isn't there. That will be judged at the end of the season i suppose.
We jumped from one place to another, it's very hard to keep on track with everything.
Music is.. off-putting(especially in emotional scenes). It's also very loud. Not only music but also dialouges. (Very visible when Kate gets captured by Alice men.)

Things that i liked? Hmm.. Jacob being father. It just felt normal. Maybe Marry. Don't know about Alice, still have to watch more.

Show being bombed in ratings? Don't expect to much if you're going to shit on people. People hating that there is woman protagonists? Not even close. I was actually suprised cause there was almost none of it. There is a lot more that is worse than this "Problem" that isn't even a problem.

I'm not gonna rate this episode in like 1/10 cause i don't like something like that. I keep it simple, it's goodd or bad. For me, this episode was Bad.
I would love to see what do you think about it. And holy crap i didn't realized that this is so long :D
submitted by rysikund to BatwomanTV [link] [comments]


2019.08.04 06:17 anti-ZOG-sci-fry House of Rothschild: Then & Now (Part 3)

House of Rothschild: Then & Now (Part 3)
by Jayge 8^J
"Baron Abraham Edmond Benjamin James de Rothschild (19 August 1845 – 2 November 1934) was a French member of the Rothschild banking family. A strong supporter of Zionism, his large donations lent significant support to the movement during its early years, which helped lead to the establishment of the State of Israel...in 1882 Edmond cut back on his purchases of art and began to buy land in Southern Syria (Ottoman Palestine). He became a leading proponent of the Zionist movement, financing the first site at Rishon LeZion. In his goal for the establishment of a Jewish homeland, he promoted industrialization and economic development. In 1924, he established the Palestine Jewish Colonization Association (PICA), which acquired more than 125,000 acres (50,586 ha) of land and set up business ventures. Edmond de Rothschild also played a pivotal role in Israel's wine industry. Under the supervision of his administrators in Ottoman Palestine, farm colonies and vineyards were established, and two major wineries were opened in Rishon LeZion and Zikhron Ya'akov. It is estimated that Rothschild spent over $50 million in supporting the settlements and backed research in electricity by engineers and financed development of an electric generating station. Jews and Arabs lived amicably on Rothschild's land, with no Arab grievances, even in the worst periods of disturbance.[citation needed] According to historian Albert M. Hyamson, "Rothschild recognised that the overriding interest of the Jews of Palestine was the confidence and the friendship of their Arab neighbours. The interests of the Arab cultivators of the land he bought were never overlooked, but by development he made this land capable of maintaining a population ten times its former size." While Edmond de Rothschild was not always supportive of an inclusive government - he suggested in 1931 to Judah Magnes that "We must hold them (the Arabs) down with a strong hand" - he acknowledged the importance of co-governance and peaceful coexistence in a 1934 letter to the League of Nations, stating that "the struggle to put an end to the Wandering Jew, could not have as its result, the creation of the Wandering Arab.""
"Nathaniel Charles Jacob Rothschild, 4th Baron Rothschild, OM, GBE, FRCA, Hon FKC, Hon FBA (born 29 April 1936) is a British investment banker and a member of the prominent Rothschild banking family. He is also honorary president of the Institute for Jewish Policy Research...From 1963 Rothschild worked at the family bank N M Rothschild & Sons in London, before resigning in 1980 due to a family dispute. The chairmanship of the bank had passed from his father, who had chosen to follow a scientific career and had lost control of the majority voting shares, to his cousin Sir Evelyn Robert de Rothschild, and Jacob felt that his aspirations would be thwarted. He sold his minority stake in the bank, but took independent control of Rothschild Investment Trust (now RIT Capital Partners plc), an investment trust listed on the London Stock Exchange. After resigning from the bank in 1980, Jacob Rothschild went on to found J. Rothschild Assurance Group (now St. James's Place plc) with Sir Mark Weinberg in 1991. In 1989, he joined forces with Sir James Goldsmith and Kerry Packer, in an unsuccessful bid for British American Tobacco. Rothschild is Chairman of RIT Capital Partners plc, one of the largest investment trusts quoted on the London Stock Exchange with a net asset value of about £2 billion. He is Chairman of J Rothschild Capital Management, a subsidiary of RIT Capital Partners plc. He is also a Member of the Council for the Duchy of Cornwall for HRH The Prince of Wales and a member of the International Advisory Board of The Blackstone Group. He also retains many other venture capital and property interests. From November 2003 until his retirement in 2008, he was Deputy Chairman of BSkyB Television and until 2008 he was a Director of RHJ International. In 2003 Rothschild came under scrutiny when Russian oil industrialist Mikhail Khodorkovsky's shares in YUKOS passed to him under a deal they concluded prior to Khodorkovsky's arrest. In November 2010, an undisclosed entity affiliated with Rothschild purchased a 5.0% equity interest in Genie Energy, a subsidiary of IDT Corporation, for $10.0 million. In 2013, Genie Energy was granted exclusive oil and gas exploration rights to a 153-square mile radius in the southern part of the Golan Heights. From his headquarters in St James's Place in London, Jacob Rothschild has cultivated an influential set of clients, business associates and friends who have extended his interests far beyond the normal scope of a banker. He maintains strong personal and business links with Henry Kissinger. His country estate has been a regular venue for visiting heads of state including Presidents Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton. Margaret Thatcher received French President François Mitterrand there at a summit in 1990. He hosted the European Economic Round Table conference in 2002, attended by such figures as James Wolfensohn, former president of the World Bank, Nicky Oppenheimer, Warren Buffett and Arnold Schwarzenegger." -- Wikipedia
"US Presidents Murdered By The Rothschild Banking Cartel Lincoln's Private War: The Trail of Blood 7-12-9 Lincoln's Birthday gives us an appropriate opportunity to examine some deep American traditions which may also give us some unusual insights into the "principalities and powers" of Ephesians Chapter 6. Abraham Lincoln worked valiantly to prevent the Rothschild's attempts to involve themselves in financing the Civil War. Interestingly, it was the Czar of Russia who provided the needed assistance against the British and French, who were among the driving forces behind the secession of the South and her subsequent financing. Russia intervened by providing naval forces for the Union blockade of the South in European waters, and by letting both countries know that if they attempted to join the Confederacy with military forces, they would also have to go to war with Russia. The Rothschild interests did succeed, through their agent Treasury Secretary Salmon P. Chase, to force a bill (the National Banking Act) through Congress creating a federally chartered central bank that had the power to issue U.S. Bank Notes. Afterward, Lincoln warned the American people: "The money power preys upon the nation in time of peace and conspires against it in times of adversity. It is more despotic than monarchy, more insolent than autocracy, more selfish than bureaucracy. I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me, and causes me to tremble for the safety of our country. Corporations have been enthroned, an era of corruption will follow, and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people, until the wealth is aggregated in a few hands, and the republic is destroyed. "<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#4>4 Lincoln continued to fight against the central bank, and some now believe that it was his anticipated success in influencing Congress to limit the life of the Bank of the United States to just the war years that was the motivating factor behind his assassination. The Lone Assassin Myth is Born Modern researchers have uncovered evidence of a massive conspiracy that links the following parties to the Bank of Rothschild:<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#5>5 Lincoln's Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, John Wilkes Booth, his eight co-conspirators, and over seventy government officials and businessmen involved in the conspiracy. When Booth's diary was recovered by Stanton's troops, it was delivered to Stanton. When it was later produced during the investigation, eighteen pages had been ripped out. These pages, containing the aforementioned names,were later found in the attic of one of Stanton's descendants. >From Booth's trunk, a coded message was found that linked him directly to Judah P. Benjamin, the Civil War campaign manager in the South for the House of Rothschild. When the war ended, the key to the code was found in Benjamin's possession. The assassin, portrayed as a crazed lone gunman with a few radical friends, escaped by way of the only bridge in Washington not guarded by Stanton's troops. "Booth" was located hiding in a barn near Port Royal, Virginia, three days after escaping from Washington. He was shot by a soldier named Boston Corbett, who fired without orders. Whether or not the man killed was Booth is still a matter of contention, but the fact remains that whoever it was, he had no chance to identify himself. It was Secretary of War Edwin Stanton who made the final identification. Some now believe that a dupe was used and that the real John Wilkes Booth escaped with Stanton's assistance. Mary Todd Lincoln, upon hearing of her husband's death, began screaming, "Oh, that dreadful house!" Earlier historians felt that this spontaneous utterance referred to the White House. Some now believe it may have been directed to Thomas W. House, a gun runner, financier, and agent of the Rothschild's during the Civil War, who was linked to the anti-Lincoln, pro-banker interests.<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#6>6 The Federal Reserve Another myth that all Americans live with is the charade known as the "Federal Reserve." It comes as a shock to many to discover that it is not an agency of the United States Government. The name "Federal Reserve Bank" was designed to deceive, and it still does. It is not federal, nor is it owned by the government. It is privately owned.<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#7>7 It pays its own postage like any other corporation. Its employees are not in civil service. Its physical property is held under private deeds, and is subject to local taxation. Government property, as you know, is not. It is an engine that has created private wealth that is unimaginable, even to the most financially sophisticated. It has enabled an imperial elite to manipulate our economy for its own agenda and enlisted the government itself as its enforcer. It controls the times, dictates business, affects our homes and practically everything in which we are interested. It takes powerful force to maintain an empire, and this one is no different. The concerns of the leadership of the "Federal Reserve" and its secretive international benefactors appear to go well beyond currency and interest rates. Andrew Jackson Andrew Jackson was the first President from west of the Appalachians. He was unique for the times in being elected by the voters, without the direct support of a recognized political organization. He vetoed the renewal of the charter for the Bank of the United States on July 10, 1832. In 1835, President Andrew Jackson declared his disdain for the international bankers: "You are a den of vipers. I intend to rout you out, and by the Eternal God I will rout you out. If the people only understood the rank injustice of our money and banking system, there would be a revolution before morning."<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#8>8 There followed an (unsuccessful) assassination attempt on President Jackson's life. Jackson had told his vice president, Martin Van Buren, "The bank, Mr. Van Buren, is trying to kill me...."<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#9>9 Was this the beginning of a pattern of intrigue that would plague the White House itself over the coming decades? Was his (and Lincoln's) death related by an invisible thread to the international bankers? James Garfield President James Abram Garfield, our 20th President, had previously been Chairman of the House Committee on Appropriations and was an expert on fiscal matters. (Upon his election, among other things, he appointed an unpopular collector of customs at New York, whereupon the two Senators from New York--Roscoe Conkling and Thomas Platt--resigned their seats.) President Garfield openly declared that whoever controls the supply of currency would control the business and activities of all the people. After only four months in office, President Garfield was shot at a railroad station on July 2, 1881. Another coincidence. John F. Kennedy President John F. Kennedy planned to exterminate the Federal Reserve System. In 1963 he signed Executive Orders EO-11 and EO-110, returning to the government the responsibility to print money, taking that privilege away from the Federal Reserve System.<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#10>10 Shortly thereafter, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#11>11 The professional, triangulated fire that executed the President of the United States is not the most shocking issue. The high- level coordination that organized the widespread coverup is manifest evidence of the incredible power of a "hidden government" behind the scenes. (Sound preposterous? Read Kill Zone, by Craig Roberts for an update on the events in Dealey Plaza.) The Trail of Blood Continues In the 70's and 80's, Congressman Larry P. McDonald spearheaded efforts to expose the hidden holdings and intentions of the international money interests. His efforts ended on August 31, 1983, when he was killed when Korean Airlines 007 was "accidentally" shot down in Soviet airspace. A strange coincidence, it would seem. Senator John Heinz and former Senator John Tower had served on powerful Senate banking and finance committees and were outspoken critics of the Federal Reserve and the Eastern Establishment. On April 4, 1991, Senator John Heinz was killed in a plane crash near Philadelphia.<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#12>12 On the next day, April 5, 1991, former Senator John Tower was also killed in a plane crash. The coincidences seem to mount.<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#13>13 Attempts to just audit the Federal Reserve continue to meet with failure. It is virtually impossible to muster support for any issue that has the benefit of a media blackout.<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#14>14 (The bizarre but tragic reality that the American people suffer from a managed and controlled media is a subject for another discussion.) Beginning of a Series For many years, numerous authors have attempted to sound the alarm that there exists a hidden "shadow government" that actually rules America. Most of us have dismissed these "conspiracy theory" views as extremist and unrealistic. However, when I had the opportunity to have lunch with Otto von Habsburg,<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#15>15 Member of the European Parliament, he made two remarks that caught my attention. The first was: "The ignorance in America is overwhelming." Indeed, the contrast in general awareness of world affairs between the average American and the average European is striking. It was his second observation that really provoked me: "The concentration of power in America is frightening."<http://www.servelec.net/lincoln.htm#16>16 As a reasonably circumspect senior executive, having spent three decades in international finance and viewing America as a broadly based representative democracy, his remark shocked me. It prompted me to do some more homework. The results of my inquiries are most disturbing. Sources: 1. Wardner, James W., The Planned Destruction of America, Longwood Communications, 397 Kingslake Drive, DeBarry, FL, 1994. [IMG]A "must read." 2. Roberts, Craig, Kill Zone, Consolidated Press International, 1994. Fascinating expos, on the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Paul, Ron, The Ron Paul Survival Report (a newsletter by a former congressman on monetary issues, personal survival, etc.), P.O. Box 602, Lake Jackson, TX, 77566. (A comprehensive list of similar resources is also included in the notes to <http://www.khouse.org/briefing.html>The Vortex Strategy, Volume 2.) Notes: 1. <http://www.servelec.net/briefing.html>Briefing Packages Iron Mixed with Clay: The Emergent European Suprastate; Mystery of Babylon; Daniel's Seventy Weeks; et al. 2. 2 Corinthians 2:11. 3. Ephesians 6:12. 4. Roberts, Archibald E., Bulletin--Committee to Restore the Constitution, Feb. 1989, p. 6; H.S. Kennan, The Federal Reserve Bank, p. 9; James W. Wardner, The Planned Destruction of America, p. 23. 5. Roberts, Craig, Kill Zone, p. 170. 6. Thomas W. House was the father of "Colonel" Edward Mandell House who later became the key player in the election of Woodrow Wilson and the passage of the Federal Reserve Act. 7. Lewis vs. United States, Ninth Circuit Court, Apr. 17, 1982. 8. Roberts, Archibald E., Bulletin--Committee to Restore the Constitution, Feb. 1989, p. 5. 9. Schlesinger Jr., Arthur M., The Age of Jackson, Mentor Books, NY, 1945, p. 6-7. 10. Roberts, Craig, Kill Zone, Typhoon Press, Consolidated Press International, 1994, p. 189. 11. For a current summary of what really happened at Dealey Plaza, read Craig Robert's Kill Zone. 12. Kah, Gary H., En Route to Global Occupation, Huntington House Publishers, Lafayette, LA, 1992, p. 19. 13. ibid., p. 18. 14. ibid., p. 19-20. 15. His father ruled Europe until the end of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire in 1918. 16. <http://www.khouse.org/update.html>Personal UPDATE, November 1993, p. 4-8." -- rense.com
"VIDEO: Were The Devastating California Wildfires Caused By Directed-Energy Weapons? By cloverchronicle on November 18, 2018 At around 9:45 PM on Sunday October 8th, 2017, the Tubbs Fire began in Northern California. And by the time the sun came up, over 1,000 homes were destroyed. Videos and photographs show how this so-called forest fire seemed to spare the wild and somehow jumped from house to house. CNN reported that the so-called forest fire jumped to the freeway. Hundreds of photographs show cars with melted trails of aluminum alloys from what must have been an unprecedented amount of power. The average forest fire burns at 1,100 degrees Fahrenheit. Aluminum alloys will melt at temperatures between 1,200 and 2,000 degrees. But many of these cars were nowhere near a forest fire. Some cars were flipped over. Credit: David McNew/Getty Images Credit: Eric Risberg/AP Photo The heat must have been intense. Not only was it able to melt aluminum alloy, but consistently every home that caught fire was leveled to white powdery ash in less than 12 hours. By October 31st, the Tubbs Fire had destroyed 5,643 buildings. PG&E (Pacific Gas and Electric) was found responsible for 16 of the fires; over $10 billion in damages. All of this while producing $1 billion a year in profits for the Rothschild Investment Group. PG&E warned the public that the fires would not just continue, but will grow larger every season. They warned their investors that future liability will force PG&E into bankruptcy. In June, utility officials told state lawmakers that they needed protection to survive the coming fire season. On August 31st, California state legislature passed a utility bailout bill to protect PG&E, its shareholders and Rothschild Investment. At sunrise on Thursday, November 8th, the Camp Fire wildfire began in California. It has all the same anomalies as the Tubbs Fire and is already twice as devastating. Many people are asking the same question: Is this an attack? In 2003, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and General Richard Myers admit to the development of directed-energy weapons and microwave technology. In 2017, Lockheed Martin shoots drones out of the sky with an invisible laser beam that burns them from the inside out. The technology exists. The evidence is there. But the motive? Perhaps it can be found in the United Nations Agenda 21 where in certain areas of the country are proposed to be off limits to human use. It just so happens that these strange California fires seem to all be within the proposed “no human use” areas. Credit: EPI New regulations of insurance policies are preventing homeowners from rebuilding. Meanwhile, they claim this is the new normal and are now claiming it is a phenomenon of global warming. One thing is for certain: The governor of California has already assured that the people will pay for all of the damages. (Credit: Infowars)" -- cloverchronicle.com
"VIDEO: Woman Predicted Deadly California Wildfires Back In February, Said Pacific Gas And Electric Would Be Responsible By cloverchronicle on November 16, 2018 A video posted earlier this year on YouTube shows a woman from StopTheCrime.net speaking at a Sonoma County Board of Supervisors meeting. Almost immediately, she stated the following: “One of the reasons why I was not here for two and half years… I used to be a regular attendee here… but Pacific Gas and Electric was intercepted with a download of documents professing the fact that they were going to be using directed energy weapons, satellite based, on Sonoma County. That has been up on YouTube with the plan to burn up Northern California.” “We discovered that Pacific Gas and Electric is operated by and large by Rothschild. Rothschild owns Weather Central and also has a large hand in weather modification, globally. And it’s so sad to be here today because I have family members that lost homes and I live in a county that I call home… that is being literally overrun by a power that has not yet been discussed.” “And I’m horrified and sad to be here right now. Very sad. But the plan to burn up Northern California was real. It was your first early warning. And there were emails that were sent to other government officials… (they) knew about this. And I would ask you please to watch the YouTube (video). Listen to it, because the second plan of burning up Northern California hasn’t yet happened. But it will. It will happen.” Watch the video below: Interestingly enough, an anonymous image board user also mentioned PG&E, along with some other details, in a couple of their posts: “The Camp Fire was a pre-planned event! I saw activity in the community of Paradise that gave me the sinking feeling that something was going to occur. I even told my daughter the week previous that something was going to happen. Capstone company needs to be completely investigated. I was told they were contracted by PG&E and working in the area for a couple of weeks previous to the event. I saw strange things during the fire being done by this company. Certain houses surrounded by fire trucks as up the street people burned alive in their cars. On top of that the town of Paradise turned the water off which prevented firemen from doing their jobs. The 3rd day Cal Fire called and demanded the water be turned back on. Many years ago we discovered that approx 75% of the hydrants in our town are blank. They are not connected to any water source at all. I lost everything I own to this fire. Most of the town did. Many people lost their lives trying to escape. I have lived in this town since 84 and have seen some of the worst fire seasons on record. This was not a regular fire. The wind was NOT blowing like they claim except in the vicinity of the fire itself. There are roads with every house burnt to the ground but garbage cans standing perfectly untouched in the street between the burnt houses. In the weeks before many of the retirement and convalescent homes had evacuation drills and made sure that each person had a bag packed with 3 days worth of clothes and meds which stayed packed and ready after the drill. There is so much more to share, but there is no one here trustworthy to talk to.”“My thoughts on why… All of the California communities burned this year are for the most part Republicans. Between Camp fire and the Carr fire there are now 1000s of displaced voters. And the gold… The town of Paradise is literally on a mountain of un-mined gold. People have avoided selling property for generations to pass it down to family and not have the town destroyed. I would bet the last dollar in my pocket that there will be a few contractors come through to purchase as much property as possible at this point. I need help and I am absolutely willing to doxx myself to the f**king world. I drove through fire to save my grandchildren’s lives and I will go to whatever length I have to find the answer to who and why they did this to my community.”" -- cloverchronicles.com
"Meet The Remaining Heirs Of The Legendary Rothschild Dynasty...When the Rothschilds last made headlines, Nat was suing a British newspaper for libel in connection with a trip he took to a Russian sauna with an oligarch and a British lord. A family that has defined several eras of financial history, and has established institutions and residency across Europe needs no introduction. But Nat is far from the only scion of the famous banking family who pops in and out of the headlines. We've pulled together the current exploits of the far-flung, and at this point distantly-related, family members. Nathaniel 'Nat' Rothschild...Current whereabouts and activity: Besides the whole sauna situation, Nat was co-chairman of the hedge fund Atticus Capital from 1996 until it ceased activity in 2009. He now lives in Switzerland a majority of the time and runs JNR Limited, an advisory business focused on emerging markets natural resources transactions. He is co-chair of Bumi Plc, an Indonesian mining company listed on the London Stock Exchange. He was also reported to be friends with Muammar Qaddafi's son Saif. Lineage: The youngest of four children and only son of Jacob Rothschild, 4th Baron Rothschild and Serena Mary Dunn." -- businessinsider.com Ben Walsh Feb. 7, 2012, 9:13 AM
"The richest Rothschild of them all...By Zoe Brennan. Nat Rothschild is at the centre of a political storm after alleging Shadow Tory Chancellor George Osborne solicited a donation from a Russian oligarch. Party boy: Nat Rothschild has shed his wild side to earn a fortune. As the young man spoke, silence descended. Gathered around the table at this high-powered lunch in central London earlier this month were the elite of the British business world. Marcus Agius, chairman of Barclays bank, Sir David Arculus of the O2 telecoms giant, and Ian Davis, the global managing director of McKinsey consulting company, put down their knives and forks to listen. The unassuming man - 20 years younger than the assembled company - delivered a considered and incisive view of global markets with a gravitas that belied his youth. One witness says: "It was incredibly impressive. He waited for his moment, and then came across as calculating and powerful. I think everyone was taken by surprise. "I found it impossible to square what I knew of his previous wild-child existence with the man who sat before us." The man in question was Nat Rothschild - the 35-year-old scion of the wealthy banking dynasty, one-time black sheep of the family, and now a rising star in his own right. Earlier this month, the New York Times highlighted his extraordinary metamorphosis from playboy to hedge fund prince, and tipped him as "a kingmaker in his own right, and an investor who some say may become the richest Rothschild of them all". An extravagant assertion - but not without some plausibility. Rich-list compiler Philip Beresford says: "He has been on my radar for some time. He jets around the world empire-building, keeping in touch with his deals via the latest satellite communications. He has the years on his side and the right connections. "What he needs is one of those historic opportunities like the ones seized by his ancestors. If he gets that golden moment, he could be the richest one of his generation." Nat is in line to become the fifth Baron Rothschild and inherit around £500million from his banker father. But now, thanks to a complicated web of private equity investments in the Ukraine and Eastern Europe, and his partnership in Atticus Capital, a hugely successful £7billion hedge fund, Nat is set to exceed the fortune he will be bequeathed with his own earnings. His wealth has been accrued in his role as the adviser to Oleg Deripaska, one of the richest oligarchs in Russia and the owner of the aluminum giant Rusal, which recently merged with two other companies to create the world's largest aluminum company. And, although discreet in his business deals, privately he lives the life one would associate with a Rothschild. His best friend is Roman Abramovich, the owner of Chelsea Football Club, and he is currently rumoured to be dating the young film actress Natalie Portman. An accomplished skier, his principal residence is in Klosters, Switzerland, and he uses his Gulfstream jet to travel between his other homes in Paris, Moscow, London, New York and Greece. Nat is a generous and gregarious host, who lavishes his guests with vintage champagne and wine from the Rothschild vineyards - but he no longer raises a glass himself: that would be to lapse into the libertine existence he has left behind. For his rise is all the more noteworthy given the fact that it once appeared that Nat Rothschild - sadly like several of the dynasty before him - was self-destructing. In 1996, one of Nat Rothschild's cousins, Amschel, hanged himself at the age of 41. He had just been asked to fill a leading position in the family bank in London. Four years later, another cousin, Raphael de Rothschild, died in Manhattan from a heroin overdose. He was just 23. For some years it appeared that Nat Rothschild, too, would follow in their blighted footsteps. From an early age, he appeared an unlikely dealmaker. A contemporary at Eton remembers him as "a rather scruffy and unpredictable boy with a rebellious streak, who you would never have tipped to make a big success of his life". At one stage during his Eton career, Rothschild was sent to live with a master, in a vain attempt to rein him in. The friend says: "He seemed the classic example of a boy born into huge privilege, weighed down with parental expectations, but who resisted any type of conformism and resented authority." He adds: "To be honest, aside from his name, he's the last person I would have expected to end up running his own hedge fund - but then perhaps that's what's made him so successful. He has a willingness to take risks, to seek out the extreme, to act impetuously." While at Oxford, Rothschild soon became infamous for his excesses. He was a member of the notorious Bullingdon Club, the debauched all-male drinking society with a reputation for drug-taking and wanton vandalism, which counts David Cameron among its former members. Indeed, Rothschild once pushed a portable toilet down a steep hill - with a friend still inside. An Oxford friend remembers: "We were at Wadham together. Nat was rarely out of black tie, he would drink and party through the night, and then sleep through the day in his formal suit, much to the dismay of his history tutors. "He's not blessed in the looks department, he's got carrot-red hair and freckles. But Nat is very charming and has a penchant for fast cars. "At college, he was known as a babe magnet - at parties, the beautiful girls would flock to him like bees to honey. That's what the name Rothschild does for you. Women seem to find it a very powerful aphrodisiac." Favoured girls would be asked back to his father Jacob's lavish country estate, where the young lothario reputedly slashed their car tyres so that he might detain them long enough to seduce them. An escort girl recently claimed that in 1994, Rothschild asked her to supply drugs and strippers to a party at the Rothschild stately home, Waddesdon Manor, Buckinghamshire, which is now run by the National Trust. She said: "They were very precise in what they wanted - three slim black girls in stockings, suspenders and high heels. They also wanted the girls to do extras." When Nat embarked on a romance with Kate Moss's friend, model Annabelle Neilson, his family must have cast a jaded eye over his latest choice, whom he had met on a beach in India. They were even more horrified when, aged just 23, he eloped with her to Las Vegas, and married her. "It was a huge shock to Jacob and his wife, Lady Serena," says a close family friend. "They expected him to date models and sow his wild oats - but marrying Annabelle was incredibly impetuous and obviously against the advice of the family lawyers. They were just appalled. "The girl's party trick was to climb onto the dining table in her tiny dress and stilettos and dance amid the crystal and silver. Rather vulgar, I'm afraid. Nat's parents predicted it would end in tears, and it did." For a while, the couple appeared to live a gilded life, gracing the pages of glossy magazines - partying in Cannes with friends such as supermodel Elle Macpherson, designer Alexander McQueen, and "It" girl Tamara Beckwith, or sunning themselves in the Caribbean. After just three years of partying - and cataclysmic rows - the couple divorced and Neilson reportedly received a generous financial settlement in return for rescinding the dynastic name and signing a confidentiality agreement. At that moment, alone in New York and, according to friends, "a mess", Rothschild took stock of his hitherto aimless society life. Those close to him say that he suddenly found something repellent in his lifestyle. He decided to turn his back on partying and step up to his name. To that end, he joined the merchant bank Lazards in London and then moved to New York. There Nat met Timothy Barakett, a young investor who was trying to raise money for Atticus, his new hedge fund (basically, a private investment fund open only to selected individuals and following a complex investment strategy). He asked Barakett for a job, but was turned down. The men stayed in touch, though, and two years later, Barakett took Rothschild on, giving him the title of director of business development - a position in which he was, of course, able to open doors for his partner. At the time, they were Atticus's only two employees. But not for long. Since its inception, the fund has grown an incredible 30 per cent a year and now has £7billion under its management. Success has brought huge rewards: in 2005, Rothschild was paid just over £40million. According to insiders, he made even more than that last year. "He has had an incredible evolution, and he has done it on his own,"Barakett told the New York Times. "It's not about family connections. He has a knack for identifying talented people and interesting investments." Those close to Rothschild believe he is haunted by the desire to live up to his father Jacob's accomplishments, and is determined to enhance the family name. He has recently joined his father in a business venture, JNR, which invests in Russian companies. There is a plan to float it on the London Stock Exchange next year, with some valuations approaching £2billion, making Nat's share worth £300million. Like many Rothschilds before him, he is an avid collector of contemporary art - one of his favourite pieces being a life-sized canvas of a decapitated bikini-clad woman by the British artist Julian Opie. When on business in America, he lives in a breathtaking, minimalist Manhattan town house, which is about to be featured in Men's Vogue. The property is littered with giant flat-screen TVs and expensive boys' toys, with lacquered sliding panels hiding any mess. Modernistic touch screens control the music, heat and televisions, and an outdoor shower graces the rooftop terrace. Only the wine cellar betrays his old-money heritage, with the family connections to Chateau Mouton and Chateau Lafite-Rothschild. Some 670-odd backlit bottles are cradled inside a series of top- of-the-range glass- doored refrigerators, jeroboams of Pierre-Jouet champagne jostling for space with the finest vintages from Bordeaux. David Chipperfield, his architect, says: "Normally you build a house around somebody, around that person's rituals. But Nat isn't a person who necessarily stays in the house that much. His life is much more eccentric, much more erratic." In fact, he rarely spends more than four days in the same place, flying in his elaborately equipped private jet from Siberia, to Switzerland via Greece, to New York - but always retaining a link to Britain. Indeed, the dramatic centrepiece staircase of his five-storey New York house is fashioned out of English oak, while outside - rather incongruously - is a traditional moss-covered English country house garden. There is only one thing missing, of course: a wife to share in his success. After his disastrous marriage, Nat has shunned any long-term commitment, but he has reportedly had flings with Jonathan Aitken's daughter, Petrina Khashoggi, and Ivanka Trump, and is now seeing 25-year-old Natalie Portman - who is about to star as Anne Boleyn in The Other Boleyn Girl - taking her on a discreet date to Wiltons restaurant in St James's. Just how has it suddenly gone so right? A friend from Rothschild's early days says: "It seemed that he suddenly discovered a way to harness his rebellious streak to his advantage, and he was off like a rocket. "The next thing you know, he's got his own private jet and is a master of the corporate universe. "It's as if he just can't help making money."" -- dailymail.co.uk
Just see how swindled wealth gets zionists treated like royalty.
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2019.05.15 21:18 quoth_tthe_raven Spoilers: Since RAS said tonight is "paying homage" to the S1 Pilot, here is a recap of the episode.

The CW’s Riverdale transports the sunny, resoundingly normal teens of Archie Comics — including the titular Archie Andrews, girl next door Betty Cooper, sophisticated Veronica Lodge, and oddball Jughead Jones — to a far creepier and sexier reality than the one they’re traditionally accustomed to. Like any soapy teen drama, Riverdale will probably take some time to calibrate its tone and camp level, but rest assured that this clever, visually lush series is already entertaining as hell.
The pilot begins with the Blossom twins, Jason and Cheryl, taking an early-morning boat ride on the Fourth of July, clad in all-white ensembles befitting an upscale cult. Later that day, Dilton Doiley, leading a Boy Scout troop on a birding trip that apparently wandered right off the set of a Wes Anderson movie, finds a distraught Cheryl alone on the river’s edge. She says that she dropped a glove (if you’re asking yourself why she was wearing gloves in July, Riverdale might not be the show for you) and her brother fell out of the boat trying to retrieve it. His body has yet to be found.
When we meet Betty Cooper, she’s wearing only a bra, but her introduction is immediately chased with an equally gratuitous shot of a shirtless Archie Andrews, so, well played, Riverdale. The two best friends have a date (well, not a date) to catch up at Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe, where Betty hopes to reveal her secret crush on him. Archie, whose gloriously bushy eyebrows are so far the most substantial aspect of his personality, spent the summer pouring concrete for his dad’s construction company, during which time his mind discovered an affinity for composing lyrics and his body discovered it had abs.
Before Betty can spill the delicate, pastel-pink contents of her guts, Veronica Lodge floats into the restaurant wearing a casual hooded cape. She’s moved to Riverdale from New York City with her mother, a Harry Potter–unaffiliated Hermione, after her father was arrested for fraud and embezzlement. She and Archie share immediate chemistry.
Riverdale doubles down on its Twin Peaks-y flair by introducing us to Betty’s mother (Mädchen Amick, a.k.a. the Double R Diner’s own Shelly Johnson), who is a low-key monster. She declares that Polly, Betty’s unseen sister, let Jason Blossom “ruin” her. Then she foists a bottle of Adderall on her daughter, because this is, after all, a teen drama.
On the first day of school, Betty shows Veronica around, while the heiress to the Lodge fortune demonstrates her fondness for highbrow pop-culture zingers: “I feel like I’m wandering through the lost epilogue of Our Town!” “Ten minutes in and I’m already the Blue Jasmine of Riverdale High!” “I’m Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but this place is strictly In Cold Blood!” Veronica quickly bonds with Betty’s openly gay pal Kevin Keller. She also contemplates pursuing Archie (“I’ve tried every flavor of boy but orange”), but graciously backs down when Kevin explains that, while Betty and Archie aren’t dating, “they are endgame.”
Meanwhile, Archie turns to Josie — of “and the Pussycats” fame — for help with his newfound love of music, but she doesn’t have time for him. “Read my glossed lips, Justin Gingerlake,” she says. “Not gonna happen.” (Side note: I had no idea that Josie and the Pussycats originated in Archie Comics! Then again, my domain knowledge is so limited that if Batman showed up on Riverdale, I would not necessarily be fazed.)
Later, Archie spots gorgeous music teacher Miss Grundy across the gym at an assembly. In a flashback to the summer, Grundy — wearing Lolita sunglasses — picks Archie up and offers him a ride, then summarily bangs him in her tiny VW Beetle. Yet another thing Riverdale has in common with Pretty Little Liars: a light dusting of statutory rape. Back in school, he tries to talk to her about his music; she coolly tells him to make an appointment. Hermione Lodge goes to see Archie’s (ahem, single) dad Fred Andrews (played by a distractingly attractive Luke Perry), and it’s revealed that, once upon a time, they used to date.
Her place in Riverdale High already established, Veronica encourages Betty to join her in trying out for the River Vixens cheerleading squad — of which mean-girl-in-mourning Cheryl is the captain — even though Betty was previously rejected for being “too season-five Betty Draper,” which is to say, fat.
In the most romantically lit music classroom in history, Miss Grundy expresses her reluctance to spend time alone with Archie. We learn that, while Archie and Miss Grundy were having a sexy lakeside picnic on July 4th, they heard what sounded like a gunshot. Clearly, this information could be relevant to the disappearance of Jason Blossom, but they never told anyone. If they did, how could they explain their being together?
Betty and Veronica’s Vixens tryout fails to please Cheryl, who demands, “Where’s the heat? Where’s the sizzle?” Veronica, naturally, proceeds to make out with Betty. They already make for a much more compelling couple than Archie and … well, anyone. When the River Vixens accept Veronica but not Betty, Veronica’s elegantly manicured rich-girl claws come out. Recognizing a spoiled-rotten entitlement in Cheryl that she all too recently came to grips with herself, Veronica insists that she and Betty “come as a matching set.”
The football coach promotes Archie to Jason Blossom’s vacant spot on varsity, to his dismay. (Sorry, have I not mentioned that Archie would rather be pursuing music? He’s really hung up on this.) At Veronica’s urging, Betty tries to invite Archie to the upcoming semiformal, but loses her nerve and asks him instead if he’d escort her and Veronica both. Back at the Lodges’ apartment, someone drops off Hermione’s “missing bag,” which is strange, because she wasn’t missing one. Inside, she finds thick wads of hundred-dollar bills, presumably an unwanted gift from her jailed husband.
At the semiformal, Archie finally convinces Miss Grundy to work with him three days a week before school. So it’s settled: He’ll study music in the morning, play football after school, then work for his dad on weekends. Did we really need to devote so much time to this nonproblem? Betty and Archie hit the dance floor and she finally tells him that she fantasizes about dating him. He responds less than maturely, saying nothing.
The would-be couple is conscripted alongside Veronica into attending Cheryl Blossom’s after-party, where a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven unfolds. The spin of a bottle pairs up Archie and Veronica. In the closet, they agree that the very last thing they should do is smooch, then smooch anyway. When they emerge, Betty’s gone.
Archie returns to the Chok’lit Shoppe looking for her, but instead finds Jughead (Cole Sprouse, who I am disappointed to report is not splitting this role Mary-Kate and Ashley–style with his twin brother Dylan). He’s working on a novel about Jason Blossom. Jughead sensibly encourages Archie to go talk to Betty, implying that open communication would have helped their own apparently damaged friendship. At Betty’s house, Archie tells her that he loves her (with an implied “but I’m not in love with you”), but that he’ll “never be good enough” for her. Them’s the breaks, Betty.
In other teen lust news, Kevin and Moose, a jock who is definitely not gay, why would you even think that, please, have driven out to a deserted spot along the river to do “everything but kiss.” (I’m happy that Kevin is clearly getting some, unlike so many of TV’s apparently sexless gay best friends.) But before the skinny-dipping can commence, they’re rudely interrupted by the sight of Jason Blossom’s nasty, bloated corpse, a bullet hole square in the middle of his forehead. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a murder mystery, folks!
Source: https://www.vulture.com/2017/01/riverdale-recap-season-1-episode-1.html
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2018.12.07 05:19 atiredasian Today In Naval History: 7th December - "I will run wild..."

Writers Note: Well... this is it.
As an outsider, please understand that there may be timeline errors, especially given how many timezones I am bouncing back and forth between.

In the first six to twelve months of a war with the United States and Great Britain I will run wild and win victory upon victory. But then, if the war continues after that, I have no expectation of success.
- Isoroku Yamamoto


Today: 7th December 1941 (Sunday) - The Curtain Rises
On the 7th of December, a day before the strike at Pearl Harbour, a Royal Air Force Catalina flying boat from RAF 205 Squadron (Warrant Officer William Edward Webb, Flying Officer Patrick Edwin Bedell, Sergeant Colin Burns Treloar, Edward Alexander Bailey, Stanley Abram and Peter Eator, Aircraftsman Arthur Henry Chapman and William Thomas David Burnett) is conducting a reconnaissance sweep of the Phú Quốc islands when she encounters the seaplane tenders Kamikawa Maru and Sanyo Maru, operating as escorts for the No.1 Malaya Invasion Convoy carrying the IJA 5th Infantry Division heading south.
An Aichi E13A from the Kamikawa Maru attacks the Catalina, likely damaging the flying boat's radio at 0820 hrs and preventing her from reporting the attack. Although the Catalina evadess, the E13A shadows the damaged flying boat until five Type-97 'Nate' fighters from the Japanese Army Air Service arrive and intercept the Catalina between 0845 and 0900 hrs.
The Catalina explodes midair. Her crew gain the unfortunate distinction of becoming the first casualties of the War in the Pacific, one day before the attack on Pearl Harbour. Although the Royal Air Force Far East Air Command has its suspicions, they will only learn of the cause of the missing aircraft through Japanese records following the war.

Writers Note: Time Zone differences are at play again. The Pearl Harbour attacks are chronologically not the first shots of the Pacific War, and the Indians, Australians and British are already fighting and dying in Asia by the time the bombers arrive.

Japanese assault troops will splash ashore at Kota Bahru at 0030hrs on the 8th December 1941 (local time) under the cover of naval bombardment from the CL Sendai and DD Ayanami, Isonami, Shikinami and Uranami. They will face fierce resistance from the 8th Indian Brigade of the British Commonwealth, under the command of Major General Berthold Wells "Billy" Key, manning a string of pillbox formations along the coast.
An aerial attack at 0210 hrs, by ten RAAF No. 1 Squadron Hudson light bombers will successfully sink the transport Awajisan Maru, headquarters ship of Major General Takumi Hiroshi's 5th Infantry Division and damage the Ayatosan Maru and Sakura Maru. After being hit while conducting an attack on the Japanese beachhead, a Hudson flown by Flight Lieutenant John Graham Leighton Jones will intentionally plough into a fully laden landing craft killing 60 Japanese soldiers. Three more Hudsons are damaged and another one is also shot down during the attack.

"The enemy pillboxes, which were well prepared, reacted violently with such heavy force that our men lying on the beach, half in and half out of the water could not raise their heads."
- Masanobu Tsuji, the Chief of Operations and Planning Staff for the 25th Japanese Army in Malaya

Despite ferocious resistance from the entrenched Indian troops which leaves the Japanese marines pinned down on the beaches, naval support gunfire from will silence British strongpoints one by one and after an entire section of pillboxes and supporting trenches are obliterated by Japanese bombardment, the defending troops will be outflanked, overwhelmed and overrun, often in bitter hand to hand combat.

“The enemy soldiers manning the pillboxes fought desperately. Suddenly, one of our men covered a loophole with his body and a group of the moles sprang to their feet in a spurt of sand and rushed into the enemy’s fortified position.”
- Masanobu Tsuji, the Chief of Operations and Planning Staff for the 25th Japanese Army in Malaya

A British counteroffensive at 1030 hrs will fail to seal the breach and dislodge the Japanese and faced with overwhelming numbers, the defenders will be beaten back with heavy casualties. Japanese reports indicate a grudging respect for the Commonwealth troops defending Kota Bahru - for the 5th Division, it is among the bloodiest fighting in a single engagement encountered in the whole Malayan campaign with an estimated 300 Japanese soldiers killed and another 500 wounded.
Regardless, with their toehold into Malaysia, the Japanese are here to stay.

Writers Note: That photo of Japanese Marines going ashore (though probably a staged reenactment, because who the heck puts a bayonet on a MG?), fills me with the same sick feeling of dread I get watching Allied soldiers wade ashore at Normandy. I know full well that the worst excesses of the Japanese occupation are yet to come, but men are men regardless of nationality and politics, and as a former infantryman myself, seeing a stark reminder of my own mortality is, for me at least, a sobering experience.

Japanese troops are also landing troops across Siam (modern day Thailand) on 8th December 1941, an hour and a half before the strikes on Pearl Harbour. Earlier in 1941, Thai Prime Minister Phibun Songkhram had previously sought American and British guarantees of immediate effective support should Thailand be invaded. Britain was in favour of pledging to declare war should Siam be invaded. The Americans, Isolationist as ever, were less willing to take a political stand, especially since Siam was viewed with suspicion for previously opportunistically annexing part of French Indochina. At 2300 hrs on 7 December, the Japanese presented the Thai government with an ultimatum to allow the Japanese military to enter Thailand. The Thais were given two hours to respond.

There is a possibility of imminent Japanese invasion of your country. If you are attacked, defend yourselves. The preservation of the true independence and sovereignty of Thailand is a British interest, and we shall regard an attack on you as an attack upon ourselves.
— Prime Minister Winston Churchill's message to Field Marshal Phibun Songkhram

Though the Siamese resist, their military is swept aside, and seeing the writing on the wall, Phibun opts to sign an armistice with Japan, allowing Japanese troops to utilise Siamese military installations and to pass through Siam uncontested by the Japanese military. The crack Imperial Guards Division will pass through Thailand, to plunge through the weakly defended Siamese border.

Meanwhile, in another part of the Pacific...



Today: 7th December 1941 (Sunday) - Pearl Tears
Early on Sunday morning, December 7th, American intelligence intercepts communique indicating that the Japanese ambassadors have been instructed to request for an interview with the US secretary of state at 0100 hrs in Washington (0730 hrs Pearl Harbor time). Decryption delays result in the message delivered to the US War Department at 1000 hrs, and General George C. Marshall is currently out horseback riding and will not see the dispatch until he saunters into his office at 1115 hrs. Marshall opts to send a telegram to Hawaii to the Navy sometime after noon. This will not arrive until after the Japanese are hammering Pearl.

Writers Note: Ironically, the Japanese diplomatic corp will have their own difficulties deciphering the communique and that US intelligence would actually become aware of it's contents faster than they would. Some Japanese historians suggest this intentional delay can be attributed to military hardliners intentionally disrupting the declaration of war in order to facilitate a surprise first strike.
I wouldn't be surprised if this was the case, despite explicitly clear instructions from Yamamoto that the attack was not to be carried out until half an hour after war had been declared.
Be it perfidity or incompetence however, the results are the same.

At 0350 hrs (Pearl Harbour), the USS Condor, a coast guard minesweeper signals a possible visible periscope sighting to the Wickes-class destroyer USS Ward which moved to investigate. At 0637 hrs, the Ward sighted a periscope apparently tailing the transport USS Antares and attempting to enter Pearl Harbour by following Antares through the antisubmarine nets at the harbor entrance.
The Ward will fire the first American shots of the Pacific War, successfully engaging and destroying her contact with gunfire and depth charges and sinking one of several Ko-hyoteki-class midget subs that were moving to infiltrate the harbour.
At 0645 hrs, the ward will radio in a short and succinct warning.
"We have attacked, fired upon, and dropped depth charges on a submarine operating in defensive sea areas."
The watch officer ashore reacted with alacrity, and the duty destroyer USS Monaghan was quickly notified to get underway and assist. However, a linear, sequential notification process was slowed by “busy signals” and multiple requests to have the Ward re-confirm the report before passing it up the chain. Kimmel was only notified at 0735 hrs and cancelling his scheduled golf game, rushed to the headquarters.
At 0700 hrs, Privates George Elliot and Joseph L. Lockard, practicing with a radar set, spots anomalous blip on the oscilloscope. After rechecking his set, Elliot calls headquarters and is informed that the plotters at the Fort Shafter information center had gone for breakfast.
0720 hrs a Lieutenant would call back and inform the Privates that it was likely a false alarm as a flight of B-17 bombers from the United States was expected at that time.
“Well, don’t worry about it.”
He was right about them being bombers at least.
At 0618 hrs, the IJN Carrier Striking Force first wave begins launching from the Akagi, Kaga, Sōryū, Hiryū, Shōkaku, and Zuikaku. A massive wave of 183 aircraft form up at 0755 hrs (89 Type 97 Nakajima B5N2 “Kate” attack planes, 51 Type 99 Aichi D3A1 “Val” dive-bombers and 43 Type 0 Mitsubishi A6M2 “Zeke” fighters) led by Commander Fuchida Mitsuo. They navigate towards Hawaii, homing in on the signal of a Hawaii radio station.
A second wave, consisting of 167 aircraft (54 "Kate", 78 "Val" and 35 "Zeke") led by LtCd Shimazaki Shigekazu immediately begins preparation to launch from the decks of the Japanese carriers.
At 0749 hrs, Fuchida flies over Pearl Harbour. He issues two brief messages via radio telegraph. "Attack." and "Surprise Achieved".
He is not wrong.
Surprise is near total.
The first aircraft sighted at 0755 hrs are thought to be reckless American pilots out for a joyride. Intentionally planned for a Sunday morning, to ensure that US military readiness is at it's lowest, the attacks catch the US Pacific fleet with it's pants down.
On Ford Island, Commander Logan Ramsey broadcasts the grim message across all channels.
"AIR RAID ON PEARL HARBOR X THIS IS NOT DRILL."
Japanese bombers peel off from the strike and hammer airfields at the Naval Air Station on Ford Island and adjoining Wheeler and Hickam fields destroying 188 American aircraft on the ground. Packed closely together in neat rows wingtip-to-wingtip as part of anti-sabotage security measures, the aircraft make excellent targets for strafing runs for the elite Japanese Naval Aviators.
At 0756 hrs, the Oklahoma draws Japanese attention and is struck by with two torpedoes. Listing badly, her crew continues to throw up an AA-screen. A third torpedo strikes her at 0800 hrs and Okie begins to capsize.She eventually rolls over, though not before she is struck by at least two more torpedoes (possibly intended for the Maryland docked aside her but striking her in the chaos of the attack). Though a good number of her crew are killed, her air-defence teams swarm over to the Maryland docked alongside her, and continue manning Fighting Mary's AA batteries.

Writers Note: There is some historical confusion as to the source of the final torpedoes which sank her. Sources point to torpedo bombers from Kaga and Akagi. Other modern records dispute this, indicating Oklahoma may have become a victim of a Ko-hyoteki-class midget sub.

Although heavily damaged by Japanese bombs in similar passes, Fighting Mary will, unlike Okie previously docked alongside her, live to fight again.
At 0800 hrs, the twelve B-17s predicted to arrive rumble into Pearl Harbour airspace and are almost immediately fired on by jumpy American AA Gunners. Unarmed, the B-17s can only dodge Japanese fighters and US anti-aircraft gunfire. 'Dodge' being a relative term for the B-17, one aircraft is destroyed and three are badly damaged by a combination of crash landings, opportunistic Japanese fighters an trigger happy US flak.
At 0810 hrs, bombs strike the forward deck of the USS Arizona, and in a scene reminiscent of the sinking of the Hood, sets off her forward magazines, splitting her in half with her entire forward hull disintegrating in the explosion#/media/File:Pearlharborcolork13513.jpg).
Originally moored alongside Arizona to conduct maintainence the Vestal was burning fiercely from being holed by Japanese bombs which had struck her at 0805 hrs after she had gone to general quarters and begun air-defence operation. The Arizona's explosion extinguished the flames, literally clearing her deck. Among the men blasted overboard was her Captain, Commander Cassin Young, who stunned from the blast, recovered and swam back to the Vestal, ordering her cut free and set the listing repair ship underway, narrowly escaping the conflagration which consumed the Arizona. The Vestal would survive after Young rightly made the call to beach her at 0950 hrs to prevent her capsizing from her growing list.
California is not so lucky. 'The Prune Barge' is struck by a pair of Japanese torpedoes during the attack. Although California managed to get steam up and was nearly ready to get underway, a large mass of burning oil, drifting down "Battleship Row", from the Arizona threatened to set the ship alight. She was ordered abandoned, and, with the orders to abandon ship making it impossible to control her internal flooding, California would settle to the bottom.
Struck by six torpedoes and a pair of experimental bombs (literally armour piercing cruiser shells fitted with fins) at around 0800 hrs, West Virginia would also be set alight in the conflagration by Arizona's burning fuel. With her Captain Mervyn S. Bennion dead from shrapnel wounds from debris flung from the nearby Tennessee, her crew would fight a losing battle with the fire until she was ordered abandoned at 1400 hrs. Wee Vee would eventually succumb to her damage and sink, pinning the Tennessee next to her in place.
Trapped in place by the sinking Wee Vee#/media/File:Pearlharbour_bb48_bb43.jpg), Tennessee would also run afoul of Japanese bombers and be struck by a pair of bombs, including one to her number two turret, creating the shrapnal which caused Captain Bennion to bleed to death on the bridge of the Wee Vee. A number of her crew would be immolated when her superstructure was hosed with burning oil from the detonation of the Arizona. Despite this, she will survive the attack.
The Pennsylvania, Cassin and Downes, still in drydock, will be bombed and strafed relentlessly. Penny will be struck by a single bomb, as well as a torpedo tube blasted clear from the damaged Cassin which smashed into her superstructure.
Among lighter ships, besides the aforementioned Cassin and Downes, the Helena and Raleigh will each be struck by a torpedo during the raid, the Raleigh needing to be mated to a barge to keep her from capsizing. The destroyer Shaw, then at drydock will also be struck by three bombs and later explode#/media/File:USS_SHAW_exploding_Pearl_Harbor_Nara_80-G-16871_2.jpg) from fires overwhelming her damage control teams.

At 0817, Japanese crewman Kyoshi Inagaki drowns escaping from his minisub which had stranded on an unmarked reef. The other crewman, Kazuo Sakamaki becomes the first US Prisoner of War. He would politely request permission from his guards to commit Seppuku. His horrified American captors declined his request.

Writers Note: Sakamaki would later become deeply distraught with the war and became an avowed pacifist after he was released.

At 0839 hrs, the aging Farraghut-class destroyer Monaghan receives word of another Japanese mini-sub in the harbour and successfully rams it before attacking it point blank with depth charges successfully destroying it.
At 0850 hrs, the USS Nevada gets up to steam and makes a break for the open seas. She will be targeted by the inbound Japanese bombers of the second strike wave, who in a moment of improvisation, attempt to sink her at the mouth of the harbour to completely block the channel. Struck by six bombs and a torpedo, her crew intentionally beach her at Hospital Point to prevent the Japanese using her as an improvised block ship.

Eight Army Air Forces pilots managed to get airborne during the attack and six were credited with downing at least one Japanese aircraft during the attack: 1st Lt. Lewis M. Sanders, 2nd Lt. Philip M. Rasmussen, 2nd Lt. Kenneth M. Taylor, 2nd Lt. George S. Welch, 2nd Lt. Harry W. Brown, and 2nd Lt. Gordon H. Sterling Jr. Sterling was shot down by Lt. Fujita over Kaneohe Bay and is listed as Body Not Recovered (not Missing In Action). Lt. John L. Dains was killed by friendly fire returning from a victory over Kaawa. Friendly fire brought down some U.S. planes on top of that, including five from an inbound flight from Enterprise.

Writers Note: I plagiarised that entire last paragraph wholesale off Wiki. It's a glaring hole in my research, but I'm not really up to speed on the air war over Hawaii.

At 1000 hrs, Japanese fighters rendezvous with bombers off Oahu and follow them back to the carriers. Having lost only twenty-nine aircraft during the raid, the Japanese pilots, their spirits up, urge leadership to prepare a third follow up strike to completely finish the facilities at Pearl Harbour. Nagumo, cautious due to the failure to destroy the US carrier fleet, rules out a third strike. The Kido Butai will turn for home at 1300 hrs.
Yamamoto, in his personal notes, will later regret Nagumo's decision to withdraw and comes to view it as a great mistake not to order a third strike to destroy the dockyards, maintenance shops, and the oil tank farms.

Writers Note: Where do I start?
Yeesh. Adopting a clinically dispassionate perspective, it's clear to see that this is Yamamoto, Cunningham's great student, at his finest hour. It is a masterfully planned operation, heightened in gravity by incompetence all around. Whether you assess Admiral Kimmel as a scapegoat or a screwball is open to personal interpretation. The fact remains that the Japanese fleet had successfully got the drop on the Americans and a resounding Japanese victory that will forever cement the role of airpower in naval operations.
Nevertheless, the Japanese failure to run down the American carriers, scattered as they were would cost them terribly through the war in the Pacific. The failure to seal the deal by completely destroying facilities at Pearl Harbour would likewise allow the US to steadily salvage the sunk ships as well as maintaining an important naval presence in the Pacific.
Much like how the Italians would slowly refloat their battered navy at Taranto, the US would steadily return their battleships to service, and all but Oklahoma and Arizona would see future service during the war.



Today: 7th December 1941 (Sunday) - Revenge
The battleship HMS Revenge, is detached from it's previous role escorting convoy BA 010 and ordered to return to Trincomalee in preparation to sail for Singapore. Originally sailing to Singapore alongside the Prince of Wales, the Revenge had been ordered left behind on the 29th of November because "The addition of one "R" class might give the impression that we were trying to form a line of battle, but could only spare 3 ships, thus encouraging Japan."

Writers Note: Because having LESS Battleships is more likely to dissuade the enemy from attacking you. Admiral Tom Phillips, everybody.

On the the 3rd December, however, Vice Admiral Phillips the CinC of the re-designated Force Z has had a change of heart, and signaled the Admiralty from Singapore asking for battleship reinforcements. None would arrive before Force Z was eliminated.



Today: 7th December 1945 (Friday) - The Yamashita Standard
In a controversial court case, Japanese General Tomoyuki Yamashita, the 'Tiger of Malaya' who masterminded the masterful Japanese conquests of Malaya and the key British naval base there, was found guilty of war crimes in a Manila court and sentenced to death for war crimes committed by the men under his command. The principal accusation against Yamashita was that he had failed in his duty as commander of Japanese forces in the Philippines to prevent them from committing atrocities.
This ruling – holding the commander responsible for his or her subordinates' war crimes as long as the commander did not attempt to discover and stop them from occurring – came to be known as the Yamashita standard.
Japanese General Tomoyuki Yamashita, arguably Japan's most successful General, will be hanged on 23rd February 1946.

Writers Note: It begins and ends with Yahashita.



Ships Launched In Azur Lane :
None
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2018.05.07 21:13 noiseformind Feeling somewhat lukewarm...

As predicted, Episode 7 is the wraparound for the first half of Billions series, the usual triumph of the ones that ultimately will meet their demise by Season's end.
As predicted also, Halls had a comeback for this episode and Dr. Gilbert met his demise. As predicted also, Mafee was the fall guy for Wendy. As predicted also, Dake was demolished by is mentor-in-chief, Chuck. As predicted previously Axe celebrated his win with more woring showing how lost he is without Lara.
I loved the show, and can even forgive the use of the word 'spry' to describe young actors (spry describes a lively old gent, not a young one but I guess there is only one walking thesaurus in the writers team and all the other just write the educated word he tells them to do as replacement of their more mundane phrasings... )
I also loved Wendy getting all dirty with actually getting a black op through. Its still not show-bearing (that's Lewis and Giamatti's job) but quite a novelty for the whole plot.
Another high for me is Taylor. They're really uplifting, like a very kind and sage wonderling going around that inhospitable place for hope and sincerity. They's actually growing, like Morgan in the movie (until Kate Mara character came along and drowned her). And they're code-savant so they can manipulate Axe to a level no other was able to. Taylor is more and more being written to a point they'll be Axe's formidable foe or Axe's replacement if Lewis asks for more money to be in Season 5 (Homeland casts a long shadow...). (I keep writing she and then I have to go back and re-write it as they).
One you cannot stop loving are Chuck Rhodes Sr and Judge DeGiulio (the first Italian surname in an American series not to have double consonants, maybe?
And Chuck's running for Governor means one and one thing only: more close-ups of Mary-Louise Parker's feet.

Not so much loving...

The writing is a little too colouring-by-numbers right now. Axe does some move, someone gets a hold of it (next in line will be Connerty for Season 3 after a second part of the Season on the bench, licking his wounds no doubt, under a very different and intelligently written guise, no doubt...) then goes to trial or there's a risk it will go to trial and then Axe's does some magic twisting the facts to the limits of feasibility.
The detailing of the finance world is getting totally lost in the plot of intelligent analogies. Remember how this show started?
Axe's second scene in Season 1 Episode 1:
- Electric sun is controlled by Kazawitz. He also own 90.3% of Lumetherm backdoors through his stake in Southern Wind. You see that block trade last Thursday come out of Merryll?
- Yeah, that was Fortress cashing out its shorts before the merger, wasn't it?
- Trade was at 12h52 when everybody was at lunch which tells me they wanted it to be missed. You guys caught it, which is something I guess, but you're looking at it backward. Electric Sun's offer was just a ploy to temporary prop Lumetherm, typical Kazawitz play to bail on a loser. He's an animal.
The block trade was Kazawitz getting out of Southern Wind, getting out of Lumetherm. He's rode the story, now he's out which you need to be out. In fact, short. It'll slide to $32 and change after word breaks.
-Wow
And we're all wowed... Axe's was an almost supranatural character, and amazing bullish trader that was able to spot amazing opportunities in mundane inputs. And now the writers just make him a fit Tony Soprano ridding form heist to heist in a rampage in need of being stopped. They've taken almost all Axe from Axe's persona. And now the prostitutes? Why? That doesn't make any sense! A guy doesn't start resorting to escorts in his mid-40's. If he's marriage fall through he'll get another wife, probably of the trophy variety, one that doesn't has too much to say in his comings and goings. But that party was just wrong at many levels and against the thread of the show's 2 Seasons. So now Axelrod is nothing more than a matchstick man? Its like they fired all the finance writers and could only find legal writers to replace them. So now the show is a sort of House, where every Season a more surreal trade comes along and a more surreal game of hide and seek with the law?
Then there is the anti-Walking Dead theme: no one fucking leaves the show. No one. No one dies, no one gets a new job, no one goes away. No one. Series are about witnessing momentous incidences in amazing people's lives and how they cope with them. In Billions Axe's is in a happy marriage, a divorce comes along and he goes full Spitzer, that's it, that's hou deep the characters are getting in Season 3. Dake will come back, Chuck just said it.
The show is lacking so much in the good guys department that even Taylor's boyfriend, Oscar, is going for sure to be put on the grinder. Because they're short in people with a genuinely good heart since they all get shafted in this show.
Every time a character speaks its like their reading from an old book of ancient Americana, with some strange and Wikipedia-friendly obscure reference its just demoralizing. They show so much effort in the writing department and then the locations are poorly executed. Axe's penthouse looks like a staged one, with nothing to remember the character's taste.
For 3 whole episodes Axe, a man holding 10 billions, walked around with the same pet Audermars Piguet watch. Its ridiculous. If you're into Royal Oaks its like when you're into Ferraris, you don't own 1, you probably own a bunch of them. Same thing with Wendy's clothes this season, always a nondescript black classy outfit. They spent 10 minutes with the Ortolan stuff and yet that can't find nothing better than a Chinese knock-off of a Tag Heur for Spyros to show off in the same episode he's using the People's Porsche? Maybe Dollar Bill is in charge of production, and they want us to believe all this people make millions but don't care what all the other people making millions care.
I dread for Axe. Next episode he'll go for Lara's divorce money, and that won't be pretty. Probably he's going to become more erratic in his behaviour to a point we'll be actually relieved he got written out of the show. But that's Homeland long shadow, I guess.
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2018.04.06 01:56 TheGaryGnuShow [OC] The Briefing Chapter 1

The Briefing Chapter 1 Friday, September, 24th 2213 0800
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“I’m sorry, Dean, there are just some aspects of your schedule that I have absolutely no control over. All I know is that this meeting historically has been on every president’s schedule; it has few participants, it is to be scheduled for all day on this date, and most importantly I am not to allow any interruptions except in the case of a national emergency…and no one has ever done that.” Rose Mary Forrester prattled off in a flippant tone as she held open the door to The White Houses’ briefing room for the 92nd President of the United States of America, Dean Halderman.
President Halderman growling with disapproval as he walked through the door, and shot her his well understood look of “So help me, I will flay these people alive if it is a waste of my time,” while Her reciprocating look of understanding and empathy helped to sooth his irritation as he walked in.
Standing and saluting at the middle of the conference table was only one officer from the Air Force, a Major. As the door latched behind him President Halderman returned the salute, and in his typical booming tenor inquired “All right, what is going on? Why is there only one of you, a relatively junior officer at that, and will this really take nine hours for one briefing?”
Immediately recognizing that the President was not in a cheerful mood the officer abandoned her rehearsed salutation and answered “I am Maj. Kate Butterfield from the Signal Corps’ Office of Linguistic/Non-verbal, Electronic/Non-Electronic, Surveillance, Analyzation, Utilization, and Implementation’s Group on Exceedingly Rare and Archaic Inter-Personal Communication branch. There are only four persons in our group, we are never allowed on the same continent as the others, so it will only be me. Yes, it will take nine hours and we have a lot of information to cover.
Impressed that she did not miss a beat, remained professional and was not intimidated, he implored her to continue. “Let’s carry on,” he hoped that she could move along with little prodding so he can get through this, and hopefully make his evening reservation on time.
“Mr. President, my group has had both the honor and solemn duty for the last one-hundred ninety-six years to …”
“The last; how long?”
“One-hundred ninety-six years”
“You are going all the way back to the end of World War II?”
“Yes sir, well a short period after the conclusion of it.”
“This is still relevant to today?”
“Yes sir.”
He motioned for her to carry on.
“…to inform you that there are indeed multiple sapient beings or races that are not of this planet.” She paused, this was not her first ‘first briefing.’ It would need to sink in, and it did about 7 seconds later.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes, as serious as a heart attack.”
Halderman’s initial joy, caused by his assumption that this could be a boon for humanity was quickly dashed by the crushing realization that if only a handful of people on the whole planet is to know of it, it must be detrimental. How was this going to affect his campaign promise of expanded space exploration? “How bad is it then?”
“That will depend on, your views. It would be best if I’m able to finish presenting the data, then we can circle back to forming opinions.”
He quietly nodded, thinking that she clearly is an academic, with the whole “data” and “forming opinions” crap.
“An object had crashed in the western US August 1953, it was found by an amateur astronomer who thought that it was a meteorite. He quickly recognized that it was not and contacted the USAF.”
“Is this that whole Roswell, thing?”
She really hated that people did not even bother to try to remember basic history. “No sir, the so called ‘Roswell incident’ was just weather balloon and that was in 1947; back then they would call anything that was unknown or unverified a flying saucer. This took place in rural Colorado during the Perseids in 1953”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You are really knowledgeable about that time period.”
“Thank you.”
“What about JFK?”
Every fucking time. She fought to keep her composure. “That is outside my area of expertise.”
“Are you a spook?”
“No sir”
“Damn spooks never want to share all they know.”
“This is becoming an unproductive area of conversation. I am not in intelligence; I will share all that we know about this with you.” He was wasting time, she’ll just have to keep him on task and keep moving. She slid an old photograph on photograph paper across the table. “The object was cubic, the dimensions were two feet six and 3/8ths inches. It was damaged on all sides, but three of them were mostly intact. There was no detectable power source, transmissions, or moving parts. It appeared empty. Across all sides there was a series of patterns that would change about every 78 seconds.”
Maj. Butterfield now slid more photographs over to the president. He took them very gingerly, almost as if they would disintegrate in his hands. “The object was packaged up and taken to Wright-Patterson 4 days after its discovery. During the transit one of the escorting personnel noted that the patterns started to repeat after 15 hours.
It would later be determined that the patterns did in fact repeat every 78 seconds, there were 694 separate patterns. They were quickly photographed and cataloged, which proved indispensable as the object began deteriorating by the end of August.”
More photographs, now close-ups in better lighting made it possible to for Halderman to see the markings. Was that writing?
“The object crumbled into a pile of powdery metal by December. Later analysis would show that it was composed of various metals, but mostly it was aluminum. We were left with little physical evidence. But the data logging was proving to be invaluable. It was surmised that cube was a communication device of some kind, and the markings were writing. By October of 1953 a group of talented code breakers and linguists were assembled, they spent countless hours trying to decipher the cube.”
Next Maj. Butterfield slid a piece of paper to the president. It was a telegram, addressed to a now dead general, dated for September 21st, 1955 and all it said was. Gabriel “Gabriel was the code word that was used to tell the General that a solution was found and the message was deciphered. General Cook, immediately went to Wright-Patterson, was fully briefed and flew out to Colorado to inform Ike, that was Eisenhower’s public nick name. He arrived there early on the 24th of September.”
Then she slid the final piece of paper form her first folder to him. “This is the message that was delivered to President Eisenhower”
In front of him was real, historical, a firm connection to those that proceeded him. This nearly two hundred year old document was amazing to hold. But disbelief soon filled him as he read the old typeface.
“Is this still accurate, or have we learned more.”
“It is still accurate.”
“Are you serious, are you certain?”
“Yes, again I am as serious as a heart attack; in fact that paper is solely responsible for Ike’s first heart attack 258 years ago today.”
Halderman dropped it, as if the paper was burning his fingers, and he stared at the major, speechless, all of his aspirations for humanity destroyed by a two century old paper that read:
Mr. President, The following has been decoded by and verified by multiple experts. The first message of the cube is the shortest, and it states:
Multi-species communication beacon number: 41894-89654-1964.
Galaxy Location: Spiral galaxy at 1978-8403-0512.
System location: 10061949-5654-2010
Details: Single star solar system, mixed planetary type.
Planet of concern: Third, with single tidally locked satellite.
Planet type: Dense metal, dense and light rock, water in mixed states, moderate thickness atmosphere.
General life profile: Carbon based. Energy production is mix of chemical and photo-chemical.
Submitting Authority: Inter-galactic Exploration, Trade, and Production Conglomerate
Message Type: DANGER WARNING.
Message Priority Level: CRITICAL
DANGER. WARNING. HOSTILE. Heed these words. This planet is the most dangerous of all charted areas of universe. DO NOT MAKE CONTACT. EVADE IMMEDIATELY. DEATH IS GAURENTEED. THIS RACE/PLANET WILL DESTROY YOU.
“Mr. President there are 693 additional messages I need to show you. We must continue if you want to make your daughters fifth grade play on time.”
Next
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2018.01.24 16:56 spiritfire0001 The Henry VIII Murders

I am a police officer working in London, England. My name is not important. I usually do not ask for help from outsiders. What prompted me is the fabulous advice on this sub I have come across. I am releasing confidential information, so if my boss reads this I am... well you know. Fucked. But if not, and I crack this case, even better.
What follows is a transcript, wrapped in a vial. It was found in the stomach of a deceased woman. Her name was Katherine Lopez. She had dissapeared outside her workplace 7 years ago:
“My name is Katherine, and I reside on the outskirts of London, England. I lived in Spain my entire life but always dreamed of living in England. Seeing Stonehenge. The Tower of London. Having all my life to explore the history everywhere I went. My husband tragically passed in a car accident last year, leaving me a widow. I saw England as a new beginning. So I eagerly put down roots here after college, finding work as a teacher at a private school.
Not long after moving in I received a strange, disturbing message. It was left by the front door of the charming cottage I had recently purchased. A bowl of pomegranates, placed neatly on my porch. That was not the disturbing part. An unopened letter sat next to it.
I opened the letter, wondering who left the odd gift. A sudden breeze rippled through my hair, rattling the paper in my shaking hands as I read the note.
It was written on parchment paper, sealed with an old fashioned blob of wax. A fancy “H” was engraved into the seal.
“My Katherine of Aragon, we will meet soon. My brother Arthur left you behind in death, but we will begin our marriage in bliss.”
I shuddered as the wind picked up, and I felt the hairs rise on the nape of my neck. I felt I was being watched, appraised. A sixth sense I believed in, a gift from our ancestors. Warning of impending danger. The parchment crackled in my hands as I slowly turned to survey my surroundings. All I saw were more distant cottages, the trees swaying in the English countryside. Nothing. I took a deep breath and sprinted inside, locking the deadbolt in place.
Although I was raised in Spain, I knew the history of Henry VIII and his 6 wives. My mother described him as a veritable Bluebeard when she told me tales of him at bedtime. Katherine was his first, he had divorced her and put her away after she had failed to give him a son. Arthur, Katherine’s first husband would have been king if he had not died. He was Henry’s elder brother.
I was walking to my car after work, glancing over my shoulder, clutching a can of mace. I had to stay late to grade papers and would have asked a colleague to escort me to my car but I was the last to leave. I froze as I heard a footstep reverberate on the pavement behind me. As I whirl around, I turn to see nothing but the swirling black of night.
I hurry to my car door, my heels clicking clumsily against the pavement, fumbling with my keys. Shit! I am such a klutz. They clatter to the ground. As I lean down to retrieve them, the reflection in the car window freezes me solid. A figure.
My brief glance reveals a man in period clothing. An odd, flat black cap rests on his head. A feather pokes out of it, twitching oddly in the breeze. Swift as lightning, he grabs me and places a cloth over my mouth that smells of gasoline. As I struggle in his velvet clad arms, my fading, spotty vision focuses on his numerous golden rings. His fingers were decked with jewels, my last recollection before I fell into oblivion. The ruby, aquamarine, and emerald exploding into a blinding prism against a dark abyss.
I come to on a richly canopied bed. I whimper in terror as I notice I am wearing a plain, long white gown, and my hands are tied to the bed with rope. An older woman stands at my side, calmly brushing my hair. She is dressed in a flowing black gown, a queer headdress shaped like a house rests on her head. If it wasn’t for the current circumstances the hair brushing would be soothing, the hat hilarious. She notices my awareness and smiles warmly at me. The smile does not reach her cool, appraising blue eyes.
“It is time for the consummation of the marriage. Welcome, Queen Catherine.”
She ceases to brush my hair to execute a perfect curtsy. I stare at her in shock. She was part of this sick delusion. Had the man who had taken me given her Stockholm syndrome? How many people were part of this sick game?
“Please, let me go.” I pleaded with her. Before she could say a word, the door opened abruptly. A handsome man jostled in. He had auburn hair, wearing a gown that matched mine, a plain white affair. I hated him on sight.
“Lady Willowby, is she ready?” He asks imperiously.
“Yes, your majesty,” she curtsies again deeply, not meeting my eyes, and scurries out of the room like a mouse, the door closing firmly behind her.
What a sick woman. I guessed he was rich and paid his “servants” an exorbitant amount of money, or the woman was family and mental illness was inherited. All I knew was I had to escape from the mess I had let my carelessness get me into.
The ginger haired man (it was obviously dyed) slowly creeped onto the bed, panther-like, leering at me. He straddled me between his knees, and gripped my wrists painfully hard.
“It’s time to make heirs, my Kate. To have a boy for England.”
I have been here for so long. Months have slipped into years. I have tried escape, but to my horror I found “Henry” had at least 50 servants doing his bidding. It was as if they were all convinced he was king, and we were all stuck in a sickening time warp.
I actually felt as if he had reached across the centuries, and had pursued me like a Hades to his Persephone. Like a thief in the night he had stolen me to inhabit a dark time. A time when queens had their heads chopped off for not bearing boys. A time when women went into labor as their flesh charred and peeled at the stake, their newly born babies thrown back into the funeral pyre.
I studied the windows, nothing but sprawling wilderness greeting me. Trees surrounded three sides of the Tudor style mansion, and farmers loyal to Henry tilled the land on the fourth side. He was obviously a very wealthy man with a cult following. I was not bound anymore, but all attempts to escape were detected by him or his loyal servants.
I was punished for every attempt. He beat me with a rod, and said it was his duty as a husband to chide a disobedient wife. I felt so defeated. Every challenging look, every escape attempt resulted in a beating. I was locked in the chapel without food and water to “pray” to be a better wife. My fire, my zest for life began to die.
I lived my days in a gilded cage, wearing flowing Renaissance gowns and a golden crown for “public appearances”. I was surprised how many played into this sick LARP fantasy. People traveled in costume to honor their “king and queen”. On normal occasions I wore those ridiculous head pieces that resembled a steeple. Watching as the servants chattered amongst themselves to add panels to my gown for another one of my pregnancies.
All of them ended in miscarriage. I suspected the miscarriages were not a coincidence. They were part of a insidious plot to parallel history. I was given a “tisane” to drink before bed every night before it happened. Waking up in a pool of blood. I did deliver a boy, but he died soon after. My heart broke, he was half mine after all. I suspected he had been smothered. He had lived 52 days. I had one girl, but she was taken away from me soon after birth. I felt like an overbred mare. My hips widened, my belly slackened after so many pregnancies delivered by “midwives”.
I was sitting in my room, forlorn and filled with sorrow as I gazed out the window. How I longed for my old life. Giving birth without modern pain medicine was a hell in itself. Labor was excruciating. No doctors participated in the process. Every time I grew pregnant I was put into “confinement”. I was tied to the bed so I could not harm myself. Allowed daily exercise surrounded by my “ladies” and the chattering Lady Willowby, who insisted she had come over from Spain with me in a storm tossed ship. Like I would ever let that quack accompany me anywhere. And Henry’s sister, “Mary”. She walked with me also. She had hair similar to Henry’s, dyed red and watched over me like a protective mother bear. Once the dreaded labors came, they cooed and clucked over me as I screamed in pain and terror.
Henry appeared at the door, interrupting my train of thought. He charged in, his frown a dark cloud that promised a storm.
His blue eyes bulged. His breathing was fast, erratic.
“Our marriage is cursed, Katherine. Incestuous. It’s obvious since I cannot get a living boy on you. I am going to have our marriage annulled. I met a wonderful woman. Her name is Anne. You can go live in a convent, or even go back to Spain after our divorce is finalized.”
I was going to be let go. I can not describe the joy I felt after years of misery. Henry scowled, his blue eyes hardening as he scanned my face. I struggled, unsuccessfully, to hide my delight.
He loomed over me like a threatening giant, and backhanded me hard. Sharp jewels embedded in his rings drew blood, trickling down my reddened cheek. The slap cut into the stillness of the room.
“You are not supposed to act like this! You are no Anne of Cleves! Get on your knees and beg for me to take you back. Say you are my only queen, and no one can replace you,” he roared.
Weary of his childish games, his delusions, I laughed, tears of mirth pouring down my cheeks.
“I will never beg for you. Your touch sickens me, and I pray for release daily from you. Kill me or let me go back to my old life, I no longer care.”
His blue eyes looked murderous. His hands balled into fists. He swiftly stormed out of the room, slamming the door. The old wood reverberated on its hinges.
I gaze into the ancient mirror as I study my features. How long have I been here? Months have bled into years. I wondered if my daughter was happy, healthy. Doubtful, if she was forced to live a life similar to mine.
Old before my time, my auburn hair is now streaked with white. I write this all down in secret, dreaming of a way to warn a woman I have never met. A woman named Anne. Henry comes into my room, my richly furnished prison cell, to rave about her.
“So beautiful, long brunette hair. What a fireball! I cannot wait to have her in my bed, but the silly chit keeps turning me down. Me. A king!” He laughs uproariously, slapping his leg, a sound that brings a chill like shattered ice slithering down my back. I wish I could find a way to warn that poor, unsuspecting woman. My worst fear is that he has already picked her out, is already tracking his prey. I did not want her to live out the fate the real Anne Boleyn had endured.
I have a reoccurring nightmare in the stillness of the night. In the dream I am walking to my car, stopping as I am interrupted by a noise. I turn to see Henry VIII’s six wives standing there, all in a row. Their tattered dresses rustle against their bony limbs. Under their caps their hair wafts in the wind like so many tattered banners. They whisper to me. The first wife steps forward. Katherine. Her bony fingers beckon me to join them. I cannot live this way no more. Maybe I will join them...
I have one last warning. If you are young and brunette, and your name is Anne, please be on guard. Do not walk in the darkness alone on a cold night like this poor fool did.”
That is the end of the letter. I am amazed with the man’s extensive knowledge of history. Maybe he is a professor? Some kind of expert?
At the autopsy it was evident Katherine had endured trauma to the womb and there was evidence of multiple childbirths. When Katherine had disappeared she was a childless widow. Her deceased husband’s name was Arthur Lopez.
But the scene of her murder. My God. My heart broke for that poor woman. Kidnapped, tortured, and finally murdered because her name, hair color, and heritage. Katherine was found by some adolescent children. The scene was something out of Dante’s Inferno. They found her in an abandoned ruin of a shack. She was wrapped in a white shroud up to her neck. Her white face shone like a beacon in the gloom.
Upon opening the shroud, it was discovered her heart was ripped out of her chest cavity, leaving a gaping hole. Due to the spotless white shroud, the crime had most likely occurred at another location. That was not the worst of it. The missing heart sat nearby on a table. It was dyed black.
This freak is still at large. To all the women named Anne: if you reside in London, and have brunette hair, I advise you to dye your hair and travel in groups. Do not be left alone. If you have received any odd letters or gifts, or notice a strange man tailing you, PM me and I will do all I can to help.
And to this so called Henry VIII. You delusional piece of shit. A man that has women sewing his underwear. You are no king. I’m going to find you. I will get justice for this poor woman whose life was just getting started. You better pray I do not find you first, because I will make sure you regret being born in this century. You see, Katherine Lopez was my niece.
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2018.01.01 12:56 GoityePowerhouse Slaughter Theatre

Listen, mate. Something is rotten in the State of Victoria, Australia.
From the muddy banks of the Yarra, up and beyond Sydney Road, to the Dandenong mountain ranges….down to the borders of Port Phillip Bay where the fibreglass Luna Park clown, old Mr Moon, grins contemptuously over the brothels and slums of St Kilda. Fuck me sideways. Pernicious humidity followed by a spell of rain, and a sky perpetually overcast with moral decay. Something is wrong, and it rhymes with girder.
Yeah, see....in St Kilda, in July of 2017 a dead body was found in the Triangle construction Site near the Bay, adjacent to where the Palais theatre once stood —before it burnt to cinders. Body had also been burnt, and was unidentifiable, charcoaled as it was. Funnily enough...Nobody seems to know who is to blame. As daily race riots and brawls break out on St Kilda streets, and the cops impose tougher alcohol restrictions, this gaping wound remains untended.
J D Williams and the three Phillips brothers from Seattle had their part;— left their American legacy in Australia, no doubt about it— the Coney Island style theme park of vices, a carnival of underground crimes which led to that precise moment —a swamp of intertwined histories beyond my capabilities to research thoroughly or summarise accurately. Nevertheless, I swear to you old chum, like a moth to a flame, I was drawn into the tangled investigation of that mangled female corpse near Luna Park,... an investigation which would near drive me insane.
My name is Pharlap Dronefire, a Private Investigator based in South Yarra.
I’m not normally inclined to investigate murder cases, but this particular private client had a list of seemingly unrelated things he wanted me to research, the St Kilda murder being just one of them. As I didn’t have access myself to the police files, I resolved to meet up with my police contact, Andrew Barrington, and get the facts surrounding the case.
Officer Barrington consented to meet at Luigi’s; a video game themed bar on Acland Street. It was a hot Saturday, and the St Kilda crowds were wild and varied; thousands of English, Irish and American tourists flocked to the beach, whilst teenagers vomited on the rickety roller-coasters of the seaside theme Park. The scenes were impressionistic, with Bosch-like crowds, bollards lined with palm trees. Myriad junkies asked for change and cigarettes of passers by— on the street, whilst bips and boops sang out from customers playing the vintage arcade machines behind me.
I sat at the outside tables, drunks brushed by me on the cramped and cracked sidewalk, car pollution and smog slept thinly at knee level over the scene, as the green and orange blur of a passing tram flashed by.
I saw officer Barrington approaching from a distance and waved as he crossed the road, shortly he sat down at the table and we ordered two Pale Ales.
‘Thanks for comin’ Bazza’ I said with genuine appreciation. Barrington scratched his face, and muttered a kind of ‘no wukkers ’ through his chin.....he seemed to have a lot on his mind. ‘So what have you got on this St Kilda killing?’ I asked directly, ‘There’s almost nothing online about it, barely made a dent in the press.’ ‘Jesus Pharlap.’ Barrington sighed, ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than dig up old corpses?’ ‘You know me Baz—’ I said, ‘I’m determined to end up a chalk outline myself. But this corpse is still pretty fresh i’d say. Why are the cops choking on this chicken anyway? What’s the unseen bone?’ ‘Look…’ Officer Barrington sighed, as our beers arrived and I took a big swig of lager; ‘The murder made the papers when it happened, toured the news for a week or so...but because the body has never been identified there hasn’t been much for the press to chew on. There’s no suspects, no motive or cause. We’ve only been barely able to piece together what actually happened.’ Barrington took a sip of beer, as I jotted down some notes. The officer looked down at my ex—left-hand for a moment, noticing the bandaged stub from the accident that had happened to me recently. ‘What happened to your hand?’ He asked. ‘My own bones have been chewed…You and I...’ I replied, ‘....Work in a dangerous line of work.....sometimes the danger of your profession leaks over to mine in unexpected ways ....probably best leave it at that. So what exactly DO the police know about this barbecued girl?’.
I noticed an extraordinary amount of discomfort in Barrington’s face as he discussed the girl. Being partially involved in the murder investigation, it seemed to have particularly disturbed him. He struggled uncomfortably in his seat, Barrington was a large muscular man with thick, black-rimmed glasses and layered, thin hair. His eyes seemed permanently tinged with paranoia.
‘Officially?’ Barrington replied nervously, ‘Nothing...... But unofficially....’ ‘You’ve got your own theories about who did this, don’t you?’ I asked making my own deductions. Bazza sighed and massaged the back of his neck; ‘Look’ he said, ‘Whatever I tell you here is completely off the record. You understand?’ I made an affirmative gesture.
‘You know well— I’ve been investigating various unsolved gangland killings for a long time.’ Said Officer Barrington, ‘We’ve discussed previously my unofficial research and interests.’ I nodded, motioning him to continue. ‘Well. Hexton Police Station is full of officer’s hunches. We’ve always known of these criminal families running things, and what not, but sometimes you don’t have the evidence to put the bastards away. This case goes back years....’
Another tram chimed past in the street as Bazza continued his story; ‘There was the Walsh Street Massacre in 1988; that set a wave of anxiety through the ranks. You’ve head of it?’ ‘Sounds familiar. That’s what ‘Animal Kingdom’ was about, right?’ I said. ‘Right. Before Howard took the guns away, you had the crime families, bank robbers, strings of crimes done with sawn-off shotguns in broader Hexton. Cops shot Greame Jensen, and Victor Pierce promised two cops would die in revenge attacks. After those two young coppers were murdered in Walsh Street, the cops fought back. Executed a bunch of the gang leaders. Then there were the trials of the Walsh Street killers, that bitch Wendy Pierce didn’t testify. Half the buggers never done time. I was trying to nail Peter McEvoy for a long time in the nineties. He moved up to NSW after he was freed.’ I furiously recorded notes as the officer spoke.
‘After the gangland killings of the nineties, and the Purana task force, it took years to catch up on who was doing what. Well that’s when I really went down a rabbit hole in my research. Started trailing these rich crime families who’d been running tricks over the NSW/Victorian border for over a century unchecked. I’m not talking about Gangitano, Gatto or the Manillas. Used to be all the crime was comin’ in from the docks, you know? The Painter and Dockers union, that’s where Victor Pierce worked, the Walsh Street murderer, the Moran family and the Carlton Crew, they were all running drugs through Port Melbourne. The Calabrian mafia, AKA the honoured society, the Ndrangheta—now they also got their claws into Australian society way back then too, they come down from Queensland, had their racketeering going through the fruit and vegetable markets. Everyone remembers the key events— Frank Benvenuto was killed in 2000, but even without their leader the ’Ndrangheta was obviously still operating —because in 2008 the cops seized 15 million ecstacy pills hidden in tomato cans from Calabria. Now, Frank Benvenuto rang Victor Peirce the day he died. You want my opinion— That’s because the thugs that organised Walsh Street, weren’t just acting on some petty revenge motive. The whole thing was planned from higher up, maybe Frank was fronting up to Peirce before he was shot, and maybe Peirce knew too much when he was blown away in 2002. You catch my drift?’
‘’Im trying my best to follow—’ I replied, still anxiously scribbling notes.
‘Keep up mate… Anyway listen, after the terrorist attacks on September 11, people have been too hung up on Islamic extremism to pay attention to what’s really happening with the Mafia and these other organisations, these crime families. Now there was way more knowledge of this in the police force, the internal corruption was proven to go right to the top….in the end — we know the Wood Royal Commission only really exposed the affairs of the Kings Cross Police in Sydney, barely scratched the surface of mafia interception and corruption within the government. Yeah, they brought in some regulations, hell… even that snake Roger Rogerson got done eventually,…the Labour party dealing with Mokbel was partially revealed… but all the while, secret meetings of the same groups were happening; members of corporations, corrupt police, board members, Australian politicians. I was still trailing them, I had addresses of mansions where these figures lived and hung out. Just waiting to catch a lucky break. This wasn’t just a few career criminals. It was like an underground cult.’
I polished off my beer and motioned with my hand to the waitress to bring out another one. ‘So you think this St Kilda killing was perpetrated by these underground crime families?’ I asked intrigued.
Bazza grew more paranoid still, almost sweating and glancing about him as if he was afraid of being watched. ‘There’s this urban legend among ...those interested in crime ....in this city. Have you ever heard of the the ‘Slaughter Theatre’ trilogy?’ ‘The what?’ I asked cluelessly. Barrington seemed peculiarly begrudging to keep telling me information about what he knew, nonetheless he obligingly indulged me;
‘Back in the days of Walsh Street there were rumours of these VHS tapes existing, you know?… It was rumoured that Peter McEvoy, Victor Pierce and other murderers involved in the police killings— used to film their crimes. Snuff videos —which would prove their identities in various murders —nail the Walsh Street killers, and hundreds of other crime figures….. these VHS were alleged to have been seen by multiple witnesses. The stickers on the old video tapes were supposed to be labelled ‘Slaughter Theatre’ in red permanent marker, creepy handwriting. That’s what all the legends say anyway. I know officers who claim to have seen some of this footage. I’m talking sadistic brutal shit. You remember Dennis Allen?’ ‘Sure’ I said. ‘Mr Death they used to call him, well— there’s apparently a snuff video of Allen cutting up one of his biker adversaries with a chainsaw, he’s covered in blood, films the whole thing as he approaches a bunch of slaughterhouse workers in their white gear. They’re all covered in blood and laughing their asses off, saying ‘What floor you working’ on then Dennis?’. Another guy I know claims he’s seen these tapes, proof of all kinds of things we just suspected… Mad Charlie being massacred at his home in Caulfield. Girls being raped and tortured and mutilated. One of the pieces of footage is allegedly of a group of about 30 members of the Comanchero Motorcycle club, and they’re standing around with a group of these government guys in suits, who pay them a bunch of money, then what follows is a sadistic orgy which ends in bloodshed and bizarre ritual.’
I sweated, my hand starting to cramp from the overload of information. I held my hand up for a moment, indicating Bazza to give me a second to catch up. Finally, after a deep breath, and massaging my wrist, I waved; ‘Go on’. Barrington continued;
‘In the nineties and noughties —more rumours popped up about these secret videos. Apparently rich perverts we’re paying criminals for these snuff films, this Slaughter Theatre….. some of them were even getting top notch production values with members of the Melbourne creative industry being involved. At least that’s how the rumours go. The legends are constantly embellished. In the 90’s it was burnt DVD’s which the files were allegedly being copied to. Press dubbed it ‘Slaughter Theatre part Two’. Then downloaded files, and well, you can imagine how the rumours escalated in the modern age of social media.’
I tried to absorb what Barrington was telling me, but had to admit it sounded suspiciously like an urban conspiracy theory. I tapped at my pad with the nib of my pen. ‘So how exactly does this relate to the burnt female corpse that was dumped here in St Kilda?’.
‘Listen,’ Barrington said adjusting his thick, black glasses nervously and preparing to stand; ‘I’m afraid there’s only so much I can tell you without compromising my job. That girl was burnt alive, with a can of gasoline. Autopsy confirms that much. If I tell you that urban legends suggesting that her murder was filmed— are prominent in police circles, would you even believe me? What if I told you I had proof that this murder was filmed as part of a third instalment in this snuff trilogy? Slaughter Theatre - Part Three. That these murders are having a resurgence ——that its all part of this conspiracy?’ ‘I’d say you were either crazy, or had something that would make the biggest news story in Australian history.’ I replied bluntly. Officer Barrington stood up and handed me a business card; ‘That’s all I can do, mate—to tip you off. Listen Pharlap… If you want to learn more I suggest you dig around about this snuff video, I think you’ll find more than you had imagined in your worst daydreams. The.... You’re going to want to speak to the guy —on this card’— (Barrington handed me a business card)— ‘…about a murder that happened at the Three Vertice construction site in Footscray in July 2016. Sorry I can’t be of more help...’ Officer Barrington then shook my hand firmly, and I thanked him before he disappeared into the St Kilda crowds.
So that was how it started. How my innocence was tainted, and I was dragged into this most unnerving and unusual investigation. The business card Barrington gave me belonged to somebody called ‘Drendyl Pex. Three Vertice Construction Company. Owner. Manager.’
For a moment I sat back, and tried to get the tangled mess out of my brain, sipping at the last of my beer. Surely Barrington had gone a bit nuts— reeked of classic Police conspiracy stuff. The idea that the whole criminal underworld is linked through some kind of satanic cult— it was absurd. Satanic Panic. And as for this snuff film? Well… I just had trouble believing that something that could’ve appeared on a /4chan creepy pasta/ could exist in any tangible reality. Nonetheless, right now, it was my only lead. If Barrington believed that the murder of the girl at St Kilda… could somehow be linked to another murder in Footscray, i’d have to investigate it, any other solution would be neglectful.
It was about a twenty five minute drive out to Footscray in my Valiant Charger. I had the air conditioning up to full blast, and my tinted windows down. The radio was blaring FURY FM, some poncy hipster DJ raving on about his succulent garden, and his batch of home-brewed beer. I was about to turn it off when a killer track came on, Head On by The Jesus and Mary Chain, so I cranked the volume and hit the gas. The DJ may have been an arsehole… but he did have decent taste in music, the next tracks were also great; King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, MGMT -Little Dark Age, ORB -Man in the Sand, Nap Eyes -Don’t be Right. The synthetic pulses of the Chromatics cover of Kate Bush’s ’Running up that Hill’ was playing as I pulled into the car park of the Three Vertice construction company.
It was a busy location, with an adjacent yard; many workers in their flouro orange high vis neons and yellow hard hats coming and going. I stumbled over a poorly concreted patch of turf, up a flight of roughly hewn stairs, through a mesh steel fence, until I came into a sheltered office, and temporary reception desk. The lady at the desk gave me a funny look, and I realised I was still wearing my aviators and tennis visor, and I removed them for politeness. ‘Pharlap Dronefire. I’m here to speak to Drendyl Pex’, I said flatly. The blonde woman with dark wirey eyebrows still had an aggravated look on her face, she scowled and said, barely curteously; ‘I’m afraid Mr Pex is quite busy, do you have an appointment?’ I thought cunningly for a few split seconds; ‘No. But this is of a very private and urgent nature. Mr Pex will see it in his interest that we speak as soon as possible—’ ‘Im sorry sir, but Mr Pex….’— ‘—You can tell him it’s in relation to something that happened last year—at this site— he may want to keep confidential…’ The woman sighed, looking fearfully at her computer, ‘Ill try his office, if you just want to take a seat Mr….?’ ‘Dronefire’ I repeated, casually taking a seat on the old, tattered couch.
It was about a seven minute wait —before a well dressed man, with shoulder length, greased-back hair, purple waist coat, cravat, dark velvet jacket and long boots walked into the room. The woman stood up to introduce us, but before she had a chance the man lunged forward and stood before me with his right hand held straight. The man commanded a strange authority, so that I found I quickly leapt to my feet in his presence, and before I knew it we were in the middle of a firm handshake. ‘Mr Dronefire I believe? Drendyl Pex.’ ‘It’s a pleasure, sir, Is there somewhere we can talk a little more privately?’ ‘Of course, please… Come to my onsite office.’ I followed Mr Pex outside of the temporary unit, and we walked up a hazardous mud slide mountain to a— 3 metre square— white cubicle or trailer. Pex opened a door, and we entered into the luxurious space, decked out with a bar and expensive furniture and entertainment system. ‘Can I fix you a rum, Mr Dronefire?’ Pex asked. ‘I’ve never said no to a rum before.’ I replied truthfully. Pex pulled down a bottle from his packed shelves, dropped ice machine cubes into two glasses and poured. ‘On the rocks suit?’ ‘Yeah…that…uh…that….suits perfectly’ I replied. Drendyl handed me a three quarter full glass of pale liquid; ‘Have you tried it?’ He asked ‘Australian brand, from Adelaide, Gunnery, white spiced. Best this country has to offer.’ I took a sip of the drink, and was surprised by the earthy taste, it was dirty but delicious.
‘Mr Pex’ I said, ‘May I be upfront?’ ‘You want to know about the death that occurred last year.’ Pex replied; ‘I’m guessing you’re a Private Investigator or amateur sleuth of some kind.’ ‘Your receptionist passed on the hint, I suppose?’ I asked. ’I must apologise for our quote-unquote reception. It’s a temporary head office, we’re building a new office space here. Miss Weabley is actually our occupational health and safety manager, just filling the desk whilst we get a new temp in—’ ‘I’m not here representing anyone in a legal capacity Mr Pex’… I said, sensing Pex’s defenses, ‘…you guessed it right, I am a P.I-——— my client is interested in a murder that occurred in St Kilda recently, however other trails of research have led me to a you. Did the death last year occur at this location?’ ‘Aha!’ said Pex, seeming to have figured me out, ‘You’re following the urban legend surrounding a certain snuff film.’ I tried not to act surprised. ‘I can provide you some information about that. But follow me, I want to show you something first.’
Pex swigged the rest of his drink, and placed down the empty glass, I followed his lead, and we exited the white building, trudging around a muddy path on the outer rim of the construction zone. My head was warm from liquor and smog, the sprawling horizon bore the haphazard scattering of Footscray industry. ‘Just up here…i’ll show you…. is where the death happened Mr Dronefire. Alice Goddard. Up over the hill there. I’ll show you the place alright…but….. Are you familiar with Footscray at all?’ ‘Not really…Not a bulldogs fan….I…uh…I barrack for Essendon.’ I joked. ‘Blasphemy’ Pex smiled with formulaic small talk, ‘This was Wurundjeri land, where we are standing. Some time ago it was an immense lagoon where the Koories went fishing. There was a factory here at the turn of the century when the industrial revolution hit. They bulldozed it in the seventies, and it’s been nothing much more than landfill up until 2007 when the Three Vertice construction company purchased it. It’s been a sort of base for some time, although our head office used to be in Fitzroy. We are an equal opportunity employer Mr Dronefire. In the last 20 years, over 50 thousand employees; South Vietnamese, Sudanese, Ethiopian, Somalian, Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan, Indonesian —they have all come through here.’ ‘I’m not quite sure why you are telling me this Mr Pex’ I confessed. ‘I know you’re not a fool Mr Dronefire. We’ve been through our trials and tribulations, pleaded our side in court cases. I don’t particularly enjoy going through the ordeal of recounting the horrific tragedy that happened here last year over and over again. But if I can be plain with you, off the record…’ I nodded. ‘There’s no doubt that girl Alice Goddard was murdered out here, and if you ask me, the likelihood that someone under the employ of the Three Vertice Construction company committing that murder— it’s more than just a likelihood. Of course, you can understand…. why, as leader of this company I would be cautious about publicity over this, i’m not a monster. My pity for the girl is endless. I’ve been very frank with the police about giving them all our employee files.’
I felt like I had just taken in a whiff of pure Drendyl heroine, and had to take a minute to contemplate it. ‘I’m not here to accuse you or your company of anything untoward Mr Pex. Just to seek out the truth. To be honest, I have absolutely nothing in my research which even suggests that the murder which occurred in St Kilda is in any way related to the death of Alice Goddard.’ ‘Well… if you’d done your research, you’d know that she—Alice— was burnt alive.’ Pex stated plainly, ‘Similar autopsy results as your St Kilda murder. I read the newspapers too Mr Dronefire. If I was a police man, i’d definitely be looking at the murders as a double homicide, or possibly two murders in a repeat serial killing. Mind you, this country’s never been well equipped to deal with the serial killer phenomenon, the AFP has a history of bungled investigations in that regard.’ ‘This snuff film?’ I asked increasingly intrigued, but distracted—’You said you were aware of——‘ ‘Everyone in Melbourne is aware of Slaughter Theatre, Mr Dronefire. It’s a legend that’s been spreading around parties in the Northern suburbs for as long as Venereal disease.’ I tried to hold back a chortle, given the morose aspect of the subject matter.
Mr Pex began to walk again, and I followed him up over the last dirt pile which led to the alleged murder site. We were quite high up on the elevation now and had a good view of the Melbourne CBD. Pex stared outwards towards the skyscrapers looming over the Yarra on the horizon. ‘Do you know much about the Crown Casino?’ Pex asked, looking in the general direction of the deluxe crown towers on the horizon. ‘Only that it’s putting a lot of cash in Andrew Packer’s pocket’ I replied. ‘Pfa haha… Packer’s barely here, he’s too busy in Sydney building his 60 million dollar pad at Barangaroo, when he’s not brushing gently against his Scientologist buddies. Good mates with Tom Cruise our James, they’ve all stayed out here at Crown towers too; prominent Scientologists, the Kardashians, the Bush’s, the Rumsfields. Kerry Packer was much more interesting than his son, you know Dronefire. Back in the days of VHS, back when him and Rupert Murdoch were fighting their cold war over who was to be the king pin of the Australian media.’ I took a moment to absorb the serene, pale view of the spires of Hexton CBD, and the dark crown towers silhouetted by the glare of the sun. ‘I’m waiting for the day when the full history of Consolidated press broadcasting comes out,’ Pex continued, ‘…there’s a dark past there the public may never know about. But ol’ Kerry, he knew how to separate recorded history into public and private.’ ‘How do you mean exactly?’ I asked ‘I’m not going to spill all the dirt on Kerry—Mr Dronefire. My father and he had some shared acquaintances. We’d be here all year, and besides, what’s the point. The old cunts dead. You’re a younger bloke, aren’t you Dronefire? I’m guessing 34?’ Pex continued without waiting for an answer, ‘My generation will always remember the day— ha— when Nine Network over stepped Packer’s rule book….’ We reached the top of the hill and stared down into a junkyard of scrap material where the body of the girl had allegedly been dumped. ‘During the shortly lived ‘Australia’s Naughtiest Home Videos’ hosted by the Triple M yobbo Doug Mulray, do you remember? Grown men all over the country were loosening their belts with joy, but Kerry knew there was a time and a place for pornography, and Network television wasn’t it… Haha…. ‘Get that shit off the air!’ That’s what he told the Nine execs when he called them. You should have seen Doug Mulray’s face. Now young James, he’s much more interested in chasing girls, much more interested spending his time in Casino’s than policing the media-boundaries of public and private.’
‘Forgive me Mr Pex’ I interrupted, ‘Maybe i’m misunderstanding all of this. But what exactly does this have to do with the snuff film? Slaughter Theatre?’
Pex seemed satisfied he had given me enough time to look at the scrapyard the body had allegedly been dumped, his body language suddenly changed, and suggested I had overstayed my welcome, and he authoritatively began to escort me back down the dirt hilltop. ‘I can tell you everything I know about the snuff film Mr Dronefire. I’ve heard plenty of rumours about these murders being connected. About them being filmed, and what not. The rumours are everywhere out West and up North in Victoria. They have been for the last 50 years— every time a body shows up, theres a new trail of gossip. Melbourne IS the murder capital of Australia, Mr Dronefire. But unfortunately, I can attest to the truth of those claims no more than I can—the millions of claims about the Loch Ness monster. For all intents and purposes, those of us who are sane rightly dismiss such conspiracies as absurd. Right wing nuts who can’t handle disorder in everything, want everything to be part of some master plan. Then you’ve got the left wing vultures, media types who love a scandal, any fad you can write an article about, or make an indy film inspired by. That’s all this is. Now I have to apologise Dronefire, but I am a busy man. Always happy to help out any investigation, and i’d just as soon see whoever is behind these horrendous crimes behind bars, as much as you, the police— and the girls parents. Now—‘ I could see Pex was wrapping up, but I wasn’t a hundred percent satisfied with the information I had been given, and needed a few more points; ‘Do you mind if stick around here for another ten minutes, just to get some quick interviews with the staff?’ Pex looked mildly disgruntled but not resistant; ‘I can give you ten minutes. Longer than that and you’d be interfering with our productivity i’m afraid. You can speak to our onsite supervisor, he works with most of the staff here.’
Drendyl whistled, and an ocker looking fellow with a mullet, safety vest and a hairy arms made his way over. ‘Fortyn Kildare, this is Private Investigator Dronefire. He’d like to ask you a few questions about the death of Alice Goddard.’ Pex excused himself and disappeared, as I shook Mr Kildare’s hand. ‘You’re a little late aren’t ya?’ asked the gruff man in a thick Aussie accent; ‘Press was all over this ten months ago. What are you hoping to dig up now—eh??’
Continued in Part Two: https://www.reddit.com/libraryofshadows/comments/7new6s/slaughter_theatre_part_two/
submitted by GoityePowerhouse to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]


2017.06.20 17:07 kaimason1 New Marvel Unlimited comic releases for June 19, 2017 - Official Discussion Thread [Spoilers]

Note: This thread is for Marvel Unlimited releases, not the main discussion thread. These comics are 6 months old. The current discussion usually goes up Tuesday night or Wednesday morning.

All New X-Men #16 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
THE ALL-NEW X-MEN throw down with THE GOBLIN QUEEN! And when repressed Idie finally lets loose, there's hell to pay! Plus: One X-Man will do the unthinkable to save the day!
Amazing Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows #2 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
The Mole Man attacks NYC and only the Spider-Family can stop him! Mary Jane Watson Parker gets her first real test as a full-fledged super hero!
Daredevil #14 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
THE CONCLUSION OF 'DARK ART'! Muse's sadistic art installations strike close to home and there's nothing Matt Murdock can do about it! Daredevil's mentee Blindspot is forever changed? The darkest chapter begins here.
Deadpool: Back In Black #5 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
Deadpool's adventures in the Venom symbiote conclude! Guest-starring black costume Spider-Man?! That's right - we've got everyone's favorite symbiotic relationship - and the symbiote is there, too! Parental Advisory
Doctor Strange/Punisher Magic Bullets Infinite Comic #3 - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
Doctor Strange and Punisher are up to their necks in mafia demons! Has the time finally come for Strange to adopt Punisher’s lethal ways? Or is it time for the Punisher to use some magic?
Foolkiller #2 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
Foolkiller versus a bunch of skinheads!! Alone with an arsenal of weapons against an army of Red Skull sympathizers - what could be more fun?? Parental Advisory
Ghost Rider X-Mas Special Infinite Comic #1 - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT OF VENGEANCE! Robbie Reyes’ little brother Gabe is getting teased in school for having too much Christmas spirit! The kids of East L.A. are less than excited about Santa Claus’ impending visit, making them the perfect victims for the evil KRAMPUS! Written by METHOD MAN (Wu-Tang Clan, The Wire)!
Guardians Of the Galaxy #15 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
GROUNDED! The Guardians of the Galaxy are stuck on Earth! They're also not necessarily a team anymore. What's an urban spaceman supposed to do?
Gwenpool Holiday Special Merry Mix Up - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
It's the holidays yet again, and that means it's time to join EVERYONE'S FAVORITE GWEN (take that, Stacy!) and celebrate good times, come on! Only problem is - somehow this year's festive traditions seem to be a little...off...and Gwen's the only one who notices. FEATURING: Gwenpool (duh), Spider-Man, Red Skull, Punisher and even Deadpool! This is one present you know you gotta buy yourself!
Hawkeye #1 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
Remember Hawkeye? No not that Hawkeye, our favorite Hawkeye, the chick who puts the hawk in Hawkeye, the butt-kicking hero who had to save the other Hawkeye's butt all the time. Yup, you know her, it's the dazzling Kate Bishop making her solo comics debut! Kate is heading west and returning to Los Angeles, with her bow and arrow and P.I. badge in tow. There are crimes to solve and she's the best archer to handle 'em! The City of Angels has a new guardian angel. The talented duo of Kelly Thompson (A-Force, Jem) and Leonardo Romero (Squadron Supreme, Doctor Strange) bring you a Kate Bishop like you've never seen her before, in a brand-new ongoing series that really hits the mark!
IvX #1 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
The X-Men and Inhumans have been on a collision course since the link was proven between the Inhumans’ precious Terrigen Mist and the sickness and death of many mutants. When Beast discovers that the mutants have only two weeks before the planet is uninhabitable for them, an Inhuman/mutant war is unavoidable. Co-written by Charles Soule (Uncanny Inhumans, Daredevil) and Jeff Lemire (Extraordinary X-Men, Moon Knight), IVX delivers sensational set pieces, gargantuan grudge matches, all drawn by the sensational Leinil Francis Yu! Whether you’re for the X-MEN or the INHUMANS, IVX promises to shatter the Marvel Universe as you know it!
Marvel Universe: Avengers: Ultron Revolution #6 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
ENTER THE THUNDERBOLTS! When JUSTIN HAMMER's weapons factories threaten civilian lives, THE AVENGERS are ready to take him down?but our heroes weren't expecting a SECOND hero team to show up to help! Who are the mysterious THUNDERBOLTS? And are they truly as good as they claim? All Ages
Mosaic #3 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
The newest Marvel super hero continues to learn what he can do. Mosaic's personal life comes crashing down in the wake of his Terrigenesis. And don't miss Mosaic's first takeover of a MAJOR Marvel character!
Old Man Logan #15 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
WHEN IN ROMANIA, DO AS THE ROMANIANS DO - STAKE VAMPIRES! It's up to LOGAN and the greatest supernatural hero squad the world has ever seen, the HOWLING COMMANDOS, to stop DRACULA from a dastardly plot that endangers the whole world. But when JUBILEE is in trouble, can the Commandos trust Logan to make the tough calls? Parental Advisory
Power Man And Iron Fist #11 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
THE FUNKY DRUMS OF WAR! Luke and Danny make headway in healing the civilian wounds of CIVIL WAR II. But war is coming to Harlem, and there may not be anything our heroes can do to stop it!
Silk #15 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
THE CLONE CONSPIRACY TIE-IN! In the midst of DEAD NO MORE: THE CLONE CONSPIRACY, SILK faces off against a SPIDER-WOMAN! NEW U has given J. Jonah Jameson his life back. First, his wife Marla was brought back from the dead, and now his adopted daughter, Mattie Franklin, a.k.a. SPIDER-WOMAN, is alive again as well! It should be a time for celebration, but Cindy Moon, a.k.a. SILK, is feeling anything but festive, especially since her boss' entire family has been resurrected and is setting off her spider-sense!
Spider-Man #10 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
CIVIL WAR II Aftermath! The events of Civil War II have made Miles a target and will change the way the Marvel Universe looks at Spider-Man forever.
Star Wars Poe Dameron #9 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
Poe Dameron is on a secret mission from General Organa herself...to escort none other than C-3PO on a dangerous mission to the planet Kaddak! Also: a sneak peek into Terex's past?
Totally Awesome Hulk #13 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
GUEST STARRING BROOKLYN NETS' JEREMY LIN! Amadeus Cho can calculate parabolas all day...but can he hit one from downtown? A classic Hulk villain returns, but not like you remember: Meet QUASI/MO/DO! Hulk's on fire! Boom Shakalaka!
Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #15 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
When the TASKMASTER comes to town - and brings with him his ability to DUPLICATE ANYONE'S SWEET MOVES - who stands between him and total domination? See, I can tell you're glancing at the title of this comic and whispering 'Well, it's PROBABLY Squirrel Girl,' but guess what? This time it's actually Nancy's cat Mew, who has NO POWERS WHATSOEVER! THRILL as Mew loafs around the house! GASP as Mew chases a mouse and then has a nap! BOGGLE as you wonder how we possibly managed to pitch 'an issue entirely from the cat's point of view' to Marvel, a multinational corporation with a LOT invested in our comic continuing to star a squirrel and/or girl! They knew the risks when they let Hawkeye have that Pizza Dog issue though, so this was clearly inevitable. MEW ISSUE, BRING YOUR TISSUES!
Uncanny Avengers #17 - Original Discussion Thread - Marvel Unlimited (Read Now)
The former Avengers fight a rampaging zombie Hulk and ninjas in Japan. It's brother versus brother! Voodoo takes on his scheming brother in a climactic battle. And for 17 issues the Red Skull has plotted, lurked and waited for the time to destroy the Unity Squad. His wait is over?
submitted by kaimason1 to Marvel [link] [comments]


2017.01.07 23:03 LittleMissMurderess Kate's Stall

This story is completely true - I ask that you leave now, if you are hoping for gore or even an exciting climax. This story doesn't have those. It's just a real-world ghost story. Seriously, no excitement to be had - real ghosts don't create a drama.
Background info: this took place when I was in Primary School. I'm not sure how old I was, but here primary school is 4-11. Judging by the area I was in, I was probably about 7-9.
Everyone in my primary school kinda knew Kate's story: they said that there was a girl who died in the bathroom. The way she had died always depended on the person telling the stories - realists said it was a fit, but sometimes it was a murder, or a suicide, but there was one uniting theme:
Kate wouldn't let one of the cubicle doors close. That's where the legend came from: one stall, in just one bathroom, that would never close.
I used to tell stories about Kate too, you know. In my version, bullies were pounding on the door:
"Katie! KATIE!" The most awful bully yelled...
"Noooo....." Kate didn't know what she could do. She desperately didn't want to let the bullies get to her, but her arms were getting tired, since she'd foolishly tried to hide in the one lockless stall.
She couldn't bear to keep pushing the door closed any more, so she let her arms drop... and at the same time, her head drooped...
The bully kicked the door in, glowing with delight.
The door hit Kate's head.
And Kate's neck SNAPped ...
That's the story I told. Pretty good for an eight year old.
I used to like to 'go' in Kate's Stall. The door always swung open (plus, we thought it was haunted) so it was the least used one.
One day, I was hiding in Kate's Stall, trying to skip a lesson, when a girl came into the bathroom. She sobbed, dryly, and I guessed she had a nosebleed or something.
I didn't make myself known until I saw her shoes - clunky, heeled Mary Janes from Clarks. Just like my best friend wore, so I whispered, 'Lozza!' Which was my BFF's name.
But as soon as I whispered, the girl ran away. I watched her clogs clomp off, and then I left my stall.
She had left blood behind. A tiny smear on the mirror made me look - there was a nasty puddle in one of the sinks. At the time, if seemed okay, but now I realise it was far more blood than any child could lose without needing medical aid.
And she left blood on the floor too. It seemed to spell letters.
"GO AWAY P"
I swear, that's what it said. I followed the drops of blood out of the bathroom, to a classroom. I looked through the window in the door, and as best as I could tell, no one in that class had a nosebleed.
Eventually the teacher saw me gawking through the window, and she escorted me back to my class.
I would write this all off as childish imagination, if it weren't for one thing:
Years afterwards, I happened to bump into a teacher from my primary school. In fact, it was the same person who put me back in my class, although I didn't expect her to remember it. I asked her why she thought kids gossiped about the bathroom.
She told me that there was a real girl, in the early 80s, who died there. She said the girl suffered an epileptic fit inside one of the stalls, and she hit her head so hard that she actually passed away.
I've never looked that girl up, because I think it would be disrespectful to link a real child's death to my memories of a ghost.
But a part of me has always been certain: her name was Kate. And I think she just wanted some peace and quiet.
submitted by LittleMissMurderess to nosleep [link] [comments]


2016.12.13 22:50 Ptylerdactyl New Marvel Comics for December 14th, 2016 - Official Discussion Thread [Spoilers]

New Issues Out This Week

All New X-Men #16
THE ALL-NEW X-MEN throw down with THE GOBLIN QUEEN! And when repressed Idie finally lets loose, there's hell to pay! Plus: One X-Man will do the unthinkable to save the day!
Amazing Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows #2
The Mole Man attacks NYC and only the Spider-Family can stop him! Mary Jane Watson Parker gets her first real test as a full-fledged super hero!
Daredevil #14
THE CONCLUSION OF 'DARK ART'! Muse's sadistic art installations strike close to home and there's nothing Matt Murdock can do about it! Daredevil's mentee Blindspot is forever changed? The darkest chapter begins here.
Dark Tower: Drawing Of the Three: The Sailor #3
STEPHEN KING'S EPIC TALE CONTINUES WITH THIS MIND-BENDING ISSUE! The Gunslinger is the truth. The Lady of Shadows is the truth. The Prisoner is the truth. So where does JAKE CHAMBERS fit, and what do his visions mean? What are we talking about? Find out in THE SAILOR #3! Mature
Deadpool: Back In Black #5
Deadpool's adventures in the Venom symbiote conclude! Guest-starring black costume Spider-Man?! That's right - we've got everyone's favorite symbiotic relationship - and the symbiote is there, too! Parental Advisory
Doctor Strange/Punisher Magic Bullets #1
The team-up to end all team-ups is here, as two of the most different Marvel characters worlds' collide! What new mafia threat is so great that the Punisher needs Doctor Strange's help? Find out as the Sorcerer Supreme teams with the One Man War on Crime!
Foolkiller #2
Foolkiller versus a bunch of skinheads!! Alone with an arsenal of weapons against an army of Red Skull sympathizers - what could be more fun?? Parental Advisory
Guardians Of the Galaxy #15
GROUNDED! The Guardians of the Galaxy are stuck on Earth! They're also not necessarily a team anymore. What's an urban spaceman supposed to do?
Gwenpool Holiday Special Merry Mix Up
It's the holidays yet again, and that means it's time to join EVERYONE'S FAVORITE GWEN (take that, Stacy!) and celebrate good times, come on! Only problem is - somehow this year's festive traditions seem to be a little...off...and Gwen's the only one who notices. FEATURING: Gwenpool (duh), Spider-Man, Red Skull, Punisher and even Deadpool! This is one present you know you gotta buy yourself!
Hawkeye #1
Remember Hawkeye? No not that Hawkeye, our favorite Hawkeye, the chick who puts the hawk in Hawkeye, the butt-kicking hero who had to save the other Hawkeye's butt all the time. Yup, you know her, it's the dazzling Kate Bishop making her solo comics debut! Kate is heading west and returning to Los Angeles, with her bow and arrow and P.I. badge in tow. There are crimes to solve and she's the best archer to handle 'em! The City of Angels has a new guardian angel. The talented duo of Kelly Thompson (A-Force, Jem) and Leonardo Romero (Squadron Supreme, Doctor Strange) bring you a Kate Bishop like you've never seen her before, in a brand-new ongoing series that really hits the mark!
IvX #1
The X-Men and Inhumans have been on a collision course since the link was proven between the Inhumans’ precious Terrigen Mist and the sickness and death of many mutants. When Beast discovers that the mutants have only two weeks before the planet is uninhabitable for them, an Inhuman/mutant war is unavoidable. Co-written by Charles Soule (Uncanny Inhumans, Daredevil) and Jeff Lemire (Extraordinary X-Men, Moon Knight), IVX delivers sensational set pieces, gargantuan grudge matches, all drawn by the sensational Leinil Francis Yu! Whether you’re for the X-MEN or the INHUMANS, IVX promises to shatter the Marvel Universe as you know it!
Jessica Jones #3
Jessica Jones' new secrets start to unfold. How far did Jessica go to uncover a deadly secret in the Marvel Universe? From the original creators comes an all new chapter in the world-famous private eye's ongoing adventures. Parental Advisory
Marvel Universe: Avengers: Ultron Revolution #6
ENTER THE THUNDERBOLTS! When JUSTIN HAMMER's weapons factories threaten civilian lives, THE AVENGERS are ready to take him down?but our heroes weren't expecting a SECOND hero team to show up to help! Who are the mysterious THUNDERBOLTS? And are they truly as good as they claim? All Ages
Mosaic #3
The newest Marvel super hero continues to learn what he can do. Mosaic's personal life comes crashing down in the wake of his Terrigenesis. And don't miss Mosaic's first takeover of a MAJOR Marvel character!
Old Man Logan #15
WHEN IN ROMANIA, DO AS THE ROMANIANS DO - STAKE VAMPIRES! It's up to LOGAN and the greatest supernatural hero squad the world has ever seen, the HOWLING COMMANDOS, to stop DRACULA from a dastardly plot that endangers the whole world. But when JUBILEE is in trouble, can the Commandos trust Logan to make the tough calls? Parental Advisory
Power Man And Iron Fist #11
THE FUNKY DRUMS OF WAR! Luke and Danny make headway in healing the civilian wounds of CIVIL WAR II. But war is coming to Harlem, and there may not be anything our heroes can do to stop it!
Silk #15
THE CLONE CONSPIRACY TIE-IN! In the midst of DEAD NO MORE: THE CLONE CONSPIRACY, SILK faces off against a SPIDER-WOMAN! NEW U has given J. Jonah Jameson his life back. First, his wife Marla was brought back from the dead, and now his adopted daughter, Mattie Franklin, a.k.a. SPIDER-WOMAN, is alive again as well! It should be a time for celebration, but Cindy Moon, a.k.a. SILK, is feeling anything but festive, especially since her boss' entire family has been resurrected and is setting off her spider-sense!
Spider-Man #10
CIVIL WAR II Aftermath! The events of Civil War II have made Miles a target and will change the way the Marvel Universe looks at Spider-Man forever.
Star Wars Poe Dameron #9
Poe Dameron is on a secret mission from General Organa herself...to escort none other than C-3PO on a dangerous mission to the planet Kaddak! Also: a sneak peek into Terex's past?
Totally Awesome Hulk #13
GUEST STARRING BROOKLYN NETS' JEREMY LIN! Amadeus Cho can calculate parabolas all day...but can he hit one from downtown? A classic Hulk villain returns, but not like you remember: Meet QUASI/MO/DO! Hulk's on fire! Boom Shakalaka!
Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #15
When the TASKMASTER comes to town - and brings with him his ability to DUPLICATE ANYONE'S SWEET MOVES - who stands between him and total domination? See, I can tell you're glancing at the title of this comic and whispering 'Well, it's PROBABLY Squirrel Girl,' but guess what? This time it's actually Nancy's cat Mew, who has NO POWERS WHATSOEVER! THRILL as Mew loafs around the house! GASP as Mew chases a mouse and then has a nap! BOGGLE as you wonder how we possibly managed to pitch 'an issue entirely from the cat's point of view' to Marvel, a multinational corporation with a LOT invested in our comic continuing to star a squirrel and/or girl! They knew the risks when they let Hawkeye have that Pizza Dog issue though, so this was clearly inevitable. MEW ISSUE, BRING YOUR TISSUES!
Uncanny Avengers #17
The former Avengers fight a rampaging zombie Hulk and ninjas in Japan. It's brother versus brother! Voodoo takes on his scheming brother in a climactic battle. And for 17 issues the Red Skull has plotted, lurked and waited for the time to destroy the Unity Squad. His wait is over?

Trades Out This Week

Link MSRP Format
Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Vol. 2: Under New Management $15.99 TPB
Marvel Masterworks: The Amazing Spider-Man Vol. 18 $75.00 HC
Ms. Marvel Vol. 6: Civil War II $17.99 TPB
Punisher Max: The Complete Collection Vol. 4 $39.99 TPB
Uncanny Inhumans Vol. 3: Civil War II $19.99 TPB
Web Warriors of the Spider-Verse Vol. 2: Spiders Vs. $17.99 TPB
X-Men: Inferno Crossovers $39.99 TPB
X-Men: X-Cutioner's Song (New Printing) $39.99 TPB

Weekly Pull Poll

The results of last week's poll are in*. The big winner this week for your Most Anticipated New Release is a two-way tie between Hawkeye #1 and IvX #1! Runners up are Jessica Jones #3 in second, then Daredevil #14, Old Man Logan#15 tied for third/fifth. I guess. I'm not a statistician.
Please check out next week's poll here to vote on your most anticipated title for next week, 12/21/16!
submitted by Ptylerdactyl to Marvel [link] [comments]


2016.03.02 18:08 SloppyJerky The Spiral 'Washed Up On Brighton Beach' pt 1

I remember when I was eleven years old, visiting Blue Water Shopping Centre. For those who don’t know it, the centre used to be one of the more respected and well- loved in the country, due to its diversity, good food, plentiful cafés and vast size.
Then, one Christmas in 2001, my father took my brother and I there, together with his partner, at the peak of that shopping madness that seems to grip many of us during the festive season. We were late shoppers, feeling obliged to go with the flow, to indulge ourselves for once and get into the spirit of things. It’s easy to do: a kind of group identification, similar they tell us, to that which gripped many Nazi followers during the Second World War, and turned them from human beings with a conscience, into monsters responsible for the most unbelievable and terrible atrocities. So, group conformity isn’t something you can necessarily always brush aside that easily.
And therein lies a hidden truth: the manufacturers, distributors and retailers of all those Christmas goodies, many of them only appearing at Christmas, the large store managers … are all very much aware of this fever which seems to grip us. And they exploit it unmercifully. Exploit it to reveal the true nature in today’s world, of the Christmas “spirit”: greed, lust, gluttony, covetousness, selfishness and yes, usually placid individuals, prepared to fight for a share of the spoils!
The soul-sucking truth is that the manic intensity prevalent at Christmas is nothing to do with Santa Claus, the birth of Jesus, Reindeers, hymns or the celebration of Advent. It is quite simply, rampant consumerism. It seems to me to be a kind of pernicious blackmail, in which consumers are swept along by some ridiculous unspoken conspiracy designed to perpetrate the “Father Christmas” myth amongst millions of children. It only really hit me for the first time that December in 2001. As a result of which, I began to ask myself at an early age, the questions which came to demand answers for me at least, in the coming years: what must it be like for those who have little or no money? For the families who are barely able to cover their bills? How do they explain to their children? Even worse … how about those who spend any extra money they get, on cigarettes or drugs rather than on gifts?
As I recall, my brother, who is even younger than myself, turned to me at the time and said something like: “Dude … seriously … this shit sucks! There are way too many people acting like idiots in here. I don’t care about the presents. I just want home.”
He was right: it was like a madhouse when you looked around. You could almost feel the hunger … a desperate need to impress the ones they loved, to go one better … that little step further. But, if I am totally honest, I believe I was quite enjoying what social psychologists would probably call group social pressure – I would call it hysterics. Because, even though it was the start of me asking questions about selling, marketing and sales promotions: the beginnings of a social conscience, if you like, I actually don’t mind a good old push and shove. You know, a bit of chaos, with an urgency in the air, and an atmosphere that has an edge to it. Okay, the continual, awkward brushing up against total strangers, the sweaty bodies in a cramped environment, no! But, I was happy to be involved in it all, at the time. Even the worst part of it: the spoilt brats, moaning for what they want and wanting everything they see! When you feel like shouting: “Shut your kid up and give it coal for Christmas!”
That day, we’d been there maybe an hour I seem to remember, when we came across the gadget shop. It was on a second floor somewhere, next to a clothing store, and I was immediately drawn to it, excited. I wonder if they have night vision goggles, was the question hammering away in my mind. So, I asked my dad if we could go inside. As it turned out, it was a big let-down. Full of meaningless toys and trinkets, plastic dicks and really tacky jewellery; but it became a landmark for me at the time. Because, amongst the so called ‘gadgets’ one particular item caught my eye. It was a small metal piece of cheap tin on a key chain, and on the front was a picture of a large, green marijuana leaf. And on it was a slogan: Either: ‘Smoke weed, Die happy,’ or ‘Don’t drink and drive, Smoke and fly,’ or some such, I can’t remember the words exactly. Anyway, I wanted it! So, I asked my Dad if I could Have it for Christmas, and he gave me usual adult brush-off: “Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?” with the usual accompanying mysterious smile.
The thing was, it had sparked my interest for more reasons than the obvious. Sure, drugs were around and I was already aware of them. They’re in all schools, and are there up front in and around every school from the Junior classes upwards. But no, that wasn’t the reason I was attracted by it. I think I already had the type of mind, which later, would get me into troublesome situations; but also, was to give me several creative edges. I would call it curiosity: but it is something more than that. In this case, the idea intrigued me off of advertising on a trinket designed to be hung around the neck and therefore, permanently on display at the forefront of a person. Manipulation by suggestion – suggestion which contradicts reality. The thing was, for me that day, it succeeded, not by my reading and believing or not, the slogan; but by the thought it implanted. What would it be like to smoke cannabis? And I made up my mind right there and then, that at the first available opportunity, I would be happy to climb aboard and drift the high and beautiful waves of a sensational natural trip. (The words being not my thoughts at the time, but my description of the experience now).
So, we exited the shop and my brother and I were left to look after the shopping, while Dad went off to buy a few things. I assumed he was getting my tin slogan. He didn’t. Meanwhile, I was occupied with the thought that maybe I should make a purchase or taste the Mary Jane as soon as I could.
And my guess is that curiosity is the motive that applies in eight out of ten of all cases resulting in new hard drug users – although my personal opinion is that marijuana is not a hard drug, and should never have been legally classified as such. The motive in the case of cigarette smoking however, has to be close to one hundred percent peer pressure – as is almost indisputably the case with the taking of alcohol.
What most people don’t know, is that alcohol is not a stimulant in the emotional sense – it is a depressive; and that following the brief “high” it may give to the user, the on-going effects, following on shortly, include depression and suppression, as often demonstrated by the subsequent onset of drowsiness. Symptoms which then go on to encourage anguish, anger and often as a result, violence. Alcohol then damages the liver over a relatively short period of time, if taken repeatedly (as that vital organ, essential to life, begins to struggle to process the drug in the bloodstream); and subsequently, damages the brain, which then has to receive it unprocessed.
It is not however, the aim of this biographical account, to judge anyone who indulges. For one thing, in today’s society, it is too late – although it may not be so in the case of hard drugs. For another however, there are far too many powerful and influential, business and political interests ranged against discouraging its use – even if lip service is paid to partaking of it in moderation. And far too many also, in the case of taking hard drugs – the use of which could be cut to negligible levels by severing their source and distribution channels from the potential user – not easy but by no means impossible; and treating sympathetically, those who have become addicted. But that, as they say, is another ball-game – another subject for discussion. So let’s put it to bed once and for all as far as this article in concerned.
“Hard” and “soft” are convenient terms used to allow drugs to be divided into two categories. Hard drugs are drugs that lead to physical addiction. Soft drugs are not thought to cause physical addiction. And some drugs are difficult to classify that way, as they have characteristics of both hard and soft drugs. The surprising thing, and what very few people know is which drugs fall into which official categories. Cocaine, heroin, nicotine and alcohol are hard drugs. Cannabis, mescaline and LSD are soft drugs, none of which are considered addictive. Whereas ketamine (a killer) and caffeine are classified as being both. Now consider both the establishment and the public perception of the above classifications … and ask yourself two questions: why is alcohol advertised and promoted in every possible way and at every available opportunity? And is the real truth about drugs, their distribution and use, being deliberately concealed from society? Because there is a single answer that could be offered to both questions. It is that commercial interests are paramount in determining who does what to whom, and for how much money, in today’s society.
The first time I got stoned was when I was twelve or thirteen, at Varndean School during the lunch hour, with a couple of my friends. We all chipped in our lunch money and bought ourselves what was known at the time as a six twenty five: half of a tenth bag, which cost £12.50 then. I was excited, eager to get high and not forgetting that I had drama next period.
It was my one regret later, after that first experience. Had it been P.E. it wouldn’t have mattered. I could have hung on the bars all day, or run and jumped forever – but I wouldn’t have had to go up on stage! We had decided to sneak off to the bottom of the fields and sit in the driveway of Balfour School, right up against the classroom, which was rather stupid, funny because there was a row of windows right behind us, looking straight into a primary classroom. No one said anything, though. One friend who was there had been smoking for quite a while, having decided to put the whole bag into one massive spliff. ‘Safer than taking it back to class,’ he had said. It made sense at the time, but I later realised it had only been because he wanted to smoke a fat one! The spliff was good and the high I recall, was awesome! The instant I inhaled, I knew I liked it. It was good from the very first drag and I revelled in it.
We walked up to class late, stoned, our eyes all blood-shot and undoubtedly stinking of the smoke. The teacher didn’t say much apart from, “Hurry up, boys,” as she waved us inside.
The chairs were all arranged in a circle when we got inside: some sort of bonding exercise that they liked to call circle time. We were meant to be going around as a group, sharing intimacies about ourselves, talking about weekends away from school or planned holidays. Most of the class handled the task well, keeping it brief and easy with responses like ‘My name is John and I like playing rugby’, or ‘My name is Becky and I’m going to Florida in the summer.’
Unfortunately, when it came round to one of the individuals in my friend group, he said, “I have alien hand syndrome. My hand like spasms and freaks out all of the time!” Then he began waving his arm around, flailing about in his chair and jerking erratically, hissing and fitting like a demonic serpent possessed his soul.
“Aggghhhhhhh … Miss! Help me! It’s happening again!” He screamed.
She ordered him to quit it and leave it out, but by then we were all, that is all the stoned delinquents, practically rolling about, all laughing our heads off! The whole thing immediately escalated until every one of us was joining in, and were all jumping about and waving our arms around, behaving like lunatics and screaming out about our alien hands syndrome.
Give her credit – give all modern teachers credit, I guess – but eventually she managed to split us all up into groups, still giggling, to create a play, which we would be asked to perform at the end of the lesson. My heart sank. I’m too lifted for this, I told myself. Nevertheless, I still managed to organise my team (I was elected) to act out a play with me in the part of a homeless drunk guy, who didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. So, all I had to do was lay on the floor, groan, roll around a bit and shout. I did it. Reasonably successfully, but ended up stressed out, as I recall.
The next time I got stoned was outside Concorde 2 on the seafront during the summer holidays from school. There was some teen concert going on and I’d attended with a few of my friends; and later on that night, been introduced to a friend of theirs called Antwun. We’d shared a spliff, some stuff he’d grown in his garden I think, but it still it got us high.
“What you doing later?” he asked
“Not much, go for a skate, then head home. Might go Kate’s for a bit, maybe. I’m not really sure. Why, what you saying?”
I took a drag on the poorly constructed spliff we’d managed to wrap together in the windy weather.
“I was thinking maybe get a few people back to mine. I’ve got beer and loads of weed and my Mum’s away in Spain for two weeks.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. I finished the spliff and threw it on the ground. “Where’d you live?”
“Near Seven Dials.”
“You sure your Mum won’t be back?” I questioned, even though I didn’t really care at the time.
“Nah, don’t worry about her,” he said, confidently. “She won’t be back for two weeks!”
The sun was about to set when we arrived and although we didn’t know it at the time, it turned into one of those never to be forgotten, lifetime moments, that stays with you forever. Antwun diverted to the kitchen briefly to grab some cold ones before escorting the two of us up the stairs, through his bedroom and out onto the terrace at the back of house. The sun turned the shrubbery below into a golden-green vista of vibrant rainbow colours, suffused with reds and yellows; and as the sun slipped below the horizon, we sat on Antwun’s roof, smoked our spliffs and contemplated life and the world.
I will remember those moments for the rest of my life, and often still think back to it now; the all-consuming peace that came over me as the sun settled slowly and inexorably down between the houses … the burning spliff, the cold, cold beer, the inane conversation, the pointless banter and the empty meaninglessness of cannabis thoughts, during which one’s chief preoccupation is the skating venue for tomorrow, a particular film you’ve logged that you would like to watch, or some stuff you’d heard tell would give you a new kick.
And yes, that was the state of my mind on that unforgettable evening as I sat looking down, concerned with a few, loosely considered plans to purchase some magic mushrooms, legal at that time and freely available via somewhere called The Market Place. I’d already decided by that time that contemplating change just wasn’t intense enough for moi, and that I preferred to take something that would change what I perceived as being real. I didn’t have a clue then as to where I could get hold of some LSD and psychedelic fungus sounded good to me. As it turned out, it was easy: we spent a few minutes asking around and then bought ninety grams of Columbian strain mushrooms, at a cost as I remember, of about forty-five pounds, i.e. twenty-two fifty apiece. Not bad for a night out, I’d thought.
So, that particular night ended with just yours truly back at Antwun’s for a marathon drug fest washed down with ice-cold beer. Everything was in place and perfect, to make our first experience with the magical fungus a memorable one: we had an abundance of grass … a fridge full of ice-cold beer, courtesy of Antwun, two pouches of tobacco, three packets of multi-coloured pens, a wad of cartridge paper, Jimmy Hendrix, Led Zeppelin and Frank Zappa on stereo … and 90 grams of Mexican strain magic mushrooms between us!
I started by tipping the contents of a baggie on to Antwun’s computer desk, spilling the product onto the wooden surface, before picking up one of these fungi and twiddling it in between my fingertips, feeling the smooth, rounded texture, while Antwun began dividing them into equal piles. Each stem was long, thick and pale, the cap a muddy orange with a silky feel; and they had that collective, familiar earthy odour about them that I personally found most pleasant, reminding me as it did, of the glorious days I spent exploring the woods, behind my grandmother’s house in Switzerland, as a young boy, imbued with an all-consuming thirst for sudden and cataclysmic adventure.
“They don’t look half bad,” I enthused, still holding one of them in my hand. I had long known that I enjoyed eating mushrooms, so the idea of eating them and experiencing the hallucinogenic qualities of these particular ones, was a most pleasant one! Not so however, for my old pal Antwun.
“Speak for yourself, mate. I hate mushrooms,” he said.
“Yeah, well …” I said, “I guess maybe you’re just going to have to man up and eat ’em then, ain’t you!” I told him bluntly.
He nodded, but the look of on his face said he was more concerned about the prospect than I had figured. “Look, Antwun … we’re here, we’re ideally equipped and we’ve come this far, mate … so what I’m saying is … you can’t let a little disagreement with the old taste buds stop you now, can you? Nothing worthwhile ever comes your way without a little blood, sweat and tears, yeah? Or in your case right now, a little manning the fuck up, getting dirty and eating shit.”
I picked up a mushroom from the desk, popped it in my mouth and bit down on its moist body, deliberately chewing it into a pulp and staring jauntily at my new mate and fixing him with what can only be described as a patronising smirk! The truth was that the magical fungus tasted absolutely foul, but I wasn’t about to let him know that!
“Mmmmm … not bad …” I murmured. Full of bravado now, I picked up a full, chunky handful from the pile and stuffed the lot into my mouth. “Just get ’em all in you, mate!” I waffled, through a mouth full of earthy slosh.
“The quicker the better is what I say! Let’s face it, they’re just fucking fungus at the end of the day!” Antwun smiled reluctantly, and by this time had just about started to eat some, but nibbling cautiously and cringing with each small mouthful, accompanied with an exaggerated, heaving gag and a disgusted, “Yuk!”
“I can’t do this,” he declared. “I just can’t do it! They’re fucking foul!” I favoured him with my best disgusted look and shovelled another load into my gullet. Being new to the whole thing, it never occurred to me that we could maybe have brewed a drink with ’em – even made a pot of tea to drink with em’, to disguise some of the disgusting flavour! As it turned out, later that night, another mate arrived, and gave us the S.P. on the whole thing, when we discovered we could have saved ourselves the pain by ingesting ’em a different way.
At the time though, I was on a mission and in no mood to piss about when they had cost us. “Oh, come on!” I said to him. “Just get ‘em inside you and stop being a pussy! You were all up for it, earlier on! So what happened?” I stuffed the last of my mushrooms into my mouth and gave it him in full. “Stop being so fucking picky and just eat the fuckers, will you! For God’s sake! What a fucking drama!”
At the time I genuinely felt the only reason he wouldn’t eat them was because he was being a whiny little girl about the taste and texture … but looking back now, I can see that the real reason for his reluctance, was that Antwun just wasn’t ready for the self-intoxication thing, you know, the whole experience … and it wasn’t the fungus so much as the self-intoxication … I think what happened is what happens for lot of first-timers, they lose their bottle and when it comes down to it, they can’t quite swing it.
“Ah, shit! Mate! They really are disgusting, y’know!”
And I could see then that no amount of peer pressure was gonna convince him otherwise. So, instead, I gave up and offered a mate a helping hand.
“Okay, mate!” I said to him. “Cool it! No need to get off on it! I’ll help you eat yours, just eat as many as you can! OK?” At which, he perked up bit, smiled and pushed more than half of his pile towards me, with a look of intense relief and gratitude on his face. A bit over the top was what I thought at the time, though. I stared at the complete mound of fungus facing me. Too many, maybe? I asked myself. Then, ah, fuck it! I swore. I’ll be fine! I knew nothing at that time.
“Slap some more Hendrix on and roll a spliff, will you, Antwun? I’m gonna get started on my seconds and I wanna bun a fatty after this pig-out, you hear me?”
It wasn’t too long before another mate arrived, to smoke some weed and chat, he said. But I thought, naww … he’s come to watch what was going on here! He’s never been down the psychedelic route himself, and we’d been up front about what we were going to do. He’s just after a learning experience … anyway, I couldn’t have cared less, I hadn’t started to trip by then, so it kind of gave me a while to ease into his being there, if you know what I mean …
See, the last thing I wanted was a newcomer barging in if I was going to start struggling with what I could see around me! Lost in a mental strait-jacket of distorted delusions, caged inside while some irritating onlooker stared at me like an animal in a zoo! He’d probably even start asking me questions as well – questions I had no idea how to reply to, ’cause I hadn’t even worked things out for myself by that time! Not my idea of fun, I told myself. We’d probably exchange curious glances and awkward stares and uncomfortable, unintelligent shit conversations which I’d never remember and would never want to. It was exactly the kind of thing I had wanted to avoid … the first time I ever used the stuff!
“So how many did you two eat then?” he asked me, after I let him in and he walked back to the window ledge with me. His name was Lewis. I’d met him through my old buddy, Jason but Antwun knew him as well, from school; they were in the same form, apparently. He was a cool enough guy, but something of a know-all and that didn’t help the situation. Mind you, such as it was, ain’t always a bad thing. Keep you on your toes, I always say, so as to be on top of what goes on. Anyway, I didn’t bite his head off.
He was your typical grunge cross-hipster type, with curly brown hair and split fringe, torn jeans, blank t-shirts, watch, wristbands and converse trainers. I was dressed pretty much the same, I guess, although all my clothes were about two sizes too big for me, ’cause I liked ’em that way. I usually wore one of a whole selection of skateboarding, snap-back hats, Es skate shoes and had hair that was long, scruffy and wild … you could say, unmanageable. Like me.
“Antwun ate hardly any. So I think maybe I ate well over half of ’em,” I told him.
“Fuck me! How many did you buy?”
“Ninety grams. It was only about forty-five quid. Not bad for a full night out, hey?”
“You actually ate seventy-five grams?” he gasped “That’s way too fucking many!”
“Chill out! It ain’t you, is it? I’ll be fine. At least – I will be if you shut the fuck up and stop trying to wig me out. Don’t you understand, Lew? Don’t you see what you’re doing? I’ll get the bloody fear if you keep going on like that, man!” His reaction had bothered me. I hadn’t really thought about it up until then, but now, I was a bit worried – although I couldn’t show it. (For those who don’t know, a standard, single-person dose of wet Mexican-strain mushrooms, is reckoned to be about thirty grams. Thirty grams being enough to get you pretty well off your face, depending on your tolerance and past experience, obviously.
“Yeah, well, right,” he said, “Sorry. So, you feel any effects yet? Or do you reckon they’re duds?”
Truth was, I hadn’t felt a thing up till then, apart from maybe a bit of queasiness and a few heightened bits and pieces of perception; but, I assumed that so far, all I had was the effects of the weed and the beer combined. Strangely though, probably the mere fact that Lewis had expressed his surprise, triggered off the whole trip. And everything hit me at once, in that moment when he looked at me in some kind of awe.
I closed my eyes briefly and an explosion of colour blew up in my mind like a vantages fireworks display: a mass of vibrant radiance, circling the darkness within my brain; and I was suddenly exploring the veritable depths of a new and exciting reality.
I could feel the strings on Jimmy’s guitar, binding me in a fortress of patterns and intricate fractals. The distorted notes, riveting riffs and wailing shreds of his manic play, erupted in a spinning reel of kaleidoscopic images that bombarded every corner of my inner fields. I was engulfed: my consciousness suddenly rocketing through a maze of bright lights and multi-coloured pathways. It was a journey I was totally unfamiliar with, to a place where I had never been, but somewhere I somehow had known how to get to! And all with a sense that … when you arrive, there will be infinite peace and contentment.
I couldn’t even bring myself to say anything whatsoever … I wanted nothing, but nothing, to drag me back from that phantasmagorical place I had landed in! And being careful not to even so much as open my eyes, I believe I simply sank to the floor from the chair I had briefly sat down in, and was told I crawled on my hands and knees into a corner of Antwun’s room, slapping my hands down on the hardwood floor as I went, like some kind of seal. We’d spread a duvet out on the floor earlier, and I must have sought and found that … curled up in on myself, and closed my eyes even tighter.
“You okay?” I’m told Lewis asked me. “You look out of it, man?”
I am also told I wasn’t exactly incoherent but just didn’t make any sense from thereon in. And funnily enough, I do remember bits and pieces of the conversation, but can only describe them as being like small independent observations about nothing much at all.
“I feel like a piece of string that keeps growing longer and longer,” I said. My eyes were still shut, and I was by then, sprawled out on the bedroom floor with my mouth wide open in an expression of sheer awe and amazement. “I started off as just a tiny dot, and my journey has begun … I continue to grow and as I do, I journey through fields, owned by a white horse … and on his back rides a shining knight. I enter caves and the caves are wondrous, blossoming with colours and shifting patterns; and there are … ball bearings … millions of tiny ball bearings … all of them of different colours and sizes. And the golden cup is never far from the gates … but … it’s finding it that is hard – although I am wise, and I know my way,” I told them all, apparently. “So I will find it …” I said.
“What else?” Lewis asked me, eagerly. “What else can you see?”
“It’s not what I see … it’s what I feel when I look around … the music … it … it’s so powerful … it’s like, I can feel the energy that was put into it but … more than that, I can feel the vibrancy of it running through my actual veins … not as blood but as music: the energy of the music …”
Suddenly the music stopped; and I assumed some clever bastard had thought it funny to switch it off, just to mess with me! And needless to say, I absolutely flipped! I mean, completely flipped, apparently.
“What the fuck happened to the fucking music?” I screamed at the top of my voice.
My body began jerking around as if of its own accord … wrenching my back I was so furious. My mood I was later told, turned from spaced out to freaked out, instantly and dramatically.
“You fucking, God-awful fucking vermin!” I screamed at them. “How dare you! You turned Jimmy off, you fucking degenerates!”
Suddenly, I was foaming at the mouth. It scared them rigid. I was drooling as I turned on them and later, they told me they believed I would have killed one or both of them at that moment.
“YOU! You fucking pig!” I screamed. “Turn him on! Turn him fucking on again!”
I had opened my eyes now and as I must have zeroed in on Lewis, he scrambled to the stereo and hit the play button. The speakers blared out again, pumping the sweet toxin that I needed so very, very much; and apparently, I closed my eyes instantly and sank back down again.
“Paper and pens!” I demanded. “I need to draw something! GET ME SOME fucking paper and pens!”
“I think you took too many,” Lewis ventured.
“I’m fine. Just PASS ME THE PAPER!”
Antwun it was apparently, who came up with goodies, fortunately; otherwise we don’t know what may have transpired. Anyway, I spent the next several hours drawing the sounds of Jimmy’s guitar in coloured felt tips on plain paper.
I can recall closing my eyes and placing the pen on the sheet of paper and moving my hand to the beat, back and forth in a polygraph-type motion. Sometimes, I would revert to a more heart beat line system, straight up and down, but it depended entirely on the musical track and the way it took me through the wondrous maze in my head. I went through over fifty pieces of white paper that night; and all ended up, both sides, covered in coloured ink pen – thick with it. In fact, it was some five hours by everybody’s watches before the images in my head started to fade.
When I finally opened my eyes, the room was empty, dark and lit only by Tom and Jerry playing on the computer screen. I lay there and listened for a while, staring at the scattered paper and pens around me, before closing my eyes and trying to get some sleep. Then suddenly, when I did, there was a sudden roar from the speaker monitors, a loud buzzing over the sounds of the cartoon, and I shot up, in a moment of utter confusion.
I managed to switch the reel on the speaker to mute, and lay back down on the duvet but…the noise didn’t stop. I tried to stop up my ears by cupping my hands over them, but it didn’t stop the sounds. So, after five minutes of sheer frustration and madness almost, I rolled over, pressed myself up off the floor and staggered downstairs into the living room. When I got there, I threw myself down on the sofa and for the next hour or more, before I finally passed out, I was tortured by an unceasing, almost unbearable ringing in my ears and a flashing image of Kurt Cobain’s drug riddled face, flying out from the darkness towards me, if I tried to close my eyes. TBC......
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