#trump smokes mids

[itstimewehavesomesoliddick]

Let me tell you, folks, no one rolls a blunt like me. No one. Sleepy Joe always forgets the filter, but I don't, do you know why? Because I don't smoke mids, that's right, only loud and let me tell you, there's no one that packs a boof like I do, no one, believe me, they tried, they looked for someone that rolled a better one but they couldn't find one, which is not surprising, of course. The other day, Joe comes to me and, get this, he says, here Donald, try this loud, this is some real good zaza, feel it, and you know what folks? It was mid, it was mid as it can be, unbelievable! Never have I puffed on weed as mid as that one was, and trust me, I've smoked plenty of weed, all kinds, so I would know. No wonder he's so sleepy if that's what he calls loud. But not me, folks, no mids for me, that's right. When people think of me, they think "wow that Trump guy smokes some great weed!" Do you know why? Because I do, folks! I do, it's true, everyone knows this. In fact, my official Trump™ grade weed is so loud, highest quality, folks, terrific stuff, the best, that you'll get tired of how good it is! You'll be saying, Donald, this is too good! It's so good you'll be wanting dirt, pure brick, just to remember the sort of weak boofs Loser Joe used to roll! That's right! They're as bad as the economy when he's in charge, he turned the dime bag into a dollar bag! That's how bad it is! But not if I was in charge, if I was in charge, a dime bag would be a dime bag, and not dirt either, folks. That's right! We're going to take back the White House and we're to make American weed loud again!

[mariacallous]

In the mid-1980s, although its dissolution was nearly at hand, few were predicting the complete demise of the Soviet Union. But when it came to the politics of leadership succession, a country that had been widely feared or respected for decades had already begun making a mockery of itself.

By the late 1970s, Leonid Brezhnev, the once-vigorous man who had shunted aside Nikita Khrushchev in 1964 to lead the country, had been reduced to a shell of his former self by years of heavy smoking, hard drinking, and emphysema. He visibly huffed and puffed as he walked with a shuffling gait, and he occasionally slurred his words or displayed obvious memory lapses.

After Brezhnev, things in Moscow only got worse. He was succeeded by the former intelligence chief, Yuri Andropov, who was regarded in almost equal measure as a reformist thinker and as a corrupt and sternly authoritarian figure. No one knows which of these traits might have prevailed over time, because time was the one thing Andropov did not have. He died at age 69, his power lasting only 15 months, during the last year of which he suffered total kidney failure.

Andropov was followed by the scarcely-remembered Konstantin Chernenko, another heavy smoker afflicted with emphysema and heart problems. His rule only lasted for 13 months. The historian John Lewis Gaddis said of the ephemeral Chernenko that he was “an enfeebled geriatric so zombie-like as to be beyond assessing intelligence reports, alarming or not.” Chernenko’s death in office paved the way in 1985, finally, for the comparatively youthful Mikhail Gorbachev.

But by then it was the Soviet system itself that was running out of time.

Existential crises linked to the vagaries of succession politics are typically thought to be the province of authoritarian systems that lack regular and transparent rules for the passing of power from one leader to the next. But for the past three years, it is precisely this specter that has hung over the world’s oldest electoral democracy, the United States.

This has never been clearer than in the past two weeks. First, the mental competence of President Joe Biden, 81, was called into question in a report by Robert Hur, a special counsel appointed to look into the president’s improper handling of classified documents, and then by new flights of disturbing rhetoric by former President Donald Trump, 77, raised renewed profound questions—or should have—about his own fitness for presidential office. Describing a real or imagined conversation about NATO dues with a European leader, Trump related: “I said: ‘You didn’t pay? You’re delinquent?’ … ‘No, I would not protect you, in fact I would encourage [Russia] to do whatever they want. You gotta pay.’”

There is a dismaying amount of confusion in the parallels and comparisons that many commentators have drawn between these two men, the current president and his immediate predecessor, each the prohibitive favorite at this point to head his party’s ticket in the coming election. This proceeds from the unavoidable impression that some things must be broken in the United States for its two main political parties to have simultaneously offered up two such flawed candidates.

There is a world of difference in the ways in which they are flawed, though. The anxieties and discontent aroused by Biden’s performance, whether it is his frequent public memory lapses and misstatements or his shuffling gait and other signs of frailty, are perfectly normal. It is far from ideal for the United States to be led by someone with such traits, but there is nothing about the Biden presidency that conceivably threatens the future of the U.S. republic.

Like his politics or not, for this is not a partisan argument, Biden has presided over a smoothly functioning government that with few exceptions has executed its policies in competent and predictable ways. Other than the outlier factor of Biden’s age, history will likely regard his tenure as fitting firmly within the conventional bounds of U.S. politics. Even Biden’s potential death in office, which would be unsurprising given that, if reelected, he would be 82 years old on Inauguration Day, would yield a routine and proper succession by an elected vice president whom the American people would be free to throw out on the regular timetable should they choose to do so.

The case of Trump, though, couldn’t be more different. Whether one calls it an insurrection or not, the former president’s attempts to rally support for him to stay in power on January 6, 2021, or arm-twist lawmakers and his vice president to bend electoral rules for the same purpose were threats to the integrity of the U.S. political system. And they were not the only ones he has created, either. It is, of course, Trump’s right to defend himself against the many charges he faces in numerous courts of law, but one of his arguments should be seen as uniquely menacing—namely, that a president should be free from prosecution for any criminal behavior committed while in office.

The U.S. Supreme Court must now decide whether to consider the former president’s argument. A legal victory by Trump in this case, however unlikely, would spell the end of republican-style rule in the country by placing presidents above the law.

Trump has also positively invoked the word dictator in describing himself, unreassuringly justifying this by saying this aspiration would only apply to his first day back in office.

He has backed the state of Texas in refusing to comply with a federal court order asserting Washington’s control over the country’s borders, reportedly pledging to encourage other states to send their national guards to Texas to bolster its defiance of the United States’ federalist order. He is reportedly considering naming his daughter-in-law as head of the Republican Party, no crime to be sure, but a personalizing corruption of the political system in line with his other authoritarian instincts. And most recently, as the quote above shows, he has casually threatened members of the NATO alliance that if they don’t meet an agreed benchmark for defense spending, he would not only tolerate a Russian attack on them, but also encourage it.

Even taken individually, many of these positions or actions pose existential threats to the United States that are far more threatening that any concerns raised by Biden’s age. It is the NATO comment, though, that brings us back directly to the dissolution of the Soviet Union.

That country’s decay was brought on by the failure of its elites at renewal and reform. The ossification of its system was symbolized, if not exactly brought on, by the advanced age or poor health of its leaders in the pivotal moments of the 1980s. Economic growth in the Soviet Union was the envy of the world in the 1950s, and one might argue that, in fact, it was in the following decade that the country’s political system became too hidebound and corrupt to continue thriving.

Trump’s NATO rhetoric—and, should he become elected, his anti-alliance politics,—are even more damaging. They strike at the heart of U.S. success and prosperity in the world. If pursued, they would deliver a devastating blow to both the country and the global order, an own-goal with few historical parallels.

As filtered through Trump’s mind, alliances are like mob protection rackets in which the payments must keep flowing upward or back to the boss to keep him happy. Otherwise, he will allow bad things to happen, and the victims will have deserved their fate. Biden presents none of these risks.

There seems to be no recognition that the United States has been the premier beneficiary of its great alliances. Its former enemy Japan, for example, helped the United States in crucial, if indirect ways, in resisting North Korea’s takeover of the Korean Peninsula in the 1950s, and South Korea and Japan similarly helped Washington during the Vietnam War. Taken together, they and other allies in Asia are what allow the United States to maintain a favorable order and counterweight to China in the world’s most economically dynamic region.

NATO, likewise, has been similarly indispensable to U.S. power and preeminence in the North Atlantic. For decades, it has kept the peace in Europe and prevented renewed bids by Russia for imperial expansion. The accession of Sweden and Finland to the alliance that is now underway is not a sign of Washington being taken for a ride, as Trump might imagine, but rather a reaffirmation of U.S. power and vitality in the world. Enormous prosperity has flowed from this peace, as much to the United States as to the Europeans themselves.

Ukraine has been the one major exception in the post-Soviet era, and just as Trump seems to have no idea why the United States should help protect NATO members, he seems equally clueless about why allowing Ukraine to crumble before Moscow’s aggression should matter on the far side of the Atlantic.

I write this as someone who has spent a career freely criticizing Western imperialism, including the United States’ own. But if you want to overturn long-standing constitutional arrangements or the architecture of grand alliances, as Trump seems so inclined to do, you should have a coherent plan for alternatives. In a democracy, that should mean an exhaustive discussion and adherence to legal processes and informed choices at the ballot box. From Trump and many of his most ardent supporters, one hears no hint of anything beyond grievance and will to power. Matters of democracy fall by the wayside. All that remains is to follow the great leader.

Trump is a man who personalizes everything and seems to operate on impulses, whims, and grudges. If he is given a second chance to follow and execute them, in another decade or two, historians may be writing the kinds of books one can find today about the Soviet Union in the 1980s, all asking some version of the question: How did things go so completely off the rails?

The big difference, it seems, is that if this befalls the United States, it would be the result of an election in which voters choose a dangerous and incompetent leader—and one who is, moreover, nearly as old as Biden—and not a matter of elite mismanagement of an undemocratic succession. He would be enabled by members of his own party who have repeatedly shown little inclination to stand up to him on matters of constitutional or democratic principle.

Under such a grim scenario, it would not just be the conductor driving the train into the abyss, but also half the passengers, the station master, and the switch operators all contributing to the derailment.

[exvangelicalrage]

Apocalypse Anxiety

6/30/23

When I was a kid, one of the excellent decisions my parents made was not letting us read the Left Behind books, even though everyone at church swore the books were the best thing they'd ever read (after the bible, of course). 

If you're unfamiliar, the whole series revolves around a futuristic interpretation of christian eschatology, particularly the rapture and the tribulation. The series starts with a good chunk of the world population getting "raptured" suddenly, or taken to heaven by god, and then follows a group of people who didn't disappear. These folks try to figure out what happened and navigate the wild post-rapture world, and everything wraps up with the second coming of christ. The characters that survived the tribulation witness the millennial kingdom, where christ reigns for a thousand years, and then the final judgment day, and eventually, a new heaven and a new earth are created.

Obviously it's complete bullshit. It's not even biblical, as 11-year-old me wrote extensively about in her journal (I even included citations!). But the thing is, a lot of christians still believed it. And I think it formed a lot of mental images about what the "end times" would look like for people, which, as a result, meant there was a lot of conversation about prepping.

If you got left behind, what would you do? How would you survive? People talked about learning to grow stuff and sew. They bought generators and came up with secondary heat sources for their house. They talked about how prepared they already were compared to everyone else. 

Keep in mind, we lived in a rural area where people already had to be quite self-sufficient. So it was more of a bragging contest than anything, with a few people beefing up the systems they already had in place. 

The year 2000 brought with it a lot of apocalypse panic, fueled in part by that stupid book series (though I'm sure the Cold War, recent in so many memories, didn't help either). The Y2K bug was going to take down systems all over the world! We could be without power, without computers, without clean water!!! Our local morning show guys even did a parody of the YMCK song, where they sang, "Yyyy-2-K! What's the big deal about Yyyy-2-K! It's a real big deal / no it's not even real—" etc. Luckily for me I do not remember most of the lyrics.

Fast forward to 2016. By then, I was well and truly Exited from christianity. I'd made it through Y2K, 9/11, the recession, and college. I had a full time job and friends who weren't christian. I hardly ever thought about apocalypses, other than admitting that I occasionally enjoyed reading a good post-apocalyptic book series. 

But the day after the 2016 election, I found myself crying under a tree in the cemetery near my condo. I was terrified that trump would bring about the apocalypse, even though I didn't even believe in the fucking apocalypse anymore! At least, not the christian version of it.

Someone made a meme that said "the end comes with trump-pence (instead of 'trumpets')" and it was all I could think of. Like a giant neon sign to my trauma-bent brain.

Fast forward again to 2020. You probably remember that fucked-up year. 

It started with fires in Australia. And murder hornets. Remember those? Weird "signs and omens" of an impending apocalypse. Then came the plague and pestilence. 

Truth be told, it feels like we've basically been mid-apocalypse my entire life. Y2K. 9/11. The recession. trump being elected. fires. famine. plague. pestilence. war. death. 

And now, there are more fires. So many fires. I'm in an area with bad air. The canadian wildfires are filling the atmosphere with smoke and it's drifted down into my region of the northeast USA. Again. A couple weeks ago, we had air that had me and my spouse coughing and with sore throats, even indoors. Today, the outside is hazy and smells, and the new outlets are warning us all to stay indoors. 

I know it's just smoke. I know it'll blow away. I understand what's happening. Not to mention, we're fine. We are safe indoors. We have an air purifier. We don't have to work outside or even leave the house if we don't want to. Though the dog might get annoyed if he doesn't get his daily adventure.

We have enough food to last us weeks, if we're careful. We have a tank full of gas. I have a boatload of back-up plans for what to do in a variety of catastrophic scenarios. 

But I still feel the overwhelming desire to curl up in a hole and hide. My anxiety is sky high. It's a visceral reaction—not to the smoke itself, or to the knowledge of climate change, or even to a rational fear that one day, the fires might reach us. 

No. It's fear of the christian apocalypse. Fear of the rapture. Fear of getting left behind.

I know it's all fake. I just can't quite shake it.

#xtian #exchristian #exvangelical #atheist #apocalypse #left behind #y2k #end times #anxiety #apocalypse anxiety #agnostic #indoctrination #exreligious #ex religious #ex christian #tribulation #revelations

[mediamonarchy]

https://mediamonarchy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/20240409_MorningMonarchy.mp3 Download MP3 Diverted flights, gold mafias and making the moon trains run on time + this day in history w/GPS rollover events and our song of the day by K-Rino on your #MorningMonarchy for April 9, 2024. Notes/Links: Video: Hobo Etiquette’s Trump Hole Sun (Audio) https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/379774652719038466/1227020322977611776/1712614467291.mp4?ex=6626e2b9&is=66146db9&hm=5496d3ab9d8c4b9b3f2c67222f7230ea7503aecd8ce52ef3bba14acb3128c80d& Blinken’s Boeing 737 plane suffers mechanical failure en route to NATO meetings https://insiderpaper.com/blinkens-boeing-737-plane-suffers-mechanical-failure-en-route-to-nato-meetings/ Antony Blinken Tied To Jeffrey Epstein: Went To School Where He Taught, Family Connected To Epstein’s Mistress; Secretary of State Antony Blinken’s stepfather was a close confidant and lawyer for Ghislaine Maxwell’s father Robert Maxwell. (Sep. 4, 2021) https://nationalfile.com/antony-blinken-tied-to-jeffrey-epstein-went-to-school-where-he-taught-family-connected-to-epsteins-mistress/ United Airlines flight to London diverted to O’Hare airport due to cracked windshield, FAA says (Apr. 1, 2024) https://abc7chicago.com/united-airlines-cracked-windshield-boeing-787-faa/14602346/ Southwest flight to Houston returned to Denver after engine cowling detached mid-air https://airlive.net/emergency/2024/04/07/breaking-southwest-boeing-737-made-an-emergency-in-denver-after-engine-cowling-detached-mid-air/ Video: Southwest flight from Colorado to Houston turns around after engine cover falls off during takeoff (Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O95m0GUSQmI Disinformation “Expert” Tells People To Only Use “Trusted Sources,” Avoid “Doing Your Own Research” https://reclaimthenet.org/disinformation-expert-tells-people-to-only-use-trusted-sources 68k.news: Headlines from the Future http://68k.news/ RBZ unveils new gold-backed ZiG currency to replace Zimbabwe dollar https://www.zimbabwesituation.com/news/rbz-unveils-new-gold-backed-zig-currency-to-replace-zimbabwe-dollar/ Zimbabwe introduces new gold-backed currency to tackle inflation; Zimbabweans have 21 days to convert their old cash into new money, according to the central bank https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2024/4/5/zimbabwe-introduces-new-gold-backed-currency-to-tackle-inflation Zimbabwe launches new gold-backed currency – ZiG https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-68736155 Here is how to convert your Zimdollar balances to Zimbabwe Gold (ZiG) https://www.newsday.co.zw/opinion-analysis/article/200025272/how-to-convert-your-zimdollar-balances-zig Zimbabwe introduces RTGS dollar to solve currency problem (Feb. 26, 2019) https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-47361572 Video: Al Jazeera’s Gold Mafia: Episode 1 – The Laundry Service (Audio) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evWEuVR1XIs Video: Al Jazeera’s Gold Mafia: Episode 2 – Smoke & Mirrors https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYIcCoYt9YE Video: Al Jazeera’s Gold Mafia: Episode 3 – El Dorado https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xP_rhbJHokw Video: Al Jazeera’s Gold Mafia: Episode 4 – Have The King With You https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEWehVHs8fc Saints Alive! ‘Millions’ Believe In The Power of Money https://mediamonarchy.com/saints-alive-millions-believe-in-the-power-of-money/ Smartphone App Detects Early Signs of FTD https://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/smartphone-app-detects-early-signs-frontotemporal-dementia-2024a10006ds Northrop Grumman to Develop Concept for Lunar Railroad; “Northrop Grumman Corporation (NYSE: NOC) has been selected by DARPA to further develop the concept of building a moon-based railroad network as part of the broader 10-year Lunar Architecture (LunA-10) Capability Study.” https://news.northropgrumman.com/news/releases/northrop-grumman-to-develop-concept-for-lunar-railroad Image: @Hybrid’s Cover Art – SSS’s ‘MMT’ https://mediamonarchy.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/20240409_MorningMonarchy.jpg White House Tells NASA to Create...

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#alternative news #cyber space war #K-Rino #media monarchy #Morning Monarchy #mp3 #podcast #Songs Of The Day #This Day In History

[denimbex1986]

'Boppenheimer. Oppenbarbie. Whatever you’re calling the double-bill of the century, wherein Christopher Nolan’s scorching epic Oppenheimer and Greta Gerwig’s kitsch masterpiece Barbie are both released on Friday 21 July, you have to admit that the cultural moment is fast amounting to more than the sum of its parts.

After sustained giggling on social media about the incongruously shared release date – are you team Pink or team Black? Is it better to see Barbie or Oppenheimer first (obviously it goes Oppenheimer, then Barbie for dessert, are you mad)? – it turns out that, for many filmophiles, the idea of watching one right after the other was more than just a joke. Sometimes art imitates life – and sometimes, as with the Boppenheimer memes, life imitates art.

Following the announcement from AMC that 20,000 people have already secured tickets for both of the summer’s biggest blockbusters on the same day, it seems that the British public is not just ready but begging for the emotional whiplash that only chain-smoking Cillian Murphy and Saccarine-sweet Margot Robbie can deliver. I for one can hardly wait; and after the few years we’ve had, is it any wonder that this most atonal of chords – ultimate desolation versus peppy plastic – is resonating so profoundly?

In a simpler time, the distinctions between Barbie and Oppenheimer – their aesthetics, their world views – would have made such audience overlap unthinkable. But this is the UK in 2023, where nothing is straightforward – least of all anything so complicated as feelings. I can’t be the only one yo-yoing between elation and devastation depending on what headline I’m looking at. On one hand, we’re post-pandemic, but mid-cost of living crisis on the other; we’re 13 years into a Tory government and knee-deep in Brexit, but at least Trump’s gone; this month delivered the two hottest days of the planet on record, but, you know, at least it’s summer…?

As you can see, it’s hard to know where to let your emotional dial rest; there’s plenty to be downcast about, and yet, after being locked inside for two years, a distinct sense that life’s too short to waste it crying. Faced with such a stark binary, what’s a girl to do? A middle ground feels impossible – instead, may I interest you in, um, everything at once?

First up, a hedonist sugar-rush of blaring pink, Barbie promises a bingo-board of zeitgeisty Gen-Z nihilism and brilliant shoes. When I was teenager, there was nothing less cool than the hyper-femininity Barbie embodied; the highest (and looking back, the most back-handed) compliment me and my classmates could be paid was “you’re not like other girls”. While we’ve got plenty of room left to grow, recent years have seen that sentiment shift. From 2022’s TikTok bimbo-core moment, celebrating superficial glossiness and its power to paper over a niggling sense of powerlessness, to the long overdue reappraisal of history’s most underestimated it-girls, unapologetic pink was having a moment even before the Barbie film was announced last year. Perhaps softness, femininity, even – whisper it – pink itself, isn’t so bad after all? And when the world’s on fire, what’s the harm in enjoying something sparkly?

On the polar-opposite end of the spectrum is Oppenheimer. At three hours long, Christopher Nolan’s harrowing marathon promises anything but escapism, instead scrutinising the origins of the atomic bomb and mining the conscience of the man who helped to develop it. We’re talking darkest-heart-of-humanity, greatest-tragedies-of-all-time, we’re talking devastation and depravity, the kind of misguided hubris that changes the world for the worse. I expect to exit Oppenheimer with a renewed hopelessness, a heavy heart, and the kind of malaise that only a late lunch with loads of wine can assuage – which is perfect, because cocktails are at 6, and we’re all wearing gingham.

What I’m saying re world-ending catastrophes is, good to keep one’s eye in. I’m also saying that there’s no harm – scratch that, there is essential soul-salving good – in seeking joy and frivolity during life’s darkest moments. Whether we’re conscious of it or not, that’s a seesaw we’re all increasingly familiar with: life is both beautiful and horrifying, people are both awful and extraordinarily generous, and I’m going to see both Oppenheimer and Barbie on 22 July.

See you at the afters for electrolytes and candyfloss, in that order.'

#Boppenheimer #Oppenbarbie #Christopher Nolan #Greta Gerwig #Oppenheimer #Barbie #AMC #Cillian Murphy #Margot Robbie

[remembertheplunge]

Make America Gay Again

2/18/2017

Saturday. 11:07pm

“Making America Gay Again”

 “The Perfect Arrangement”

I saw the play tonight. Devistating (It was about the outing of gays in the government during the McCarthy era in the early 1950’s.)

I sat alone, mid first row.

I was “part” of the play.

Some uncanny similarities between the play’ story line and my life:

“When I’m 60, I don’t want to be hiding.” (The line was said twice in the play).

“I stopped talking to my mother 6 years ago."

Jimmy (my partner’s name was Jim. His cousin Ruth Ann called him Jimmy)

The cover up and the admission

George Orwell “ In some climates to tell the truth is revolutionary.”

I also went to a protest rally march today against Trump and his "Make America Great Again” agenda. An organizer told us “If he sends in the National Guard, form a human shield. 4000 people marched one mile to the Federal Building. Per there San Diego Tribune later “the march was peaceful. They shook cops hands.” Empowering.

6 year since my last drink.  

As the plane leaves the ground tonight, around 9pm, so will, or did, I ride up out of the alcohol sea of despair 6 years ago.

I love the homeless 60 year old I gave my bag of movie popcorn to as I left the movie “Don’t Call Me Negro” last night. He said “I don’t drink, smoke or do air conditioning.” He sees air conditioning as one of the nation’s greatest threats.

Alcohol related events of 2/19/2017

—Female speaker: Last class of the Death Penalty Conference  “The only thing between you and all of the bars in San Diego is this class.”

—the people pouring out of the bars screaming as I walked down 5th Ave in the Hillcrest district last night.

—People drinking, bars open, on my early morning walk to and from 24 hour fitness gym  and the Hilton

San Diego is fueled by alcohol.

Some Senator wants the last call time pushed to from 2am to 4am in California

I learned that at the only substance abuse class given at the conference, you get zero continuing education of the bar credit.

I’d say out of the 1000 Death Penalty Conference goers, there were  maybe 4, including me, who didn’t have lawyer body. (A lawyer body is flabby and out of shape)

Nothing at the convention advocates for mind/body connection.

No 24 hour fitness booths.

No “Other Bar” booths (The other bar is lawyer alcoholics anonymous)

It’s all cerebral.

All 1000 participants should have marched in unison in the  anti Trump protest march to the Federal Building  Saturday.

They should have see “A Perfect Arrangement” and “Don’t Call Me Negro”

Before each class, a personal trainer should have been present to put them through a work out.

End of entry.

Note: I attended the Death Penalty Conference in sanDiego California in February 2017.

#Make America Great Again #anti Trump protest #The Perfect Arrangement #Don't Call Me Negro #Alchohol abuse #alcohol recovery #2/18/2017 #journaling

[pilesofjamesfrancos]

Politricks 3/8/24

As Denis Villeneuve's Dune Part 2 finally enters theaters and my entire twitter circle gets to rave about how "we are so back", it seems that the dark hollowness of early 2024 has finally begun to diminish. Christian Bale has opened his own sound of music-esque foster mansion, France became the first country to constitutionally declare the right of abortion, and both MGMT and Everything Everything have dropped two fantastic indie pop records.

Yet, engaging with these cutesy headlines from r/goodnews is like playing russian roulette. You get your critical dosage of serotonin at every victory, but you're still playing with a loaded gun. It took 30,000 reported Palestinian deaths until the U.S. Air Force thought it'd be time to drop a single care package in Gaza, which contained two packets of blueberry fun dip and a silver cap gun. Every online presidential poll shows Trump back on top, and unless dark brandon decides to use his wizardry for good, we will soon live under the guise of the Donald.

I try my best not to sell myself as some political pundit or reactionary. I have a lot to learn and need to finish at least 3 more essays before coming out to my parents as a socialist. It's not my place to be a shepherd for people who I view as straying off course when I am off the fucking map entirely. Today I ate a pretzel bread roll and cut up smoked Gouda from Meijer as I watched Christopher Hitchens on Charlie Rose. My dad walked into my room and asked if I needed any money for dinner; he left $20 on the kitchen counter and went back to his real estate office with his own parking spot and secretary. My privilege is observable, measurable even, and I let it wash over me as I then use the $20 to buy weed and soda from a crumbling gas station in southern Chicago Heights, where my car is always the best looking, and the employees don't ask for your ID.

Noam Chomsky may be the father of modern linguistics, but Chomsky never considered the raw emotional attachment between myself and the Spanish-speaking cashier during our weekly interactions.

"Ay, hello! que deseas, que deseas?"

"Hey, lemme get a pack of black and mild sweets."

"Huh? que dijiste?"

"Black and Mild sweets"

"Ah! Black and Mild!"

"No no, the sweets, these ones right here! Not black, not the black ones"

"lo siento, aqui. Five fifty five"

"Here's six, keep the change."

He wears an American trucking cap and massages his stringing beard that hangs underneath his chin. I can see the sweat accumulating off his black tank top, and he almost always smells like shit. His name might be Mateo or Adrian or Sebastian, and he probably drives a beat-up Chevy pickup truck. I could see myself living this kind of life.

Not to say that this particular person is uneducated or ignorant, but there must be some freedom in the unimportance of your life as a gas station clerk. You don't get to even pretend that you have a real job, like the UChicago fucks who do "research" at nonprofits and vigorously apply for positions at the World Economic Forum. Instead, you sell lottery tickets to mid-life crisis parents, and your biggest concern is kids blocking the entrance with bicycles. You smoke and drink during work cause who cares? It's 2 AM and you're behind the counter of a decrepit Exxon Mobil. These guys are usually religious but I don't know what that brings us to.

After purchasing, I head back to my car and drive home. The sun draws down tangerine streaks, and the low hum of my car's stereo brings me to peace for a moment. Clumps of gravel and debris do nothing against my rugged winter tires and I cruise into the driveway, the sky almost completely dark now.

My front porch is great, I overlook large, skinny elm trees and a winding road that cars like to drive fast on. I watch tobacco smoke fly in the air and circle me, then I breathe in the wet, early spring air, at which point is usually when my night comes to an end, and I walk to my room and put on a movie to fall asleep to.

Now, if we can bring ourselves back to the main point, why would you ever take political, cultural, economic, or philosophical advice from this kind of person? Why must I mention the 30,0000 Palestinian deaths since October 7th in this essay? Why should I have a stake in the marketplace of ideas, and more importantly, why should that reactionary input sprout any meaning for you?

In terms of why I think the way I do, and why I crawl into ideologies, there are two truths.

I need to raise my own self-esteem

2. This is post-secularist thought which can only be natural.

This is who I am now, a growing person making sense of their affluent world and being compelled to comment on it. The "guy who talks about war crimes at party" according to Tim Dillon. But if we categorize all opportunist writers like me into such a box of high-ego, preachy douchebags, if everyone criticized all writers the way I criticize myself, then there would be no point in writing and I'm trapped. I have no mouth and must scream, I have no dick and must cum. And so, I stay here in this persona.

A girl I went to high school with tells me she is scared of the future. I tell her to start smoking weed and invest in Chinese travel companies. She then leaves and I think about what I told her, and how annoying I am, and how I haven't really grown up, and how the only people I call my friends live thousands of miles away. I decide to cook noodles and play Ella Fitzgerald.

#rambles #stream of consciousness

[the-firebird69]

Idiot Crashes Into BMW And Runs 😳

This is what he does everyday. And he has a couple big ships according off that are not ready to launch and he says everyone to fight over the other ships to destroy the ships and he'll be the one who's left and everybody heard it today and said well another one of your fine schemes is going to go up and smoke and he keeps saying I'll hide in his body and that's probably not likely we do have a word on him and his people and his status and it's not very good here his people are getting their asses kicked and kicked out on a promise must be up for election in February and people say he might not make it and it's mid February it's on timing but really people don't want him around he's serious the watchman television movie it's going to start up momentarily it starts in westborough and it is the end of him and it's some sort of analogy towards her son supposedly that's what they're saying and it's going to happen to Trump not our son. Fairly soon too and the indicator is westboro has stuff like they found it purgatory Castle and it is pretty rich and there is a big mound there and people think there's a thorium ball, some say it was one but they might be lying or it could be cadmium they're not really sure but David was there in Massachusetts and yeah Dan AKA days next door is saying he's been stupid and about a lot of stuff and this is one of them because he used to disappear all the time and he had his own network of tunnels and he had a way to conceal them it's kind of unique and most people put it in objects or places that are not really obvious at all what he did was put it in places where people look around and mostly they can't find it and you have to know where it is and you have to have safety protocols he also like to monitor these places to make sure that people who are getting into the area did not get anywhere. And you see the chasm and you see the chamber in the fight with Darth maul and you sort of see how they get in and it's ridiculous that nobody would figure it out so we're moving forwards but really in westborough there are a bunch of those and my son was near one for ages and it was right across the street no it was under Rock and no one can lift it but Dave and you have to lift it and move some soil and that was symbolic and he's trying to grab our sons dad. And our son right there in the yard and since been filled but yeah.

Thor Freya

I'm really excited about this it's what was going on

It's extremely important to me and we have to print

Hera

Olympus

[wildroseofarran]

WEIRD HEADCANONS: Pete Graham

WHAT   THEY   SMELL   LIKE: His favorite cologne is Eucris Eau de Parfum by Geo. F. Trumpe. He also always smells like smoke from working in the pub

HOW   THEY   SLEEP: On his stomach or his side, never on his back

WHAT   MUSIC   THEY   ENJOY: 70′s and 80′s rock, Pink Floyd especially

HOW   MUCH   TIME   THEY   SPEND   EVERY   MORNING   GETTING   READY: Twenty to thirty minutes on average

FAVORITE   THING   TO   COLLECT: As a kid, a lot of soccer player trading cards. Nothing as an adult

LEFT   OR   RIGHT   HAND: Right

FAVORITE   SPORT: Soccer, 100%

FAVORITE   TOURISTY   THING   TO   DO   WHILE   TRAVELING: Try famous local foods and drinks and go to local soccer matches

FAVORITE   KIND   OF   WEATHER: Cloudy and cool

WEIRD   /   OBSCURE   FEAR   THEY   HAVE: Accidentally being seen by a stranger mid-transformation

THE   ONE   CARNIVAL   /   ARCADE   GAME   THEY   ALWAYS   WIN   WITHOUT   FAIL: Racing games and anything that requires strength

Tagged by: @anedendarkly​

Tagging: Anyone who wants to!

#Pertaining to Pete

[loosekraken]

Bottom of the ninth , Repubs at bat , 2 0ut , bases loaded w/ score Lib Dems 2 Repubs 0.......Repubs looking to take the game & the Mid-Terms......Repubs heavy hitters coming to bat , Jordan , Gaetz , Greene , Boebert , .....Wait WAIT....Bullpen moves in new pitcher with new pitch the mainline 158 screwball....Strike Strike Strike & 158 Republican Congresspersons Removed from the playing field & office 6 wks B4 Mid-Terms for their Unlawful/Sedicious Acts of Jan 6th , 2021 during the counting of electoral votes.......Republicans left with only a handful of votes in House & Senate combined......Donald Trump's Hopes of taking Speaker of the House & possible protection from Lawsuits . .....SMOKED........like all those Top Secret & Classified Doc's he flushed & burned after selling'em to Putin , Saudi (jared's billions) , China , North Korea....................Polygraph Donald Trump , His Family & Entire Administration on What , How Much & Who they sold USA'S Secrets to

[im-so-gravestoned]

Trump smokes mids

#merp #me #trump smokes mids #Denver

[mariacallous]

I know, I know, it is a morbid question. Presidential candidates Trump and Biden are the oldest modern presidential candidates we’ve seen since Ronald Reagan ran for his second term. Donald Trump will be 78 on Inauguration Day 2025 and Joe Biden will have just turned 82. And even though my colleague Bill Galston and I have written about the fact that both men are most likely what the scientists call “superagers” and not at all likely to die or become incapacitated any time soon – the question is being asked by lots of people.

So here it goes.

The answer depends on when.

If a candidate dies or is incapacitated between now and New Year’s Day, there will be plenty of people in each party willing to jump into the nomination race. The problem will be filing deadlines — approximately 22 states have filing deadlines to get on the primary ballot between now and January 1, 2024. On the Republican side there will be many candidates who have filed — although Trump’s absence could prompt others to jump into the fray. And on the Democratic side there could be many late entries. In the event of something as dramatic as death or total incapacitation, state election officials (usually the secretary of state) may adjust filing deadlines to be able to get new entries onto the ballot in time for some of the spring primaries.

If the candidate dies or is incapacitated between New Year’s Day and mid-June 2024 some states might postpone their primaries and/or their filing deadlines (as they did in 2020 because of COVID-19) in order to give more time for newer candidates to get into the race. In states where that doesn’t happen, primary voters could vote for “uncommitted” but not all states include an “uncommitted” line on their ballots. Other voters could opt to write in candidates who are too late to get their names on the ballots. Some early long shot candidates who are already on the ballot might try and cut deals with more prominent candidates — i.e., a vote for Marianne Williamson is really a vote for Gov. Gavin Newsom — but that’s a tough message to convey.

If the candidate dies or is incapacitated between mid-June 2024 when the primaries are over and before the Wednesday night of the nominating convention (the traditional time for the roll call vote) the convention would become what conventions used to be before reforms made the primaries dominant (minus the smoke-filled rooms.) Delegates would arrive in Milwaukee (for the Republicans) or Chicago (for the Democrats) largely uncommitted. They would then engage in the arduous process of deciding who their nominee should be. Presidential hopefuls would go from state delegation to state delegation making their case as did Sen. John Kennedy and Sen. Lyndon Johnson as recently as the 1960 convention in Los Angeles. The Republicans may have to adopt a new rule at the beginning of their convention so that the dead man’s delegates would be free. The Democrats have a rule saying that delegates shall “in all good conscience” vote for the person they were elected to represent — so they would most likely not need a rules change.

If the Republican candidate dies or is incapacitated after the convention and before Election Day, the Republican National Committee (RNC) will meet to select a presidential candidate and/or vice-presidential candidate under Rule 9 of party rules.

Since every state has three RNC members and then some add-ons for Republican elected officials the states are not apportioned according to population — thus RNC members will cast the same number of votes as their state was entitled to cast at the convention and a new nominee will be selected by majority vote.

The Democratic National Committee (DNC) is also authorized to select the party’s nominee in the event that the winner of the convention cannot run. This is spelled out in the charter of the Democrat Party. However, since DNC members are awarded to states according to the size of the states, there would be no adjustments.

This has actually happened only once before. After the 1972 convention, revelations came out that George McGovern’s running mate Sen. Tom Eagleton, had been treated for mental illness. Eagleton was forced to resign from the ticket and McGovern chose Sargent Shriver as his replacement. But McGovern alone could not place Shriver on the ticket with him, it needed to be ratified by the full DNC. And so, on August 9, 1972, the DNC chair, Jean Westwood, called the national committee into session to officially nominate Shriver as McGovern’s running mate.

The authority of the national parties to choose their nominee in the event the nominee can’t run comes as a surprise to many in this day of wall-to-wall primaries. And yet, it is a reminder that the choice of a nominee is party business — not state law, not federal law, and not constitutional law.

Both Democrats and Republicans have sets of rules governing the functioning of their national committees and the nomination of the president and the vice president. In most cases the Supreme Court has upheld the primacy of political parties under the First Amendment’s right of free association.

If the candidate dies or is incapacitated after Election Day, the Constitution kicks in. The first milestone will be the December 17, 2023, meetings of the electoral college. It may surprise many to know that the electoral college is composed of real flesh and blood electors who meet in their state capitols and sign documents (attestations) that are forwarded on to the president of the Senate (the vice president) for the purposes of counting only! We only hear about electors when someone decides to make a point and vote for someone whose slate they were not on. (During segregation some of these so-called “faithless electors” voted for segregationist candidates.1) Some states have laws binding electors to vote for the winner of the election, others do not. If the winner of the convention dies or is incapacitated it is likely that the legislature would quickly meet to amend the law so that their votes would count.

Finally, what if the president-elect dies or is incapacitated after the electoral college meets and before the inauguration? The authors of the 20th Amendment to the Constitution, the one adopted to provide for a way to pick a new vice president, thought of this. If the president-elect dies or is incapacitated the vice president is inaugurated. Section 3 of the 20th Amendment reads:

“If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elect shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President.”

The long process of choosing a president begins with political parties — organizations that the Founding Fathers didn’t put into the Constitution because there were no party systems at the time, and they would have been surprised at the emergence of mass parties. But they were prescient in protecting the right of assembly and the right to petition the government under the First Amendment — rights carried out most often by political parties. Protected by the First Amendment, America’s two major political parties have evolved over the years. Today they each have a set of rules and procedures to take into account even the most dramatic and difficult scenarios.

[ihugtrees5]

more to come ayeeee

#glitter beer #that shit cray #colorado #beer garden #hiking #waterfall #trump smokes mids #\m/

[musiclovechaos]

My favorite sign at the PVD Walk Out

#donald trump #trump inauguration #trump is not my president #stoner #weed #marijuana #trump #trump smokes mids #bud #protest #smoke weed everyday #fuck trump #Rhode Island #providence #providence ri

[theculturedmarxist]

Bryan Dyne: What would happen to a city in a nuclear exchange between the US and North Korea? [ This interview was conducted in mid-April 2017, when the Trump administration was ratcheting up tensions with North Korea ]

Michael Mills: Our work is based on the idea that if a nuclear bomb exploded over a large modern city, the explosion would cause fires that would ignite over the entire area, eventually becoming what is known as a firestorm. This means that the fires have become so hot that the city itself becomes fuel for the fire, which releases much more energy than the nuclear weapon itself. This is what happened during the incendiary bombings of Hamburg, Dresden and Tokyo and the atomic bombing of Hiroshima during World War II.

Essentially, if a city is ignited on this scale, the fires produce millions of tons of black smoke, also called soot, from the burning buildings and other materials. Heat from the fires causes the soot-filled air to rise, and the soot absorbs sunlight, further heating the air so that it rises into the stratosphere, 10 to 30 miles above Earth’s surface. These particles are so high that they don’t get rained out, since there is no weather in the stratosphere. So it can take decades for the soot to settle back down to the surface.

The main effect from all this soot being trapped in the stratosphere is that it continuously absorbs sunlight. In our models, which are based off of the detonation of 100 small nuclear weapons by India and Pakistan, global temperatures become the coldest they’ve been in the past 1,000 years. In a big exchange between major powers, you basically get ice age temperatures.

The second problem is that heating up the stratosphere destroys up to 50 percent the ozone layer by producing changes in the chemical reaction rates that produce ozone. While this happens today in Antarctica, that is a seasonal effect that occurs in the Antarctic spring and early summer. The loss of ozone from stratospheric heating is constant and worldwide. As a result, crops and ecosystems face not only freezing temperatures, but also intense ultraviolet light from the Sun as a result of a diminished ozone layer.

This research is not something that I’ve ever been funded to study. I’ve been able to pursue this in my spare time because I work on models of atmospheric chemistry and climate and it seemed like a very important issue to me.

I usually work on the climatic effects of particles from volcanoes, which are liquid droplets that tend to scatter light rather than absorbing it. They have a similar cooling effect in that after a volcanic eruption, these droplets are ejected into the stratosphere and reflect sunlight away from Earth. But the black absorbing smoke particles are much more effective at the same thing. They have a bigger effect on the Sun’s radiation than the volcanic particles.

BD: What’s the significance of using a model of a nuclear war between India and Pakistan?

MM: The initial motivation for our recent studies is that we wanted to revisit the nuclear war studies that were done in the 1980s, using the vastly more sophisticated climate models that had been developed since. So Alan Robock looked at impacts of a war between the US and Russia using a NASA climate model.

But we also wanted to look at the increasing number of new nuclear powers and their expanding arsenals. The India-Pakistan scenario served to show that even relatively small nuclear weapons can have a global effect. In 2007, when I was working on this with Brian Toon, each country had only about 50 Hiroshima-sized weapons each, the smallest nuclear weapons in existence. Even an exchange with these weapons, which are much smaller than those used by the US, Russia, Britain or France, can still cause global planetary environmental damage from the smoke that’s released.

Brian Toon was trying to get the people in the military interested in paying attention to this issue. The United States has a current arsenal of about 1,700 nuclear weapons. It’s difficult to justify having so many because even if you used them and no enemy retaliated, you would suffer from the global effects.

BD: In that vein, is there such a thing as a ‘limited nuclear war’?

MM: We obviously had a ‘limited nuclear war’ in World War II when the US used its entire stockpile of nuclear weapons, which was two. Given the number of weapons that now exist, however, once you start using them you quickly reach a point where you are producing so much damage to millions of people. And then there are the smoke effects, which damage the whole planet. I think people in charge of making military decisions need to be well aware that the idea of a ‘limited nuclear war’ is a very dangerous concept.

BD: Could you go a bit more into the science of how the cities are turned into smoke?

MM: The firestorm was something that the Allies intentionally devised in World War II in raids against Hamburg, Dresden and Tokyo, with many, many incendiary bombs designed to ignite fires close to one another. When you have fires all over a city, they tend to join together and intensify, creating temperatures so hot that even asphalt and concrete become fuel. That’s where the black smoke comes from.

As we saw with Hiroshima, when you detonate a nuclear weapon in the air above a city, it has the same effect of igniting fires all over the city.

The heat from the fires then acts like a thunderstorm, lifting air up very quickly. This means that air has to come in from below to replace it. So from all directions, air gets sucked in, adding more oxygen to the fire. Moreover, the air is so fast that it carries with it debris, animals and even people.

To quote from the book Fire and Ice by David Fisher:

“On July 27, 1943 nearly a thousand British bombers dropped over two thousand tons of bombs on Hamburg, most of them incendiaries, turning that city into a burning, melting quagmire of horror. The temperature reached one thousand degrees in the center of town, igniting the world's first firestorm. The superheated air rose so fast it sucked in outside air in the form of hurricane-strength winds, which force-fed the fire still further and blew helpless people like leaves into the burning center of destruction where they actually melted into pools of burning fat. On the outskirts of the storm other people were stuck in molten asphalt, suffocating and igniting. More than 40,000 people died that night. In the early spring of 1945 the American Twentieth Air Force topped the RAF's record by burning Tokyo, starting a conflagration that totaled sixteen square miles of intensely populated city, killing more than 80,000 people.”

BD: Are the fires something that can be started by radioactive fallout or is it just the initial explosion of the bomb?

MM: There are two kinds of ways of dropping a nuclear bomb over a city: there is an airburst, where it explodes high, and there is a ground burst, when it explodes when it hits the ground. Airbursts are most effective at creating firestorms, igniting cities. And it’s much more widespread damage than a ground burst. Ground bursts are what create fallout, which is when it sends up material from the ground that is radioactive, which can spread in the wind. There would be more fallout from a ground burst, and more fire from an airburst.

BD: What would the world look like after a nuclear exchange between the US and China?

MM: In that case, you're talking about two powers with very large stockpiles of nuclear weapons. You could get a tremendous amount of smoke if you started dropping bombs in cities across the US and China. That’s the sort of thing that Alan Robock modeled in a US/Russia war.

It’s what we call a true nuclear winter, in the sense that in some places in the interior of continents, for example in Ukraine, the temperatures remain below freezing all year long, so you can't grow crops at all under those conditions. Similar things happen in the center of the US and China. On all continents, basically. You have global average temperatures that get basically as cold, for a year or so, as what we had in the last ice age.

BD: What would happen after the first year?

MM: When we modeled an India/Pakistan war in 2014, we found that when you include interactive components in your model, such as the effects of the full ocean, expanding sea ice, that the changes to climate are more prolonged. This is largely thanks to the ocean’s ability to store lots of heat. Although global temperatures cool more slowly when one considers the ocean, the lower temperatures are more prolonged.

After 24 years of our simulation, temperatures were still below normal, whereas in other studies that didn’t include the full impact of the oceans, they showed that the temperatures had recovered in ten years. And this is a small nuclear war.

It’s really hard to say how much destruction something like this would cause, how many species would be wiped out and if ours would be among them or not. What I’ve studied shows that even a small event could cascade. We’ve seen food shortages in the past few decades that have been intensified by societal reactions. There was a global rice crisis in 2008 after India and Vietnam stopped exporting rice, for example, leading to a severe shortage in the Philippines and food riots in Haiti. Certainly food shortages have been tied to uprisings in the Arab Spring. So all sorts of things could happen that are destabilizing.

But with a large war, it’s somewhat unknowable, but also so horrific it doesn’t matter exactly how damaging it is.

#nuclear war #climate change #nuclear winter #fire storm #world war 2

[thatharringrovehoe]

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

#i don't know what this is but here ya go! #Outsider!Steve #Billy Hargrove #harringrove #dishonored au #yes Billy gets powers but i haven't decided what they are yet #that hoe writes #stranger things #Neil you better watch out my boy has a literal old god for a boyfriend now