#from the desk of donald trump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sixty-silver-wishes · 29 days

Text

sometimes I think about the house my grandma raised my mother and uncle in, that my grandfather lived in before he died, that my sister and my parents and I would all come over to for holidays. when my sister and I were little, we loved watching Disney and Nickelodeon on my grandma’s TV because all we could get at home was PBS for the longest time. she had an old antique piano that was out of tune, and when I started learning to play the piano in middle school, I would go plink out “Legend of Zelda” songs on it and think about how I was playing songs much, much younger than that 100-year-old piano. and we tried to plant a garden in her backyard, but it got overgrown with weeds. and one day we found tadpoles in the birdbath, and she let us take some home so we could watch them grow into frogs. my grandfather had an old green easy chair he was always sitting in, and two toes that crossed over each other and wouldn’t sit normally. I liked to watch nature documentaries with him. right before he died, we would talk about world history because he was very interested in it, and I was just beginning to be. there was a painting of my mother when she was a child on the wall of one of the bedrooms, and I would always stare at it because it looked exactly like my older sister. my grandmother had an outdoor swimming pool where we would sit by as we watched my uncle launch Fourth of July fireworks, but when I got older and wasn’t interested in fireworks anymore, or the United States had made me too disillusioned with the Fourth of July for me to watch fireworks, I sat inside with my aunt and the dogs to keep them company. there was a big tree in the yard I loved to climb, and when I was in middle or high school, I would take my instruments up there to play them while sitting in a tree, just because playing instruments in a tree sounded like a magical thing to do. my grandmother had a pantry full of snacks just for my sister and I- Scooby Doo fruit snacks with the light blue one still in there and Saltine crackers, and a fridge full of sodas and sparkling water in the garage. she had a sewing room where she would teach us to make blankets and pillowcases with the fabric we picked out, and when my sister got older, she taught her to make vintage style dresses. she had a bedroom full of antiques belonging to our great-grandmother whom I had never met, and it somehow felt like the most familiar and most distant place in the world to me.

but then her dog died, and her old cockatiel died too, and one of our cats died. and over time we buried all the animals under one of the trees in her backyard- one I used to climb, but not as much as the other tree because it was so skinny. when my grandfather died when I was in high school, he was buried in a military cemetery where all you can leave are cut flowers and US flags, and my grandma got a certificate from the government after he died with Donald Trump’s signature printed on it because he was president then, and she always says it’s the ugliest signature she’s ever seen. his funeral was the very first time I saw a coffin. the old piano was beyond repair, so they took out all the musical bits and turned it into a desk that sits in our living room. the white paint covering the wood, its musical guts removed, the silence of the out-of-tune ancient keys that are no longer there makes it sound more like taxidermy than a piano. it plays john cage’s 4’33 in fortissimo whenever I pass it.

when my grandmother went to live in an assisted living community, she sold the house. she’s doing well now. she likes the place she lives in, she invites us over for holidays, she keeps active. but the house was completely remodeled and painted over. she said the tree I loved to climb in, the one my uncle climbed in when he was a kid, was chopped down. she says the house doesn’t look like it used to anymore. it’s unrecognizable. I could drive past it and never know. I probably have.

I wonder if the people who live there now know that in the big backyard that generations of people loved, no matter how much they’ve altered the house, there are the bones of two dogs and a cat and a cockatiel deep under the ground.

I wonder if they haunt it.

#rambles #this got long #death cw

21 notes · View notes

christineedaaee · 1 year

Note

hehe may i request reagan hcs w an s/o who’s really good with computers and hacking

okay so lets get this said, you are literally doxxing people left right and centre

you have access to jr's dick pics and threatens to exploit him if he threatens the gang

the gang is also scared of you because of how easily you can hack into their twitter accounts and make them say something controversial

you leaked donald trumps nudes

"THAT WAS YOU??" andre would absolutely screech

"of course it was me, who'd you think it was?"

"I dunno.. gigi? reagan?"

you have silly little competitions with reagan from time to time and you flirt with her ALL. THE. TIME.

"hey, you looked nice in that sports bra last night on your private story, would love to see it in person."

you'd say while typing while she walks past

"huh? thanks.." she'd mumble while sipping on whatever energy drink she has decided for the day

and she only realises 12 hours later that 1. she doesn't have you on snapchat and 2. you were flirting

you also help hack all of her dads accounts and make him post shit about his ex wife and jr

she also eventually starts posting about you (positively) on her private story

of course you see it

and of course she forgets that you could practically ruin anyones career

"heeeyyyy, so. what's up with your crush on that one person whos just, y'know. the worlds greatest hacker who happens to go by the name ___?" you lean on her desk.

"oh fuck."

she SPRINTS OUT OF HER OFFICE

you have to chase her down and explain to her that you like her too

and then you guys kiss

because why not <33

#reagan ridley x reader #inside job reagan #reagan ridley #inside job brett #inside job gigi #inside job #inside job netflix

214 notes · View notes

ridenwithbiden · 9 months

Text

HERE COMES THE JUDGE "When Judge Tanya Chutkan presides over the new criminal case against Donald Trump, it won’t be her first time tangling with the former president and his lawyers.

In fact, the U.S. district court judge already dealt the ex-president one of the most significant legal blows of his lifetime, triggering perhaps the greatest deluge of evidence about his bid to subvert the 2020 election — a scheme for which he now stands charged with serious crimes.

The Obama-appointed jurist ruled in fall 2021 that the House Jan. 6 select committee could access reams of Trump’s White House files — a ruling that was subsequently upheld by an appeals court and left undisturbed by the Supreme Court. That evidence — call logs, memos, internal strategy papers and more from the desks of Trump’s most trusted advisers — became the backbone of the committee’s evidence and shaped much of the public’s understanding of his effort to seize a second term he didn’t win.

Much of that evidence resurfaced Tuesday in special counsel Jack Smith’s four-count indictment of Trump, which referenced call logs and White House records that were already familiar to Americans who tracked the Jan. 6 committee proceedings. Chutkan was randomly selected Tuesday to preside over Trump’s latest criminal case, his third in the last four months.

“Presidents are not kings, and Plaintiff is not President,” Chutkan wrote in her 2-year-old ruling, a rebuke that is sure to echo as she prepares to preside over the newest criminal case against the current GOP frontrunner for the presidential nomination in 2024.

Chutkan, 61, was born in Kingston, Jamaica, and came to the U.S. for college as a teenager, attending George Washington University and then law school at the University of Pennsylvania. She spent more than a decade as a public defender in Washington, D.C. She later worked for the law firm Boies Schiller & Flexner before being confirmed as a federal trial judge in Washington in 2014.

Chutkan has avoided some of the most pointed criticisms of Trump that some of her colleagues on the federal bench in D.C. have delivered as they’ve sentenced defendants who participated in the Jan. 6 mob that attacked the Capitol as part of Trump’s bid to remain in power. Judge Reggie Walton has called Trump a “charlatan.” Judge Amit Mehta has said Jan. 6 defendants were “pawns” of Trump and his allies. Judge Amy Berman Jackson has chastised Republicans for refusing to level with Trump about the 2020 election.

“It is not patriotism, it is not standing up for America to stand up for one man — who knows full well that he lost — instead of the Constitution he was trying to subvert,” Jackson said at a sentencing last year.

But Chutkan has delivered some of the harshest sentences to Jan. 6 defendants and made her disgust and horror over the attack clear, lamenting the prospect of renewed political violence in 2024 and noting that no one accused of orchestrating the effort to subvert the election had been held accountable.

“You have made a very good point,” she told Jan. 6 rioter Robert Palmer at his December 2021 sentencing, “that the people who exhorted you and encouraged you and rallied you to go and take action and to fight have not been charged.”

“The issue of who has or has not been charged is not before me. I don’t have any influence on that,” she said. “I have my opinions, but they are not relevant.”

But Chutkan also said that reality wasn’t a reason to go easy on those who bought into the election lies and acted upon that belief.

“The people who planned this and funded it and encouraged it haven’t been charged, but that’s not a reason for you to get a lower sentence,” she said. “I have to make it clear that the actions you engaged in cannot happen again. Every day we’re hearing about reports of antidemocratic factions of people plotting violence, the potential threat of violence, in 2024.”

Chutkan has alluded more specifically to Trump in other Jan. 6 sentences, including her first — to misdemeanor defendant Carl Mazzocco, who Chutkan said “went to the Capitol in support of one man, not in support of our country.”

During those early months of the Jan. 6 investigation, Chutkan also staked out territory that some of her colleagues were reluctant to tread: She pointedly rejected the equivalence some defendants were drawing between violence adjacent to Black Lives Matter protests and the riot at the Capitol.

One Trump-appointed judge, Trevor McFadden, had raised sharp questions about whether Jan. 6 defendants were being treated more harshly than people accused of similar conduct during the summertime violence of 2020.

“I think the U.S. attorney would have more credibility if it was even-handed in its concern about riots and mobs in this city,” McFadden said at the time.

Chutkan, while sentencing a defendant in a different case, appeared to allude to her colleague’s remark, before saying she “flatly” disagreed.

“People gathered all over the country last year to protest the violent murder by the police of an unarmed man. Some of those protesters became violent,” Chutkan said of the protests and rioting that followed George Floyd’s death. “But to compare the actions of people protesting, mostly peacefully, for civil rights, to those of a violent mob seeking to overthrow the lawfully elected government is a false equivalency and ignores a very real danger that the January 6 riot posed to the foundation of our democracy.”

34 notes · View notes

thevividgreenmoss · 2 months

Text

Matthew Weiner grasped at something beyond his daily-historical consciousness with Mad Men, which on one hand is part of the reason for making/sharing/experiencing art, but on the other hand the missapprehensions embedded within that consciousness play a huge part in him misapprehending his own* art as well as his role in its creation - the environment he cultivated within the writers room he administered, his documented harassment of the women he worked with, his incomprehension of the fact that Pete Campbell raped that au pair, that the wistful little etymology lesson that sets it up does nothing to obscure or negate the deeply fascistic impulse ingrained within Rachel Menken's claim that Israel "simply has to be", that the ending of his* show is not and can not be nearly as optimistic or hopeful as he-we might like to think.

The third quarter of the Clippers-Bulls just ended and I have neither patience for nor interest in American sentimentality.

Various notes of grace may play individual characters off the screen in the final episode and yes that may allow us to leave them a bit more at peace with themselves and each other than we found them in the pilot but the American society & nation to which they belong they belong is if anything far less at peace with itself in 1970 than it was in 1960 and all the way through 2024 it will continue along those same lines while also - although this part is probably a matter of lesser import to Weiner (but also likely the majority of his collaborators and audience) than things that primarily directly affect/ed real people ie American citizens whether it be the dissolution of the keynesian welfare state or the election of Donald Trump - continuing to inflict the most savage and brutal imperial horrors upon the rest of the world.

The game has ended, Clips won.

What inner peace drops a man back into the corner office from whose window he flung himself in the first place? If the fall was broken by an armchair behind the desk where he'd settle back in to launder the public image of a multinational conglomerate that steals water from indigenous people and pays mercenaries to murder those that dare to identify the theft might it not have been preferable to keep falling?

20 notes · View notes

gasterofficial · 10 months

Text

okay okay i hear you. please enjoy the trump/putin/obama love triangle fic. i wrote this for grammar class in 9th grade and if i remember correctly i got an A

Presidential Affairs

President Donald Trump sighed exasperatedly as he dotted one last ‘I’ and roughly slammed his pen onto the long wooden desk of the Oval Office.

“Why did I agree to four years of this...” he grumbled, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

He was only a few months into his first term as President of the United States and was already exhausted. Leading the country hadn’t come easy to the natural businessman, and the truth of the matter was staring him in the face; reviewing and signing hundreds of documents a day as well as serving as the face of America was more than Donald could handle, no matter how great he told himself he was.

Pushing his large, luxuriously padded desk chair back, Donald hoisted himself out of the seat and stood, stretching his cramping back. Longing to view something other than the eye-straining white of legal documents, he waddled across the room to one of the windows of the Oval Office, pulled the curtains aside and peered out. Immediately, his view of the beautiful presidential garden was entirely obstructed by a large black limousine. It was parked alarmingly close to the building, so close that it had crushed some of the decorative flowers that were planted just outside the windows. Donald blinked, pondering this unusual sight for a moment. He made a mental note to increase the White House’s landscaping budget, then glanced at his diamond-studded gold watch- 1:17. He was expecting a visit from Barack Obama for a meeting around 2:00, but it was far too early for the car to be his. Besides, Barack wasn’t quite the type to make such a dramatic (and destructive) entrance. He turned back to the window, staring blankly at the limousine as he wracked his mind for an explanation.

Sudden, a sharp rapping sound pierced the silence of the office. With a start, Donald whipped around and frantically searched for the source of the noise, the curtains of the window billowing back into place behind him. Looking to the other side of the Oval Office, he startled as he noticed a short, handsome man in a tidy suit standing in the doorway, resting his hand on the doorknob. Donald squinted, attempting to make out the face of the mysterious figure in spite of his declining vision. Suddenly, the man swiftly closed the door and began to move forward, taking shorter-than-average strides towards Donald. Donald panicked and began to reach for the office phone to call security, before realizing as the man drew closer that he recognized the pale, angular face. Donald slowly turned to face the man as he approached. The man walked up to Donald and stopped for a moment, looking him up and down. Donald hesitantly took the man’s hand in his, and the man grasped it and shook it vigorously.

“Vladimir Putin-” Donald started.

“Donald Trump,” Putin interjected, staring into Donald’s eyes unblinkingly.

“This, uh, this is very… unusual,” Donald continued, withdrawing his hand. “Why exactly are you here?” Putin turned away from Donald, strolling past him to approach the back of the office.

“I’m here on personal matters, you could say.” He paused at the windows and clasped his hands behind his back. “Tell, me, Mr. Trump, have you ever had...” Putin stopped. Suddenly, he dramatically whipped around to face Donald and finished his sentence:

“An affair?”

Donald regarded Putin with confusion for a moment before launching into one of his typical outbursts.

“Out of my many experiences and great accomplishments, I can truthfully say that I’ve never had an affair, unless you count my two ex-wives who didn’t think I was great enough for them. I disagree, it so happens. But that was all legal, all legal. By the way, whatever it was you just did was very unnecessary. There are no security cameras in here, by my request, so nobody saw that but me. I did like the theatrics and flair, though. Very impressive. Almost as great as me. Are all of you Russians like tha-”

Before Donald could finish, Putin was suddenly right up against him. He leaned over Donald and lightly pinned him to the desk, one of his hands on Donald’s shoulder and the other cradling the back of his head. With a blush appearing on his already orange cheeks, Donald shrunk slightly away from Putin, whose face was now right up in his own. Putin tightened his grip on Donald’s shoulder, pulling the president back towards him, ever closer than before. He slowly drew his hand from the back of Donald’s head, caressing his cheek as he went, and gripped Donald by the first of his many chins, leaning in inches away from Donald’s face.

“Would you like to?” He whispered as he slowly brought Donald’s lips closer to his, staring deep into the president’s eyes. Putin’s breath reeked of strong Russian vodka, but Donald was too enthralled in his breathtaking blue gaze to either notice the odor or resist his advances. As Putin leaned in closer, Donald closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment, as their lips began to- SLAM! The door to the Oval Office suddenly flew open.

“Putin! I thought you loved me! …TRUMP!?”

Donald’s eyes flew open as both he and Putin jerked around to the sight of-

“Obama!?” Donald shouted in surprise and embarrassment.

Barack Obama stood in the open doorway to the Oval Office, a grim look on his face. Donald watched in panic as Barack quickly drew a pistol from within his suit and pointed it at Trump, before he could move even an inch.

“You’d better explain fast, Donald.”

#mine #i will probably regret this

37 notes · View notes

nodynasty4us · 4 months

Quote

Donald Trump wants you to be angry every day because he's angry. He wants you to be angry so that you'll relate to his anger, and then to vote for him. Please understand this, I have known him well for 22 years, more than anybody else in this race has known him. And I can promise you this, if you put him back behind the desk in the Oval Office, and a choice comes and a decision is needed to be made as to whether he puts himself first or he puts you first. How much more evidence do you need that he will pick himself? And if that is what we have there, then people are gonna remain angry, remain divided, and become even more exhausted than they are today. The country that I think we should choose is the country that recognizes that our differences have always been our strength, not a weakness, not something to divide us and anger us, but our differences have been our strength. We come from different countries at different times to different places with different skills, with different religions.

Chris Christie Suspends Presidential Campaign. Full Transcript of Remarks. - 2024 Presidential Campaign Blog

#donald trump #chris christie #2024 #everybody

7 notes · View notes

anjaelle · 1 year

Text

Warped | Part I

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Characters: Jake 'Hangman' Sersin x Black!Reader (Late 20s) x Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia Word Count: 3k Warning: Unreality (basically) Summary: A road trip cuts through a small, nowhere town and gets a little freaky. a/n: I'm a bitch who loves to be a little extra with her plots. Below is an accompanying mixtape with some vintage bangers.

Masterlist | ꩜The Warped Mixtape ꩜

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"C'mon, c'mon. Work with me."

SIGNAL NOT FOUND

"Fuck."

You sat, stranded and exhausted, in the middle of a strip mall parking lot. You'd crossed over into a small town in the middle of nowhere--you think you saw a sign that said "MILLERSFORD." But you'd been driving for hours, and could've easily confused it for someplace else. The neon lights of the 24 hour convenience store buzzed menacingly, and the cashier curiously eyed your car from the inside. Your cell signal refused to cooperate, it was an hour until midnight, and you were beginning to run low on gas.

You mentally kicked yourself for blindly thinking you'd start the new year in a new city, among friends.

You swallowed hard and slouched down in your chair, well aware that you'd need to find a place for the night. You couldn't keep driving under these conditions.

As you pushed the store's door open, a bell rang announcing your arrival. The middle aged, blonde cashier brightened up. It was then that you noticed that she was wearing a colorful garland around her neck, attached to a flask.

"Hey there! Happy almost New Year!"

She blew a tiny kazoo and you couldn't help but tiredly grin at her enthusiasm. Her joy would be infectious if you weren't dead on your feet.

"Same to you. Um--" you glanced briefly at the TV behind her, showing the raging crowd in New York. "--Is there anywhere nearby where I can sleep for a bit? I've been on the road for most of the day and I need to lay down."

She leaned forward on her elbows and hummed in thought. "There's an inn a few minutes down the road." She pointed south, into the darkness, "That probably has some vacancies. I think Dawn's boy might be working the check-in there." The woman giggled and shook the flask that appeared to be empty now, "I need to ease up on the sauce. I forget the boy's name. But let him know that Janie told ya about it, and you might get a little discount."

You weren't sure you really needed a discount for a small town inn, but you appreciated the friendly reminder anyway. You grinned, thanked her, gave her a tip for her troubles, and dragged yourself back to your car to contemplate your life and terrible choices.

"'No, I won't take the train'," you murmured to yourself, "I'll drive. It'll be nice to be alone.' What an idiot."

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Dawes' Inn wasn't particularly difficult to find. The bright green vacancy sign beamed like an oasis in the middle of a vast desert. You could almost smell the hotel disinfectant the minute you got out of your car. And as you rolled your luggage through the dimly lit lobby, you noted how depressing everything looked. Faded floral wallpaper decorated the walls, and a church service played on the flat screen mounted on the wall. The overhead ceiling fan lazily circulated, moving around the humid air that was uncharacteristic of December...but apparently normal for the area. Your t-shirt clung to your back and your braids were beginning to frizz at the root. Your skin felt sticky. Your mouth felt dry.

As you crossed the lobby to the concierge desk, you noticed a college-aged boy with blue hair and tattoos, reading a comic book. On the wall behind him was a large American flag with a framed photo of Donald Trump in the middle. You pursed you lips, and began to consider if sleeping in your car would be the better option. The boy glanced up at you and waved politely.

"Hey, sorry," he motioned with his book, apologetically, "I was kind of in the zone."

"No problem. I just wanted to get a room for the night." Your eyes glanced up at the photo again, and he followed your gaze, then winced.

"My Aunt Ginny's idea. Sorry..." he placed the comic book under the counter and began typing away at the desktop, "I promise, me and my mom aren't like that."

"That's comforting to know." At this point, you didn't have much interest in small talk. Sleep crept up on you, and you hid your yawn behind your hand. Getting the gist of your capacity for conversation, the boy rushed to get your information. As you mentioned Janine from down the road, he rolled his eyes but laughed.

"I swear, she'd be our official marketing rep if she wasn't so stubborn."

He tore your receipt from the printer and handed it over, along with two keys ("One for the safe and one for the door. They're labelled."). As you hauled ass across the parking lot, you checked your phone and saw that it was 10 minutes until midnight. You'd given up hope on getting to watch the ball drop. What was the point, if you were alone in an unknown town? It was just another day now.

The room was clean, at the very least. The scent of lemon cleanser smacked you across the face. You sighed tiredly.

5 minutes to midnight.

You pushed your bag under the writing desk beside the entrance and collapsed onto the springy, quilted bed. The digital alarm clock on the nightstand had to be as old as you are, if not older. It looked like something you'd find in your grandmother's house.

1 minute to midnight.

Your eyes drifted closed. You missed your parents. You briefly wondered if you should call them. You knew they'd very likely answer you, but your pride wouldn't allow you to concede.

10...9...8...7...

Someone in the distance shot off a gun. Or maybe it was a firecracker. Your head was pounding. You should've taken ibuprofen.

4...3...2...1...

HAPPY NEW YEAR AND YOU ARE LISTENING TO KMRB, PLAYING THE BIGGEST HITS OF TODAY

The clock went off, blasting the radio at damn near full volume and causing you to shoot out of the bed with a start. The sun peeked from behind the floral curtains and you shielded your eyes. As you reached for the nightstand, you noticed that it was 9am and that you'd been dead to the world far longer than you'd intended.

"All you've got is this moment Twenty-first century's yesterday You can care all you want..."

Through the fog of confusion, you managed to find the volume button and turned the music down so you could collect your thoughts.

"Huh," You rubbed your tired eyes. You heard people chattering outside of the door and numerous car doors slamming. It was the most life you'd heard since your arrival to the small town. First things first, you needed to find your phone. You could've sworn that you'd put it on the nightstand, but it may have fallen in your sleep. You looked around, moving the pillows and the blanket. You jumped to your feet and pulled the blankets off, listening for the telltale clatter. When nothing fell out of the sheets, you groaned in frustration and dropped to your knees to look under the bed.

"Fuck..." you mumbled, "Did I leave it in the car?"

If you did, it was very likely dead by now. You looked down at yourself to see if you could get away with running out to your car and running back without being judged for your appearance. Rumpled denim short-shorts and a tank top wouldn't be the most risque thing to show up on the streets of a town like this. You decided to risk the judgement.

As you crossed the threshold and stepped onto the scorching hot motel pavement, you squinted through the sunlight to see the parking lot filled with cars and people. When you took a closer look, you noticed how old the cars looked, and how outdated people were dressed. You could tell the confusion was evident on your face as your eyes swept over the scene in front of you.

A chorus of excited voices chattered over one another as they walked in the direction of the hotel lobby--presumably for breakfast. The freeway was busy with traffic, which was a large difference from how empty it was the night before.

A few women around your age walked by you, one clad in a pink sundress with ruffles across the neckline and the other in a blue polka dotted dress, with hair teased higher than you knew was even possible. They were deep in conversation when you waved them down.

"Excuse me?" You asked as they passed. They stopped and regarded you, the blonder of the duo in the pink dress looked you up and down and frowned. You couldn't get a read on what that expression meant. But you powered through the urge to question it, "Hey. Sorry to interrupt. Is there a convention going on or something?"

They exchanged confused glances, then looked back at you.

"...A convention?" The polka dotted dress asked.

"I mean, everyone is wearing vintage stuff. The cars?" You motioned in front of you. You were confused what THEY were confused about.

The two women exchanged glances again and the pink dress squinted at you.

"What the hell are you talking about? Vintage? This is custom made." She turned to her friend and scoffed, "Cassie, is she crazy?"

You squinted back, "Are you playing with me? Are you guys in character or something?"

"You're insane. Crack is wack, you know." The pink dress said, guiding her friend away. "You'd think they'd be more selective about who they let into this place."

"Oh get over yourself," you called back. "It's a MOTEL in West Nowhere. Not the Ritz Carlton."

You'd be more upset about the microaggression--macroaggression, really--if you weren't sure you were surrounded by people who were in on a joke you didn't know about.

You decided to just get to your car, find your phone, and head back to your room so you could plan the rest of your trip accordingly.

But you couldn't find your car anywhere. In the sea of ancient red and silver cars, or cars with wooden paneling, you couldn't find your trusty 2018 Honda Accord anywhere in sight. You walked between the rows, growing more frantic by the minute.

"Where the hell are you?" you muttered in frustration. You decided to fish out your keys to click the unlock button, and the car that responded was...not your car.

It was a Honda. It had your plates. It was the same bright red color But it was NOT yours.

You backed away from it and looked down at the keys in your hand to see that it didn't match the ones you had last night.

"Cool, cool, cool, cool. Someone's just playing a trick on me." You muttered. You felt your breathing picking up and you turned on your heels to rush to the hotel lobby. Following the crowd of people, you heard bits and pieces of conversation.

"...and I told Clara that it's expensive to go to West Berlin. We're trying to save for college here..."

"...forced to take Benny to the mall. I dunno, I might just leave him at the arcade..."

Some song from the 60s played through the speakers in the lobby--which looked much more vibrant than it did the night before. And as you rushed to the front desk, you caught sight of the smiling portrait of Ronald Reagan beaming at you evilly from the wall that had an entirely different portrait just 9 hours before. The young woman behind the counter smiled curiously at you, as you absolutely had a look of both confusion and panic written all over your face. She wore a sky blue dress with huge shoulder pads, and her hair in a big, feathered style that you imagine took a very long time to do. You were impressed with her dedication to the bit.

"Good morning, sweetie." She popped her gum cheerfully as she shuffled around some papers in front of her. "How can I help you?"

"Hi, um...I need a little bit of help here. I can't seem to find my car. I thought I parked it in the spot designated for my room, but maybe I made a mistake. I was pretty tired last night."

She waved away the apologetic tone of your request, "It happens to the best of us. I wasn't in last night, so I won't be the best person to help you. But my cousin was. Let me go grab him from the back."

You thanked her profusely as she disappeared behind the office doors. And as your drummed your fingernails on the counter awaiting the blue haired boy from the night before, you thought about how worried your friends must have been. To them, you drove into the night and didn't show up the next day. They probably thought you were in a ditch somewhere.

You were deep in your thoughts when a blond man sidled up to the counter. A blond man who was absolutely NOT the person who helped you the night before. You felt hyper aware of the fact that you looked a mess. You were in last night's clothes, and you hadn't even washed your face, yet. And, still, his eyes raked over you like he was dying of thirst and you were a glass of ice water in the desert.

"Well, now...you're a sight for sore eyes. How can I help you, ma'am?"

He shot you a wide, flirtatious grin and leaned forward on his elbows. You forced yourself not to stare at the way his sleeves hugged his arms. Your car was missing. Now was not the time.

"Uh...hi. Hey. Um..." you mentally kicked yourself. Use your grown up words, Jesus Christ. "Could you please check to see what spot I was supposed to park my car in? I think I may have made a mistake, and I wanna double check."

He quirked a brow at you and leaned back slightly.

"When did you come in?" He pulled a massive leather bound book from under the counter and began thumbing through it.

"Around 11:45-ish."

His hand stilled over the pages and he peered back at you, curiously. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

He hummed and tapped his fingers on the pages again, "I was here all night long, and I don't remember you coming in. And trust me...I would've remembered you."

You pushed away the warmth in your cheeks to clarify, "Well, you weren't at the counter last night. It was a boy. He was kinda young. Had blue hair and tattoos."

The confusion on his face intensified, "Nobody here looks like that. Ginny would have a fit." He suddenly laughed, "Are you sure you weren't uh...imbibing?"

You didn't laugh. This wasn't funny. You just wanted to know where your goddamn car was. You pulled your ID out of your pocket and handed it to him.

"Here. See if you can find my name in the system. I obviously made a reservation here if I have keys and managed to park in the lot."

He picked up the card and laughed again. It was a loud, sharp guffaw that made you even more annoyed than you already were.

"Are you pullin' my leg?" He said, laughing again, "Did you get this from one of those joke shops by the freeway?"

"What are you talking about?" You said, leaning forward on the counter. At this point, you were stopping yourself from jumping over it to strangle him.

He pushed the ID back over the counter and tapped his finger at your birth year.

"You need to go to the DMV and get this sorted if this is real, Marty McFly. How the hell are you gonna give me an ID saying you're born almost a decade from now? C'mon."

Now you were looking at him like he was deranged. Almost a decade from now? You looked at your ID again, and it looked the same as it always had.

"Are any of you ever going to just break character and help me?" You asked in frustration. "I'm sick of this. You weren't doing this yesterday!"

"I didn't know you, yesterday." He responded, the mirth of the situation still evident in his face.

If you had the energy, you would've jumped over the counter then. Instead you took a deep breath and asked if you could borrow his phone. You weren't surprised when you were handed a rotary phone instead of a cell phone. Because of course he'd do that.

You dialed the first number that came to mind, begrudgingly, and listened as someone picked up on the second ring. You expected to hear your mother's voice, but your heart stopped in your chest and your hand trembled.

"Hellooo hello... this is Myra Lloyd. Happy New Year!"

You nearly dropped the receiver. The voice was as clear as day, but younger than you remembered. And you hadn't heard it in over ten years. You swallowed hard. You had to be dreaming. This wasn't real.

"...Grandma?" You whispered, gripping the phone in your fist.

"Hello? I think you may have the wrong number, dear." She said, in her vibrant sing-songy voice that you missed so much. You heard a teenager calling for your grandmother in the background, and she responded, "Oh! It might be her. I'll ask. Are you looking for Deirdre?"

Your heart squeezed at the sound of your mother's name and you immediately hung up. Suddenly everything sounded far away and all the air escaped from your lungs.

You stared at the phone in shock, and the man behind the counter waved in front of your face.

"Hey...are you alright?"

You couldn't explain to him that you'd just heard your dead grandmother's voice on the phone. Who would believe you? You wouldn't have even believed it yourself if you hadn't heard it with your own ears.

"What year is it?" You asked, refusing to look him in the eye. You silently begged him to give you the right answer to prove you weren't going crazy. To maybe give you an ounce of relief. Even if there was no explaining what just happened...

"It's 1989."

"...Oh."

It was all you could muster before you blacked out and hit the floor of the hotel lobby.

#Jake 'Hangman' Sersin x reader #glen powell x reader #Hangman x reader #This is my first time in ages writing for someone new so be patient with the baby #jae writes

44 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 7 months

Text

From the Banksy Fan Page: Loretto, The Psychos: here to rock the world to a violent end

(Robert Scott Horton)

* * * *

“Donald Trump has been the worst president this country has ever had. And I don’t say that hyperbolically. He is. But he is a consequential president. And he has brought this country in three short years to a place of weakness that is simply unimaginable if you were pondering where we are today from the day where Barack Obama left office. And there were a lot of us on that day who were deeply skeptical and very worried about what a Trump presidency would be. But this is a moment of unparalleled national humiliation, of weakness.

“When you listen to the President, these are the musings of an imbecile. An idiot. And I don’t use those words to name call. I use them because they are the precise words of the English language to describe his behavior. His comportment. His actions. We’ve never seen a level of incompetence, a level of ineptitude so staggering on a daily basis by anybody in the history of the country whose ever been charged with substantial responsibilities.

“It’s just astonishing that this man is president of the United States. The man, the con man, from New York City. Many bankruptcies, failed businesses, a reality show, that branded him as something that he never was. A successful businessman. Well, he’s the President of the United States now, and the man who said he would make the country great again. And he’s brought death, suffering, and economic collapse on truly an epic scale. And let’s be clear. This isn’t happening in every country around the world. This place. Our place. Our home. Our country. The United States. We are the epicenter. We are the place where you’re the most likely to die from this disease. We’re the ones with the most shattered economy. And we are because of the fool that sits in the Oval Office behind the Resolute Desk.”

[Steve Schmidt :: From 2020. Still true and more so]

#Steve Schmidt #political #TFG #Banksy

16 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 1 month

Text

The end of March will mark eight months since United States President Joe Biden first requested supplemental aid to resupply Ukraine’s armed forces and help the country prepare for coming Russian offensives. With Congress beginning yet another recess, there may finally be an end in sight to the partisan logjam, but the shape that Ukraine aid ultimately takes and the path to getting a bill to Biden’s desk for his signature remain unclear.

Since former representative Kevin McCarthy was forced to vacate his leadership role as Speaker of the House, Speaker Mike Johnson has feared inviting a similar ouster. Before leaving for a two-week recess on March 22, House Democrats signaled they will protect him from just such a motion to vacate if he announces a plan to take up the bipartisan National Security Supplemental package passed by the Senate last month.

Johnson has said he’d take on Ukraine aid after passing a federal budget, which he’s now accomplished. The next two weeks may see him coordinating with allies and negotiating with Democrats on a potential deal before Congress resumes on April 9, meaning the earliest that Ukraine aid could optimistically be passed is mid to late April.

There are four likely vehicles for passing the supplemental military, budgetary, and humanitarian aid requested by Biden: Johnson bringing forth the Senate-passed supplemental to a vote on the House floor, as is typically done with legislation; a potential new supplemental package crafted by Republicans at Johnson’s behest; a Democrat-led bipartisan discharge petition to bring the Senate-passed supplemental to a vote; or a Republican-led discharge petition to bring slimmed-down supplemental aid to a vote.

A critical factor in any of these options is that if the House passes legislation that differs from the supplemental aid, it will have to revert to the Senate for further deliberations and another series of votes. This would lead to additional delays, opportunities for political sabotage, and a sharper advantage for Russia on the battlefield in Ukraine.

The best option for swiftly passing Ukraine aid is for Johnson to bring the bill that already passed the Senate to the floor for a vote, which could be done quickly upon Congress’s return. Democrats are signaling that Johnson announcing this move would guarantee their support against a motion to remove him from the speakership, which was already filed by Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene and could soon come to a procedural vote.

Johnson in recent weeks has also reportedly been working to craft his own new version of supplemental aid. After Republicans aligned with former president Donald Trump tanked a bipartisan supplemental aid deal that included substantial reforms to US immigration policy, the Senate passed an aid package that omitted border policy changes and focused on foreign aid to Ukraine, Israel, Taiwan, and Palestine. Johnson has directed three prominent Republican committee chairs to put together a proposal that pairs foreign aid with border policy, as well as other potential legislation such as the REPO Act to transfer Russian state assets to Ukraine.

No text has been released and minimal details about this new prospective aid package have emerged, but Johnson may try to negotiate with Democrats to include some of these provisions in whatever he brings to the floor. While Johnson and many other congressional Republicans agree on the need to pass Ukraine aid, the electoral incentives in their party may pressure some to present any eventual deal as some kind of political win over Democrats, even if the details are largely the same as what Democrats are asking for. The REPO Act, in addition to being smart policy, would also allow Johnson to claim that he’s helping relieve the burden of foreign aid from the American taxpayer, though Russian state assets in the US are reportedly only around $5 billion.

Johnson has failed to bring Ukraine aid to the floor for months and Democrats are now hedging their bets. Rep. Jim McGovern opened a discharge petition earlier this month to forcibly bring the Senate-passed supplemental to a vote. Discharge petitions are rare parliamentary mechanisms in which members must physically walk to the rostrum on the House floor and add their signature to a petition which, should it reach a majority of 218, will sideline the Speaker and trigger a vote on the associated legislation.

The McGovern petition quickly garnered Democratic support and has reached 191 signatures, including a lone Republican signature from Rep. Ken Buck on the second-to-last day before his retirement from Congress. There is significant pressure on Republicans not to side with what appears to be a Democratic effort, but delays from Johnson and dysfunction within their own party make defections more likely. Progressive Democrats are also reluctant to sign due to the package’s Israel aid, though many have privately signaled their willingness to sign if the White House announces accountability measures for this military aid to prevent misuse by Israeli forces.

A second discharge petition is being floated by Republican Rep. Brian Fitzpatrick, a co-chair of the Congressional Ukraine Caucus. Fitzpatrick has crafted a slimmed-down version of supplemental aid that includes controversial border measures such as Trump’s “Remain in Mexico” policy, seen as toxic by most Democrats.

Fitzpatrick’s version reduces total aid for Ukraine by eliminating all humanitarian funding, cuts crucial financial aid that allows the Ukrainian government to function, and doesn’t expand allowances for the Presidential Drawdown Authority, which would mean less immediate aid to Ukraine at a critical time.

Under this package, new military aid may not be provided until next year, though the White House would be able to replenish stocks depleted in the past. Some Ukraine aid is certainly better than none, but this would appear far from a first choice for Ukraine. If Fitzpatrick were to amend his proposal to address these issues, he’d be far more likely to attract Democratic support.

The next two weeks will see private negotiations between Johnson and Democratic leadership as well as further pressure on representatives to sign onto discharge petitions. Further GOP signatures onto the McGovern petition in particular would increase the pressure on Johnson to avoid embarrassment by bringing aid to the floor himself, while also increasing the likelihood of aid passing regardless. Another important variable is that, as in the case of the Senate border deal, Trump could intervene at the eleventh hour to pressure Republicans not to pass Ukraine aid.

After nearly eight months of delays, there may finally be a path to passing Ukraine aid through Congress. With Russia planning a new offensive in the coming months, potentially to conquer the city of Kharkiv, it can’t come a moment too soon. Ukrainian forces have had to ration ammunition because of Republicans blocking supplemental aid, losing towns and lives in the process. If the US wants to stop burning the trust of its allies and show that it can still be a reliable security partner, the time and place to do so is now on the floor of the House of Representatives.

4 notes · View notes

tomorrowusa · 7 months

Text

A friendly reminder that letting any Republican get elected president in 2024 will be a disaster for a woman's right to choose.

Donald Trump Donald Trump, the former president and GOP front-runner, has boasted about the fact that he appointed three of the Supreme Court justices who were part of the decision that overturned Roe. [ ... ] Ron DeSantis DeSantis calls himself a “pro-life candidate” and signed two abortion bans into law in Florida—a 15-week ban last year and the six-week ban this year—and suggested to Tucker Carlson in July he would sign a national version of Florida’s six-week abortion if he were president. More recently, during the second GOP presidential primary debate on Wednesday, he confirmed that he would sign a 15-week nationwide ban. [ ... ] Tim Scott Unlike some of his counterparts, South Carolina Sen. Tim Scott has not shied away from abortion on the trail and has made it clear to Iowans that he supports a national abortion ban. “I am 100% pro-life. When I am president of the United States, I will sign the most pro-life legislation the House and Senate can put on my desk,” Scott wrote in a July op-ed for the Des Moines Register. [ ... ] Nikki Haley Nikki Haley, a former UN ambassador and South Carolina governor, said during a May campaign event in New Hampshire that she would sign a nationwide abortion ban, without specifying details. [ ... ] Mike Pence A good foundation of former Vice President Mike Pence’s political career has been built on opposing reproductive rights. “I’m pro-life and I don’t apologize for it,” Pence frequently says. He ran for Congress in 1996 for “the babies” and said he was the first person to introduce legislation to defund Planned Parenthood in the US House of Representatives. [ ... ] Vivek Ramaswamy Vivek Ramaswamy, a former biotech entrepreneur, describes himself as “unapologetically pro-life,” but has said he does not believe a federal abortion ban “makes any sense,” while in the same breath comparing abortion to murder. “This is not an issue for the federal government. This is an issue for the states. I think we need to be explicit about that,” Ramaswamy told CNN in May. “If murder laws are handled at the state level and abortion is a form of murder, the pro-life view, then it makes no sense for that to be the one federal law.” At the state level, Ramaswamy said he backs outlawing abortion after six weeks. [ ... ] Chris Christie Chris Christie, the former New Jersey governor, told NBC he is a “pro-life” candidate who supports abortion exceptions for rape, incest, or the life of the mother. [ ... ] Asa Hutchinson Former Arkansas Gov. Asa Hutchinson signed a near-total abortion ban into law in 2021. The measure outlawed all abortions, except those performed to save the life of the mother. It did not include exceptions for rape or incest. [ ... ] Doug Burgum North Dakota Gov. Doug Burgum signed a near-total ban on abortion into law in his state in April of this year. The law bans abortion throughout pregnancy, with exceptions for cases of rape, incest, or medical emergencies up to six weeks of gestation. After six weeks, rape and incest victims cannot get abortions.

ALL of those candidates would appoint radical anti-abortion fanatics to the federal courts including the US Supreme Court.

Those candidates may differ on wording or nuance but are united in their desire to put a GOP uterus cop in every American bedroom.

Voting for some clown running as an independent or a third party candidate who has ZERO chance of getting elected is as bad as voting Republican. The only way to protect reproductive rights for the rest of this decade is to re-elect Democrat Joe Biden; remind people of this whenever the topic of abortion comes up.

11 notes · View notes

donald-trump-official · 2 years

Text

To: random tumblr user

From: the desk of the office of the 45th president of the United States

CC: URGANT SUPPORT NEEDED

FWD: [email protected]

DONALD TRUMP’S HOME RAIDED BY FBI

THE DEEP STATE HAS MADE THEIR NEXT MOVE AGAINST OUR PRESIDENT DONALD J. TRUMP, AND I NEED YOUR SUPPORT!

Donald trump has called upon you, one of his all-time favorite supporters, to GIVE HIM YOUR MONEY. After the Crooked Biden Administration sent Merrick Garland’s Gestapo down to Mar a Lago to ILLEGALLY and MALICIOUSLY steal my personal safe, I need MORE LAWYERS to PROVE they planted evidence on me.

MAKE A ONE TIME DONATION OF $1,000 DOLLAR OR MORE RIGHT NOW AND HAVE IT MATCHED WITH MY PERSONAL CONTRIBUTION OF 10% OF YOUR DONATION!

MAKE A REOCCURRING CONTRIBUTION OF 36-98-12-42-92 DOLLARS AND RECEIVE AN EXCLUSIVE NUCLEAR CODE DOCUMENT SIGNED BY PRESIDENT DONALD J. TRUMP, ABSOLUTELY FREE!

It’s up to YOU to FIGHT BACK AGAINST THE RADICAL LEFT! DONATE NOW!

Sincerely,

Your favorite president, Donald J Trump, 45th president of the United States, former president

#trump speaks again #satire #donald trump #parody

78 notes · View notes

manettheeternalelir · 1 year

Text

I work at an undisclosed Midwestern lumberyard chain, and by god I wish I didn't.

It's the hell of working retail with the added stress of people making 15 minute decisions on 6 figure projects. Last night a couple asked me whether we could do a door a specific way, I said yes but we don't carry it in stock, and ofc they asked 3 more times if we have that door in stock, with the inevitable conclusion of them telling at me for wasting their time for not informing them that the door they want isn't in stock.

But every so often,

Once in a blue moon,

I have the privilege of telling somebody to fuck off.

There's a guy, we'll call him Chris, who comes in about 3 times a week. He has a Donald Trump level fake blonde toupee, the intelligence of a concussed squirrel, and he almost never buys anything. But he grabs the neatest employee and spends the next 45 minutes (timed) (average) (once it hit 133) asking questions that a 5 year old homeschooled evangelical child could answer.

When Chris enters the store a call goes out over the radio to let the managers know, and they scatter like rabbits. Whatever unlucky schmuck gets stuck with him is to be pitied, but never assisted lest ye become ensnared in the mire of idiocy that Chris projects.

The other day I wasn't wearing a radio, because of the autism, and so I was caught off guard as Chris came up to me. Knowing that my chances of escaping him were negligible, I launched straight into Unhelpful Mode. For those of you who haven't worked retail, or have repressed your time there, Unhelpful Mode (perhaps more accurately described as Overly Helpful Mode) is when you are perfectly capable of helping a customer, but deliver that help in such a manner that it dissuades them from asking follow up questions. An example is going into excessive detail about the chemical treatment of green lumber, or the myriad ways that you can customize a door to achieve the same dimensional effect. The customers eyes glaze over and lose their spark, and they proceed to go away to think about the excessive information you've dropped into their poor little minds.

Much to my chagrin, I quickly learned that Chris was immune to Unhelpful Mode, probably because he is too vacant to absorb the most surface level information, let alone the wealth of details I unleashed upon him. Due to this miscalculation, I was forced to spend about an hour (56 minutes) (error of about 5 minutes due to my coworkers disappearing until they were sure he was dealt with) with Chris.

After telling him everything he asked about, and more, I made my exit. The crucial question he asked me, over and over, was if we could install a door for him. I told him that no, Per Policy, [Company Name] does not do installation, but that I could provide him with the information of a few local contractors. He asked this probably 7 times, the last time making my exit.

Chris then demonstrated a guile unbeknownst to me. After waiting until I was out of his sight he approached our rookie employee, all of 3 days from hire. He knew that if he could pressure the new kid into stating that [Company Name] would install his door, that he could come back later and get a discount due to being assured of installation (stupid rule).

Thankfully on this hallowed day, I was observing from cover (behind another desk), and figured out what he was doing. I came up and asked what was going on? He lied, the rookie told me what was up, and I politely asked Chris to leave.

Chris took this very personally, and started to raise his voice. Which I matched. At this point everybody in the vicinity was watching us, necks craning and conversations ceasing. Things escalated further, and eventually his profanity laden denunciation prompted my own thunderous "Fuck Off". He bolted for the General Manager, lied his ass off, and begged for my firing.

I told a *relatively* true account of the interaction, reminded the GM of who we were dealing with, and got off scott free.

All in all not worth it, applied to 2 other jobs the next day.

#fyi I'm allowed to mock homeschooled evangelical children because I was one #retail stories

8 notes · View notes