#imagine andrew particularly bored with todays practice

[achillean-heartbeat]

good afternoon beautiful people i am going sick in the head thinking of Neil wearing his orange bandana. just neil and his bandana,,, yeah,,,

#theres just something about neil still buzzing with practice energy #and wearing his bandana while drinking water to cool down #that is driving me crazy #i can also imagine it drives andrew crazy #imagine andrew particularly bored with todays practice #latching on to the little hairs that had escaped neil's bandana #and how he gets to appreciate neil's entire face being lit up by the locker room's light #for once not being covered by his hair #and how much it makes neil look even more handsome #safe to say andrew is Annoyed tm #one day neils hair gets in the way of him cleaning his room #and he wears his bandana at home #Andrew catches sight of him #all soft and comfortable tidying his room #and wearing his bandana #its the first time andrew sees neil in a bandana minus the sweat and exhaustion of practice #so he stands in the doorway and just watches neil #watches the little hairs jumping when he picks up an item of clothing to fold it #he comes up to neil #practically plastering his body to neils #neil: didnt know you were this fascinated with me folding clothes. #andrew: close enough. #neil wears a confused expression that andrew wants to immediately wipe off with a kiss #andrew hovers his hand above neil's head #andrew: yes or no? #neil. dumb dumb neil doesnt even ask about what and says yes #andrew gently places his palm over neil's bandana #stands on his tip toes #and kisses neil's forehead #neil's dumbfounded expression makes andrew kiss him on the lips on his way down

[theoutcastrogue]

Parallels: Olidammara the Laughing Rogue / The Cynics Diogenes and Menippus

Olidammara the Laughing Rogue (Deities & Demigods, 2002, illustration by M. Cavotta) / Diogenes bites Plato (Existential Comics #219)

1. Hecate’s Supper

Diogenes of Sinope (c. 412 – 323 BCE) was like the Oscar Wilde of his time. His snark was immensely popular, and for centuries after his death, if you wanted to say something sarcastic and make people pay attention, you'd just go ahead and say it and attribute it to him. (Which is why it's so hard today to determine what Diogenes actually said and what he didn't.) Alternatively, you could write a book with Diogenes as the protagonist, maybe another Cynic as well, and use them as your snarky mouthpieces.

That's what Lucian of Samosata (c. 125 – 180 CE) did, in his Dialogues of the Dead. These take place in Hades, and feature the philosophers Menippus of Gadara (3rd century BCE) and Diogenes, now dead, snarking from the Underworld and pumping the cynicism to eleven. And I remembered this wonderful satirical work while I was reading an old article in Dragon Magazine about Olidammara the Laughing Rogue, the classic D&D deity (in the Greyhawk pantheon) of thieves, beggars, and bards. It says:

"Shrines of Olidammara's faith are far more common than temples and may be found in urban or rural areas. Usually the shrine is just a pile of stones or an outdoor alcove bearing his mark where worshippers can pour an offering of wine or leave a bit of tasty food and a few copper coins. It is not considered an affront to the god for someone truly poor to take these coins, although stories exist of misers being punished for daring to take what is not their due."

A humble shrine to Olidammara, illustration by Andrew Hu (Dragon #342)

This bit about poor people pilfering offerings from a god's shrine was familiar. In Dialogues of the Dead, when Menippus dies, he gets immediately in trouble with Charon, the boatman, because he's supposed to have coins for the fare and he emphatically doesn't. (He's a Cynic, being penniless is his thing.) When Charon insists to be paid, Menippus wisely explains that he cannot give what he doesn't have, and when he gets frisked, all he has to show are lupin beans and a “Hecate's supper”. Now lupin beans are basically livestock food, humans only resort to them when destitute. And Hecate's supper? Well Hecate was the goddess of roads among other things, and she had shrines in street corners (particularly where three roads meet). People left offerings there every month “and these offerings were at once pounced upon by the poor, or, as here, the Cynics.”

It's not clear what Hecate thought about this plundering of her shrines, or what people imagined she thought. It's abundantly clear that the hungry didn't particularly care. But Olidammara approves as much as Menippus (and Lucian), which is pleasing. And that’s not the only parallel.

Diogenes Sitting in His Tub by Jean-Léon Gérôme (1860)

2. The rich remember

Olidammara drops some aphorisms

“Hoarded gold is no treasure. A man who lives alone with all of his money in a vault is poorer than a penniless man surrounded by merriment. What is the point of money and fine things if you cannot use them to bring you happiness? Better to spend your gold on food, wine, and music than let your mouth, ears, and mind go numb from nothingness.” 

“A cage of gold is still a cage. A man surrounded by valuable things may think he is happy, but if he cannot leave his home for fear of his possessions being stolen, and cannot touch them for fear they might break, he is not actually happy. Take the man's things so he is no longer bound to them and can be free to live as nature intended.”

Meanwhile in Hades, Diogenes messages the living

To Menippus the Cynic: If mortal subjects for laughter begin to pall, come down below, and find much richer material; it is the best of sport to see millionaires, governors, despots, now mean and insignificant; you can only tell them by their lamentations, and the spiritless despondency which is the legacy of better days.

To the rich: O vain fools, why hoard gold? why all these pains over interest sums and the adding of hundred to hundred, when you must shortly come to us with nothing beyond the dead-penny?

Menippus (detail) by Diego Velázquez (1638)

and Shades of rich men file a complaint against Menippus

CROESUS: Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our neighbourhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we are going to migrate. Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry over the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be laughing at us, and calling us rude names; "slaves" and "garbage," he says we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out. In short, he is a nuisance.

MENIPPUS: All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not content with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on talking about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days. I take a positive pleasure in annoying them. Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no misunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there shall I be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down. Yours was the presumption, when you expected men to fall down before you, when you trampled on men's liberty, and forgot there was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and gnashing of teeth: for all is lost! You do the whining, and I'll chime in with a string of KNOW THYSELVES, best of accompaniments.

Incredible Romero-inspired cover for Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead: An Intermediate Greek Reader (Faenum Publishing, 2015)

3. And then they diverged

Of course, Olidammara isn't all Cynic. Cynics rejected wealth and luxury altogether and snubbed everything not necessary for survival, in the name of (basically) independence. The Laughing Rogue, on the contrary, wants you to grab all the finer things in life with both hands, and have a good time.

The kernel of Olidammara's philosophy is that life should be enjoyed, for a life of misery and boredom is a life wasted. Mortals should laugh, enjoy the company of friends and the playing of music, taste good food, and drink good wine. Although he is not a hedonist and doesn't believe that mortals should be, he knows that a lifetime of meat, fruit, wine, and song is better than a a life of bread, water, and silence (unsurprisingly he has no ascetic or monk worshippers). His faithful should treat music as the art it is and strive to be as skilled at it as their patron. People should make jokes and laugh when the joke is on them, and try to avoid misery, temperance, and solemnity, for they are the greatest poison to the soul. He encourages people to practice occasional mayhem not for its own sake but to add excitement to boring lives and rattle the self-built cages of materialists.

And, to return full circle to Hecate's supper, Olidammara is something more than that. He discovered a source of fulfillment, joy, and bliss that all the squabbling philosophers in the time of Diogenes somehow failed to grasp. That shifty thieving scoundrel is sharing.

Olidammara's Aphorism: “What is good alone is better with others. Any pleasurable thing is greater when you can share it with someone else. A fine wine is sweeter when raised in toast to a friend. A romantic song is stronger as a duet. A good meal is more savory when shared with a hungry man. A memory is richer when reminiscing with someone who was there.”

And you know what? I’ll drink to that.

Illustration by Andrew Hu (Dragon #342)

[All excerpts about the Laughing Rogue are from the article “Core Beliefs: Olidammara” by Sean K. Reynolds (Dragon #342, 2006). All excerpts of Dialogues of the Dead are from The Works of Lucian of Samosata, transl. Henry Watson Fowler and Francis George Fowler (1905).]

#long post #diogenes #menippus #olidammara #trs #theory #d&d #how to rogue #fluff #the ecstasy of gold #the rich remember #patron deity

[squashoffer3]

3 Truths You Only Learn From Traveling For Work

This article is brought to you by Adobe Document Cloud.

I remember when I never traveled. Or, rather, I remember when I travelled in the very 90s American sitcom way, which is to say I remember when we piled into my parents’ car and drove somewhere just near enough to not feel exotic, but just far enough to make for a terrible ride up with my little sister beside me in the backseat. (I also remember when they intentionally changed out their practical four-door sedan for two compact, two-door sports cars in the middle of my childhood, whose unbelievably cramped backseats on those seven-hour drives led to a lifetime fear of confined spaces.) I remember when “traveling” meant a rare, exciting, yet ultimately deeply familiar jaunt to Long Island, or Texas, or Georgia, or one of the many places aunts and uncles and cousins resided. I remember when money was very tight, and therefore “travel” was something that happened very rarely, and in very confined terms.

And now, I travel constantly. My work frequently takes me out of my city, even across the country. Travel has become an integrated, obvious part of my life, and all of the attendant, superficial markers of that life have come with it. My passport accumulates stamps. I have become strangely good at packing a carry-on. I know which terminals of which New York City airports have the best food, or the shortest lines, or the nicest gates. And while this does on some level still feel impossibly fancy and grown-up to me, it would be dishonest not to specify that, as most of my travel is still for professional reasons, the actual reality of it is not so romantic.

Over the past few years, I’ve spent literally under 24 hours in certain cities, touching down just to do a day of work and then immediately hop on the first flight to the next destination. I have spent entire trips alternating between stark hotel rooms and corporate office buildings, or never leaving the sprawling reaches of a conference complex. I have learned what it means to travel without really seeing, without really even existing in the place your trip may have taken you. And I’ve also learned what it means to integrate travel into your day-to-day life in a way that does not disrupt your work, or slow any number of goals you may be juggling which have nothing to do with the travel at hand. I have learned the truths which only come from traveling for work — profoundly different than travel for any other reason — and learned how to integrate them into my life beyond just the times I am sipping my bloody mary at 30,000 feet while practicing a presentation. And these are the three biggest of those truths.

1. You’re only as good as the tools you have.

One thing that is particularly true about travel for work specifically — but which can extend into every area of your life — is that you have a maximal amount of things to accomplish, and it’s up to you to make sure they get done. In the case of, say, going to a conference, you have get from one place to the other, eat, go to meetings and presentations and such, network, maybe get a workout in, enjoy the city to some extent, and somehow actually do your day-to-day work. And in this regard, there is nothing more crucial than having all the right tools. As some of you may know, I am a rigorous maker of pre-travel spreadsheets, my Google calendar is always broken down nearly to the minute so I can fully anticipate each day, I tend to pack well in advance (including assembling my plane outfit on a separate hanger), I bring a big enough plane purse for my laptop, phone, charger, notebook, and a reading book, plus I make sure to triple check when packing for all crucial items (which are also in my spreadsheet, of course). But beyond those elements, having an app that allows work to be clean, easy-to-manage, and organized is particularly crucial. And the TFD team loves using Adobe Scan to keep us sane while on the road — everything from the receipts I would otherwise forget to keep (sorry, Annie!), to the letters that come to the office mail while one of us is out of town but needs to see it, are suddenly no longer a hassle. Adobe Scan is a free app that lets you take pictures of documents with your phone and instantly turn them into editable PDFs. Receipts, bills, doctor’s forms, work documents, applications — everything that you can imagine that you would want to quickly and seamlessly turn from paper to digital can be instantly changed with a snap of your phone’s camera. Don’t let the feeling of being cut off from your work prevent you from taking advantage of travel, and start seamlessly organizing and sending your documents today, with the totally-free Adobe Scan.

2. It’s up to you to decide to be present.

Simply put, particularly when it comes to travel for work, I have become an obsessive note-taker. I write in little journals, I record notes in my phone’s recorder app like some sad man writing his novel, I use my notepad app religiously, I even have been known to make the occasional sticky note (which is then placed on my laptop or bedroom mirror). I write down or record everything, very much including the things that have nothing to do with work. I am someone who has always been very greedy about joy and sensory pleasure — I plan out every element of an activity and look at each part of making it happen as a separate, discrete unit of joy — but I have become even more hyper-aware of what I’m doing while traveling for work. And it is through this that I am able to get my work done more effectively, because I no longer feel that the travel is a giant, swirling, amorphous thing I should be paying attention to. I force myself to be actively, attentively present in my travel, which means that when I am back in my hotel room, I am able to fully throw myself into what needs to be done without guilt or distraction.

3. Decide what is joyful about things, and lean into them.

Here’s the truth: in life, but particularly in work travel, there is going to be a lot of stuff you do that you don’t necessarily love. And many of the activities you’re not overly thrilled about are going to take a long time, or feel like they dominate your day in some more vague, emotional way. And there’s no getting around that. But one thing I have learned from these frequent situations in which the travel I’m doing is not necessarily the travel I would have chosen is that there is joy to be found in every task (insert Julie Andrews voice here). Being methodical and considered about hanging up my clothes in the little hotel closet and arranging my toiletries neatly on the bathroom counter can be soothing and ritualistic. Making a point to have at least one nice solo lunch or even breakfast with a good book in a local restaurant or cafe is a perfect way to escape and to feel present. Setting mini-challenges for yourself during an otherwise-boring event (like seeing how many actually-useful takeaways you can write down from a dull presentation) turns it into a little game. Even reminding yourself frequently that, in the grander scheme of things, you are quite lucky to be traveling for work is a good way to find the joy in the actual doing of it. The point is, embracing each element of these things you must do with vigor and enthusiasm, and choosing to lean into the parts of it that bring you joy, are the only ways to ensure that your life (and, yes, even the work travel bits of it) aren’t just a matter of getting past one thing in order to get to another. Each moment should be appreciated, and it’s up to us to learn how to do that. Even when we are going to a 7 AM breakfast in a hotel ballroom.

Don’t forget to check out Adobe Scan and Adobe Acrobat Reader!

Image via Unsplash

Source: https://thefinancialdiet.com/3-truths-you-only-learn-from-traveling-for-work/

[c-valentino]

Lighter Next To Your Coffee Mug III

Chapter 3 

“So where do you usually go?” Andrew was sitting behind the wheel again, driving them back into the city. The red glow of the car’s instruments illuminated his face. Neil had retreated into his own thoughts, analyzing the situation he had gotten himself into one more time. He wasn't entirely unpleased by the outcome, and the ride in Andrew’s car helped him to think. The leather seats felt nice against his back. Now Andrew’s voice brought him back. “For business.”

  “It depends. Some clients have rather specific things in mind. The location matters to them. If that isn't an issue,” Neil shrugged, “hotels, apartments sometimes.”

  “But not yours,” Andrew said and it wasn't really a question.

  “No.”

  “So, since we are doing this, how–“ The lights right in front of them were about to turn red and Andrew stepped on the gas pedal. Neil had the pleasant feeling of goosebumps rising on his arms. The car had a great sound and enough horse power to leave an impression. Perfect for Andrew Minyard, he thought.

  “I’d say you give me your number and I’ll contact you tomorrow for the details.” He really didn't want to do this tonight. He usually didn't even take clients on the next day after a long scene, if he could help it. “Works for you?”

  “Yes.” It would also give Andrew time to change his mind, but if so, Neil told himself not to waste any regrets on it.

  “Alright. Tell me,” Neil said and Andrew waited for him to pull his phone out, and glanced at him sideways when he didn’t. “Go ahead.” The stupid thing had died on him. It had been begging for a recharge, and he hadn't been especially sorry when it finally gave up and shut down. Andrew gave him his number and waited a moment.

  “Think you can remember that?” Neil nodded. He was good with numbers. Numbers were easy and he could commit them to memory far easier than other things.

  “You can let me out there,” Neil said and pointed at the next corner.

          Andrew hadn't been sure if Neil would actually call him the next day. He felt neither surprise nor excitement when the call came. Excitement wasn't overrated in his opinion, it was just hard to obtain. For him at least. Some people could get excited about almost anything –a new game, the movie they had seen last night, food, their favorite team winning –Andrew didn't get it. He couldn't imagine what that must be like.

  Neil had asked him where he wanted to meet tonight. They had some details left to discuss before anything would happen. They could have met at a bar, but Andrew knew what kind of attention he would get if someone spotted him in public. He thought Neil might not appreciate that, and even if he didn't particularly care about what may or may not be to Neil’s liking, it could scare the man off.

  Andrew Minyard’s address was no secret. Getting up to his apartment though was not so easy. They should be fine there. They agreed to meet at eight, and that was that. He had other things to take care of before that. He’d have to get Kevin from the hospital and drive him to a team meeting. Their season was over, but that didn't mean they had nothing to do. Andrew might be suspended, but that didn't mean he was excused from practice. And Allison had another of those sponsorship deals, she was so annoyingly good at getting them. He hated those.

  Already not looking forward to doing any of the things that needed to be done today, Andrew got up and got changed. The shower would wait for later and so would getting something to eat. Cooking was nothing he enjoyed, and food was just a numbers game. Calories spent and calories taken in –simple math. Keeping track of the needed nutrients was the annoying part.

  On his way down he caught himself thinking about tonight. He was looking forward to it, he realized.

            They sat in Andrew’s living room, both with a coffee mug in front of them on the coffee table. Neil couldn't quite get over the fact that he sat in Andrew Minyard’s apartment; the Exy player Andrew Minyard that was. Facing a client wasn't that difficult to accept. So that was how he decided to look at Andrew now –another client.

  They went over a few other details. Yes, Neil got tested regularly and Andrew could have a look at his results, but they still would use protection –because Neil said so, and it wasn't negotiable. Not that Andrew had said anything against it. Since Andrew didn't want anything special –in fact, it seemed the goalkeeper just wanted to have vanilla sex, as far as Neil understood him –Neil had to actually think about the price. Did he want cash, Andrew wanted to know and yes, Neil would prefer that.

  The coffee wasn't halfway gone yet, and Neil got the impression that Andrew didn't like to be rushed, so he sat back and watched the man, trying to read him. That wasn't an easy thing to do, he had to admit. Andrew didn't display a lot of emotions, showed no hint of nervousness.

  “Let’s play a game,” Andrew proposed. “I have a question for you, and if you answer truthfully, you can ask me something in return.”

  “Shoot.” Neil put his coffee mug back onto the table.

  “Why this job?” Andrew looked at him closely.

  “It pays well. –If you are good at it.” Truth, also, he didn't exactly have a lot of options when he had thought about doing this for the first time. He could see that Andrew wasn't really satisfied with his answer, so he cut him short before he could ask anything else.

  “My turn. Are the rumors about you and Kevin Day true?”

  “You’ll have to be more specific. There are a lot of rumors, or so I’ve been told.” Neil thought about being subtle but Andrew never seemed to be. He couldn't imagine the goalkeeper giving a fuck about crudity.

  “Did you fuck Kevin?”

  “Gross.” Andrew looked at him, obviously bored. “Keep your fangirling for your jerk-offs.” So no, well, one great mystery solved. The fans went crazy with all the talk about Andrew taking revenge for his team captain and potential lover. It didn't bother Neil. Contrary to Andrews believes, he didn't get off on imagining other people having sex. He was not interested.

  “Do you want to fuck Kevin?” Andrew seemed interested, and that was interesting. The answer though was simple.

  “No.”

  “He not your type?” Neil leaned back, open posture, nothing to hide. No need to lie, no need to avoid.

  “I don’t have a type.” He was more interested in Andrews reactions to his answers. He could play this game.

  “Meaning?” Andrew leaned back, one elbow propped up on the sofa's back, chin in hand. His legs were spread comfortably and Neil watched him closely.

  “It’s not your turn.” He liked this game. He liked that Andrew wanted to play this because he, Andrew Minyard, was interested in him. “Are you gay?” Time to get to the bottom of this.

  “Yes.” No hesitation, no shame, no guilt. Interesting.

  “Again. Meaning?”

  “Meaning I don’t like men or women. They don’t excite me.” It wasn’t a lie per se. Neil was interested in people. He didn't much care for their gender. He had no type. He also never allowed himself to get emotionally involved with anybody. He couldn’t, as long as he had unfinished business. But sometimes, he just couldn't help himself feeling this tugging sensation when he met someone unusual. He had always made sure to keep his distance from those people afterwards.

  There was also the fact that he didn't feel the need for sex. He did it, because it was part of his job, but he didn't crave it. He treated it as just that, his job –methodically. There were skills to be acquired and perfected, lessons to be learned if he wanted to stay safe. It was about pleasing another person, not about his own pleasure. Sometimes he had to fake it, sometimes he could convince his body to feel it through clever manipulation. Knowing how to please a man could help you out with your own body quite a lot. He had no female clients. He was not opposed to them, it had just never happened so far. 

  And now there was Andrew. He knew of his fascination with the goalkeeper, of course. But Neil still thought about it as part of his love for Exy. He didn't know Andrew –he might get to know him now, but that didn't mean that he loved the man. He did, as a player. Andrew was a beast on the field, a cold and dangerous one, the best goalkeeper he knew.

  “Being an a-sexual prostitute must make for some awkward business.” No need to correct him there, Neil thought, but still…

  “Again, not your turn. Try to play by the rules.”

  “It was an observation,” Andrew interjected. ‘Smartass', was written all over Neil’s face and ‘Look who is talking’ seemed to be Andrew’s answer. Neil sighed. It was work related, he had to admit. He would answer questions if they were business related.

  “Not all my clients expect me to take pleasure in what we do in a scene. For some of them, it is not a requirement. –If it is, I know my way around the problem.”

  “Drugs,” Andrew guessed.

  “Among other things,” Neil admitted. “I don’t need them. Quite a lot of people don’t use and want their partners sober. I can respect that.” He had this talk down. 

  “So, you are not sexually interested in human beings. Animals, maybe? Things?”

  “No.” He didn’t let himself be provoked by this. If Andrew wanted to test him, he could go ahead. If he wanted to look down on him for what Neil did, he could go ahead. It would just cost him more later. Somehow, coming from Andrew Minyard, it felt insulting though. It also made it quite easy to not correct him on the human being part.

  “Kids?”

  “Gross, seriously.” Neil was a little annoyed by now but he didn't let it show. Something told him though, that it hadn't just been a provocation this time. But Andrew moved on as if it meant nothing to him.

  “Do you touch yourself?”

  “Sometimes.” No need to lie, nothing to hide…

  “Thinking of?” And there he drew the line. It didn’t matter to their possible arrangement.

  “Again, not your turn,” he said and let a sliver of annoyance show. “I think we are done with this game for now. Let’s move on.” Again, Andrew took it in stride.

  “Alright.” He got up, and after a moment, Neil followed his example. “I want to touch you. Yes or no?”

  Well, Neil thought, that’s a given. He hadn’t quite expected for Andrew to take the whole consent thing so literally. He shrugged and even as he said, “Yes, go ahead,” he could see that it displeased Andrew. Before the goalkeeper could say anything though, Neil adjusted his posture, took the hands out of his pockets and faced Andrew, giving him his full attention. “Yes,” he agreed once more, no flippancy detectable in his voice.

  Andrew blinked once, observed the change and said nothing. Better. Neil made a mental note.

  “Don’t touch me.” It was a warning, an order and a request. Neil nodded and crossed his wrists behind his back, thinking about mentioning some sort of rope, but left it for later. The goalkeeper stepped closer, and Neil saw the path Andrew’s hands would take as he followed the man’s eyes. Andrew’s hands were not hesitant, and they were not afraid. They moved across Neil’s upper body, starting at his chest, moving down to his hips and up again to his shoulders. They followed his arms down to his crossed wrists, and Neil lifted those as an invitation. As Andrew’s hands grabbed his ass, he looked the goalkeeper in the eyes and lifted an eyebrow. Andrew squeezed again in response but didn't let anything show on his face. Cocky bastard.

  Neil knew damn well that he looked the part. He kept in perfect shape, the shape of an athlete, and his clients never failed to tell him. –Except Andrew Minyard, of course. Well, the man didn't look half bad himself, he supposed. There was a thin line between arrogance and confidence, and Minyard managed to balance on top of it. Neil liked that. 

  Andrew leaned in and stopped before their lips touched. Neil could feel his breath, could smell his skin and heard the low “Yes?” coming from Andrew’s lips.

  “Yes,” he agreed and leaned in the last bit to kiss him. Andrew’s lips were hard on his, and he cupped Neil’s neck with his hand to hold him close. Eyes closed, Neil tried to learn every movement of Andrew’s mouth, learned how his teeth would capture his lower lip and nip at it until it hurt and then let go again, how he would kiss him again and again, as if he had waited far too long for this, how his lips moved in this heated battle without pause. Neil urged him on with small, encouraging sounds, until Andrew held him back by the hair and looked at him, brows furrowed.

  Doesn't like that, Neil filed away for future reference. He held Andrew’s gaze for a moment and then leaned in a bit again, with Andrew’s hand still tugging at his hair. He was content to simply kiss the goalkeeper this time, and was rewarded by Andrew’s tongue teasingly moving across his swollen lower lip. It felt almost too gentle at this point. Following Andrew’s lead, Neil deepened the kiss and felt strong fingers moving along his neck, up into his hair, pulling him closer, while another hand kept a few inches distance between them by holding onto his shoulder. They kept going until their lips hurt and they had to catch their breaths.

  Neil smiled a little and leaned in again, only to move back, just out of reach at the last moment. He left Andrew’s mouth alone for now and went lower, ghosting his breath along his jawline, stopping at his ear. “Yes?” he asked barely above a whisper. It would only take a tug of Andrew’s fingers in his hair to refuse him.

  “Yes,” the other man answered just as quietly, and Neil nipped gently at his earlobe. While Andrew seemed to be enjoying that, it didn't quite get him the desired reaction. He experimented a little, following the curve up with his tongue to his helix, making sure to gently breathe through his mouth. Moving down again, he found Andrew’s pulse point and felt the goalkeeper shiver.

  “Mmh,” he smiled and left open-mouthed kisses along his neck. Andrew hissed and made a step back, looking at him. Neil’s eyes widened a bit as he saw the slight blush on Andrew’s cheeks. “Too much?” Andrew didn't answer, maybe not quite sure himself. Neil straightened again and waited.

  Andrew rubbed at his neck once, as if to erase the feeling and glared at Neil. Still, you liked that, Neil thought. Andrew grabbed the hem of Neil’s shirt, and the glare shifted into a silent question. In response, Neil took a step back and took it off, letting it fall to the floor. He knew there was a lot to take in, and so he waited. The scars on his body were many and told stories about his childhood. They were stories he kept to himself though. The scars didn't change the fact that he was beautiful. All lean muscle, and a body made for movement and speed.

  Andrew took it all in, his eyes inspected every scar with interest. Those marks on his skin made Neil’s clients think that he could take a lot more than was actually willing to give. Every one of them held unpleasant memories. “You can touch them,” Neil told him.

  Andrew’s hand reached out and touched his shoulder. He forced Neil backwards and followed him, until Neil’s back hit the wall and they kissed again. With his hands pressed against the wall, Neil let Andrew explore his skin. He tried not to concentrate too hard on the way those strong hands mapped out his upper body, finding every mark on him. It got harder when Andrew bent his head and kissed his way down the side of Neil’s neck, finding the scar there that curved downwards to his collarbone.

  “I want to jerk you off,” Andrew murmured against his neck, and Neil had to fight down a disbelieving laugh. Had had heard it before, of course, but not in the voice of his favorite Exy player. Somehow, all of this was about him so far. It wouldn't be unusual for him to go down onto his knees right now. He hadn't even so much as touched Andrew yet, apart from a few kisses.

  “Be my guest,” he said, and hissed when Andrew attack his right nipple rather harshly. He could feel Andrew opening his belt and jeans, shoving the firm material out of the way, and reaching into his underwear. Neil was semi-hard already, and looking down, first at Andrew Minyard’s face and then his hand touching him, it was enough to get him fully erect in seconds. He bit onto the side of his lower lip, leaning back against the wall, with his hands firmly gripping the raw brick wall some interior designer had deemed fit to remain untouched, and pushed his hips forward, arching his back.

  One slide of Andrew’s hand, thumb hooked beneath the fabric, and his jeans and underwear fell down around his ankles. The same hand reached around and gripped his firm ass again, squeezing the muscle of his left cheek.

  Neil kept his eyes on Andrew’s face, saw the concentration there. Hey now, he thought, this shouldn't be the complicated part. Andrew’s grip was firm, his strokes methodical and efficient, a little on the harder side. There was nothing playful about it. When their eyes met, Andrew glared.

  “Don’t look at me.” Neil lowered his gaze and watched Andrew’s hand sliding over his cock. There was enough pre-cum to make it feel slick by now, making it easier. If Neil had been a hormone-crazed teenager, this would have been enough to get him off for sure. Hell, he hadn't even gotten a hand job at that age. Now he would need a little more from Andrew. If the goalkeeper wouldn't look like he’d need all his focus on his right hand right now, they might even have a little fun.

  Neil closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall, which was digging into his skin –damn the thing, it reminded him of a back alley –and arched his back even more, resting only his hands and head against it. He pushed his hips forward into Andrew’s hand in rhythm with his movement, and forgot about earlier as he moaned, while he helped Andrew to improve his technique a little. Remembering, he kept his mouth shut again and looked at the ceiling, trying to come up with another solution to tell Andrew what felt right.

  The goalkeeper sighed, a little annoyed, and pushed Neil flat against the wall again with one firm shove. It startled him a little, and he looked down again at Andrew, who leaned in with his free hand and forearm resting against Neil’s chest, their faces only inches apart. “You can talk, just don’t fake it,” he growled.

  “Kiss me again?” Neil requested and Andrew kissed him, hard. Neil had to admit, he liked that a lot. The nipping and scraping of teeth on his lower lip, the lazy slide of Andrew’s tongue against his, he liked that. It also took Andrew’s mind off what he was doing with his hands, and his movements became a little less methodical.

  “Mmh,” Neil moaned against his lips as it started to feel good. He leaned his head back and to the side, so Andrew could kiss his way down his neck again. “Ah, fuck yeah,” he hissed as the goalkeeper bit down on his left nipple and played with the other. Disobeying orders, Neil risked a glance down at the shorter man’s face, looking at his favorite player touching his naked body, and allowing himself to think about just that, and suddenly, in a violent rush of pleasure, he was done for. Neil closed his eyes and drew his brows together as he felt his orgasm approach. He didn't stop it, wasn't even sure if he could have. He was panting a few harsh breaths, snapping his hips back and forth into Andrew’s grip. “Coming,” he told Andrew, and moaned as it hit him, and he came hard into the goalkeeper’s hand.

  Andrew watched him closely and kept stroking until Neil’s body shuddered and he gasped, all spent and oversensitive. Andrew let go, and Neil leaned back against the wall for a moment longer, still a little surprised about what just had happened. He regained his composure and saw Andrew turning away, leaving for the bathroom; most likely to wash the mess off his hands. He let him go and rubbed one hand over his face, pushing his hair back. His palm was covered with indentations from the wall. Neil bent down and pulled his underwear and jeans back up, leaving the shirt off and the button of his jeans undone. Andrew was taking his time in the bathroom. Neil decided to wait a little longer and looked around.

  Not the typical living room of an athlete, he reckoned. Nothing to display Andrew’s achievements as an Exy player, nothing that even hinted at Exy, come to think of it. This was just a modern living room with an open kitchen, black leather furniture, and a big TV screen on the wall. It was kind of empty looking, and a little impersonal with no pictures or any other items telling a story about who was actually living here. Andrew had a bookcase, and Neil went over to inspect the contents of it. A little bit of everything, he decided; novels, mostly sci-fi and a few fantasy stories he recognized, philosophy, psychology and even chemistry. Nothing sports related though. Neil was about to give one of the psychology books a closer inspection, when he heard Andrew coming back. The man looked –different. Neil couldn't quite put his finger on it. He was about to ask what Andrew would like him to do next, when the shorter man preempted him.

  “You can leave now.” Wait, what? Neil blinked once, came back into the center of the room. Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out some folded bills.

  “Uhm…” Neil frowned and cocked his head. “Sorry, did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” Andrew’s voice was flat. He counted the money they had agreed on. It was enough to include more than a hand job though. Neil had thought the man would at least fuck him tonight, or receive a blow job. He had half a mind to tell Andrew that this was too much for what they had done so far, but the Exy player seemed to read his thoughts. “Just take it.” There was a hint of anger in his voice, and Neil shut up and took the money. If Andrew wouldn't tell him what had gone wrong, he couldn't change it.

  “Fine,” he agreed, his own voice flat now. He turned and collected his shirt from the floor, pulled it over and closed his jeans. Andrew didn't even look at him. Okay then… “Bye,” was all he said, and then Neil left the apartment. The door closed behind him with a sound that echoed down the empty hallway. “Well, fuck,” Neil muttered and went home.

<<Chapter 2                                                                                  Chapter 4>>

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What’s white, racist, and totally insane? No, it’s not Mel Gibson. We’re talking about the Ku Klux Klan, America’s most infamous hate group. Founded in 1870, the KKK has terrorized American citizens through propaganda, arson, and murder. Fortunately, the Klan’s popularity has faded over time, and today they’re viewed as a sad reminder of America’s racist history. But what’s even more interesting is the history of the Klan itself because, when you come right down to it, the KKK is completely crazy.

#1 The Black Cop In The Klan In 1979, undercover police officer Ron Stallworth spotted an interesting ad in his local newspaper. The KKK was moving into his town of Colorado Springs and was looking for new recruits. Stallworth decided to call them up and see if he could infiltrate the group. Of course, there was one little issue that made things a bit difficult — Stallworth was black. Not a guy to let details get in the way, Stallworth phoned up the Klan and told them he was a white man tired of being harassed by minorities. He even mentioned how angry he was that his sister had dated an African-American (not the term he used). His act worked. The Klan was only too happy to welcome Stallworth into the fold… after an initial meeting. Thinking on his feet, Stallworth sent a white narcotics officer in his place. He gave his buddy several forms of non-photo I.D. to prove he was actually Stallworth, and a few hours later the guy came back with an application form. Over the next year, Stallworth’s partner attended meetings while the undercover agent chatted with Klansman over the phone. He even called up and talked to Grand Wizard David Duke on several occasions. During one conversation, Duke said he could identify black people by the way they talked, something that must’ve made Stallworth chuckle. Eventually, Stallworth became such a respected member of the KKK that he was offered a leadership position in the local branch. Since that obviously couldn’t work out, the operation was cancelled, and Klansman Stallworth disappeared. However, during his investigation, Stallworth learned quite a bit about the Klan’s activities and prevented any cross burnings from occurring in Colorado Springs. Stallworth was so proud of his work that he framed his KKK membership card and hung it in his office until his well-deserved retirement.

#2 The KKK Hates The Westboro Baptists Nobody likes the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC), not even the KKK. While you’d think these two hate groups would get along—especially with their similar views on homosexuals, Jews and Christianity—they actually have quite a few differences, especially in regards to America’s military. On Memorial Day 2011, three members of the WBC showed up at Arlington Cemetery with their usual assortment of “You’re Going to Hell” and “Thank God for Dead Soldiers” signs. However, just a few feet away were ten members of the Knights of the Southern Cross, a Virginia branch of everybody’s favorite racist organization. The KKK had shown up specifically to counter-protest the Westboro bunch, and they spent the day handing out American flags. While everything seemed relatively peaceful (for a WBC/KKK protest that is), things might’ve gotten nasty if police officers weren’t on the scene. When reporters asked the Klansmen if they were armed, they refused to answer. As to the WBC, they weren’t particularly upset by the Klan’s arrival. Abigail Phelps, daughter of the late Fred, declared the KKK had “no moral authority,” claiming the Bible doesn’t support their racist views. Imperial Wizard Dennis LaBonte shot back, saying it was the soldiers who fought for Westboro’s right to protest. So who won this ultimate smackdown of evil? Well, at the end of the day both groups are still terrible, so we’ll say they both lost.

#3 The Literary Origins of Cross Burning Other than their ghostly hoods, the image most often associated with the KKK is that of a fiery cross. The Klan claims this eerie act symbolizes their Christian beliefs, and in a bizarre PR move, they’ve re-dubbed this ritual a “cross lighting.” Of course, we all know the reason behind their little bonfires. Like Justice Clarence Thomas once said, cross burnings represent the Klan’s “reign of terror” against African-Americans across the U.S. But how did this crazy custom get started? Well, literary fans, we’re sorry to say that Scottish writer Sir Walter Scott unintentionally played a pivotal role in terrifying thousands of black people throughout the 20th century. The Ivanhoe author was extremely popular in the American South, probably because the southern states were populated with people of Scotch-Irish origin. They were especially fond of his 1810 poem The Lady of the Lake, which referenced an ancient Scottish custom of burning a cross to call a meeting of all the clans (although the Scottish cross was in the shape of an “X,” not the Roman one we associate with Jesus). Scott’s vivid imagery captured the imagination of novelist Thomas Dixon. Not only was he a fan of Scottish poetry, Dixon was also a supporter of the KKK. Inspired by Scott’s cross burning scene, he added it to his pro-Klan novel, The Clansman, even though the first KKK (1886 to early 1870s) had never even thought about setting a crucifix on fire. When the 1905 novel was turned into the infamous movie The Birth of a Nation, director D.W. Griffith kept the cross burning scene. The scene inspired William J. Simmons, founder of the second Klan, to kick off the 1915 revival with the first cross burning service in KKK history. Thanks, Sir Walter Scott!

#4 Superman Fought the Klan The Man of Steel has fought some pretty dangerous villains in his day, from Doomsday to Brainiac to Lex Luthor. However, in the 1940s, Superman took on an even more dangerous foe, the dreaded KKK. On June 10, 1946, kids across America tuned in their radios to hear The Adventures of Superman and were enthralled by a new serial called “Clan of the Fiery Cross.” Instead of fighting boring old Neo-Nazis or gangsters, this time Superman was battling racism. “Clan of the Fiery Cross” was the brainchild of Stetson Kennedy, a Georgia man who infiltrated the Ku Klux Klan to learn their secrets. He attended meetings, observed rituals, memorized passwords and tried to pass his information to law enforcement officials. However, the cops weren’t interested. Either they were too afraid to take a stand against the Klan, or they were actually members. Frustrated, Kennedy approached the producers of The Adventures of Superman radio show and asked if they were interested in exposing the Klan. They jumped at the chance, and soon the show was mocking the hooded baddies and revealing their codes and customs. Shocked and outraged, the local clan Kennedy had joined started coming up with new passwords and observances. And just as quickly, “Klansman” Kennedy passed along all their new practices to the Superman producers. In fact, it’s said the local branch he’d infiltrated was so humiliated that they actually closed down their chapter. After the success of the Superman show, Kennedy would continue fighting intolerance, publishing books and helping the government crack down on the Klan. He might not have had X-ray vision or the ability to fly, but Stetson Kennedy was a real-life superhero.

#5 The KKK Summer Getaway Looking for a little rest, relaxation and racial purity? Well, if you had lived in Rockport, Texas ninety years ago, you could have visited the Kool Koast Kamp! Billed as an outing “for a red-blooded American” (Klan language for a white person), the seaside resort offered all sorts of fun activities like daylight yachting, moonlight excursions and watermelon parties. Attendees were encouraged to take a dip in the cool, blue ocean, but were asked to refrain from “extreme dress.” Feel like fishing? The Klan was more than happy to provide rods, reels, boats and bait. And who knows? You might even learn a thing or two. The Kamp brochure promised that guests would learn the differences between hammerheads, sea urchins and porpoises. Most importantly, the camp was perfectly safe, especially for white women. The brochure boldly states that “wonderful mothers” need not fear for their safety. “The Fiery Cross guards you at night and an officer of the law, with the same Christian sentiment, guards carefully all portals.” “Beautiful daughters” were also assured the Kamp was just as safe as a mom’s embrace. As bizarre as this all sounds, the Kool Koast Kamp wasn’t really that weird in 1924. Back in the day, the Klan was viewed as a social institution, an organization that helped build and strengthen the community. The group gave money to down-on-their-luck members and promoted small businesses owned by hood-wearing entrepreneurs. Similarly, the resort was meant for poorer Klan clans who couldn’t afford a fancy vacation. For $10, a family could rent an Army tent (complete with cots) and enjoy ten days of summertime fun. However, the Kamp had a second, much more insidious goal. Attendees were asked to bring along non-members in hopes of gaining new recruits. The idea was to dispel negative media portrayals and show the world that Klansmen were just normal, fun loving, family oriented Americans… who lynched black people. They didn’t mention that last part in the brochure.

#6 The KKK Show For Kids When the first episode of The Andrew Show aired in 2009, white audiences were introduced to a blonde-haired boy of about ten. His name was Andrew Pendergraft, and he liked talking about movies, TV shows and the dangers of race mixing. Of course, this preteen hater was nothing more than an indoctrinated pawn reading from cue cards the whole time. Little Andrew is the grandson of Thom Robb, national director of the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, the most powerful KKK group today. Robb has spent his life remarketing the Klan as a friendlier, less hateful organization. Part of his ploy involved creating a series of white pride web shows, all hosted by members of his family who sit in front of ugly green screens. For the adults, there’s This Is the Klan which features Robb and his daughter/Andrew’s mom, Amanda Pendergraft, discussing the news. For the teens, there’s Youth Focus, hosted by Shelby Pendergraft who’s also a member of the racist country group “The Heritage Connection.” And most disturbingly, there’s “The Andrew Show,” the Sesame Street for baby bigots. Each of the eighteen episodes starts off with Andrew smiling for the camera and welcoming viewers with, “This show is for all the white kids out there!” He then proceeds to talk about whatever movies or shows he’s watched lately and then ties them into KKK ideology. In one episode, he complains about how the character of Tiana from The Princess and the Frog falls in love with a white character. He critiqued The Spy Next Door for showing Jackie Chan dating a white woman. He’s also full of troubling anecdotes to help drive his point home. For example, Andrew once compared baking a cake to interracial relationships. “My mom taught us about the frosting and when you put the different colors in it—the white frosting? It can never be white again.” While The Andrew Show promotes hatred, it’s important to remember the real victim here — Andrew himself. After all, he’s just a brainwashed kid.

#7 The KKK Highway Scandal Americans love the First Amendment. It guarantees people the right to say and believe whatever they want. But those rights apply to everyone, no matter how awful their beliefs. That’s something the state of Missouri found out the hard way. In 1994, the state’s Department of Transportation received an application from the local Klan. The group wanted to adopt a section of Interstate 55, which mean not only would they be cleaning the highway, they’d get their very own sign on the side of the road. Obviously, Missouri wasn’t too keen on condoning Klan activities and refused the application. Furious, the Klan took the Department of Transportation to court… and won. The judge decided the KKK had every right to adopt a stretch of highway, a ruling the 8th Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed in March 2000. While they were legally defeated, Missouri had one last surprise for the Klan. Shortly after the ruling, the state congress renamed the section adopted by the Klan “Rosa Parks Highway” after the famous civil rights activist. However, in 2012, the KKK lost interest in the highway and stopped picking up trash, which allowed the government to kick them out of the program. History has a tendency to repeat itself though, and that same year, the International Keystone Knights of the KKK asked to adopt a part of Georgia State Route 515. Despite their claims that they just wanted to keep the road “beautiful,” the government turned them down, knowing full well the adoption was really a PR move. Of course, if the events in Missouri are any sign, Georgia will probably lose their battle too. In a society that treasures free speech and freedom of belief, those liberties belong to everyone, even the bad guys.

#8 The KKK Store That’s Owned By A Black Pastor Laurens, South Carolina has a sad history when it comes to racism. The town is named after an 18th century slave trader and, like many southern cities, was plagued by segregation and civil injustice. As an example of its tragic past, look no further than the Echo Theater. Once upon a time, African-Americans were forced to enter through a side door and watch movies from the balcony, separated from their white neighbors. Today, Echo Theater is home to the notorious Redneck Shop, a little store that sells Klan merchandise and hosts neo-Nazi meetings. But while the store is run by a racist named John Howard, the theater itself belongs to Rev. David Kennedy, a black pastor. Why does an African-American reverend own a KKK shop? Well, the answer is kind of complicated. The story starts in 1994, when John Howard befriended a young man named Michael Burden. Howard took Burden under his wing, taught him the ways of the Klan, and let Burden and his family live in the Echo Theater basement. But Burden’s wife, who was part Cherokee, eventually grew tired of Howard’s racism. She wanted to leave, but Howard didn’t want his protégé to move. Hoping to appease the family, Howard gave Burden the deed to the theater under the condition he could run the Redneck Shop until his death. Despite Howard’s gift, the two men eventually had a fight, and the elder racist kicked the Burdens out of the basement. The Burdens were alone and had nowhere to go, and that’s when Rev. Kennedy and the New Beginning Church stepped in. Despite the fact Burden was a Klansman, the black church bought his family dinner and rented them a hotel room. And as Burden was desperate for cash, he asked Rev. Kennedy if he’d buy the deed for the Echo Theater for $1,000. Kennedy agreed, and that’s how an African-American pastor came to own a KKK shop. And that’s when the drama really started. In 2006, Howard tried to sell the building, either not knowing or not caring it actually belonged to Kennedy. Hoping to stop the old racist, Kennedy sued Howard in 2008, sparking a four year legal battle over who rightfully owned the Echo Theater. During the long, grueling process, Kennedy’s church came under attack from local racists who left dead animals inside and nailed Confederate flags to the front doors. Finally, in 2012, a circuit judge ruled the theater rightfully belonged to the New Beginning Church… only they couldn’t kick Howard out. According to the deed, he could keep on selling his Klan robes and offensive T-shirts until the day he died. Of course, Howard is a sick man, and he might not be around much longer. And what does Kennedy plan on doing with the building once he can finally close down the Redneck Shop? Well, he says, “I think that the church would do good in that building.”

#9 The KKK Neighborhood Watch The citizens of Fairview Township in York County, Pennsylvania don’t have to worry about leaving their kids at home or locking their doors at night. Aside from the fact they have an extremely low crime rate, their neighborhoods are under the ever watchful eye of the Traditionalist American Knights, a KKK group based in Missouri. Lucky, lucky them. Earlier this year, Pennsylvanians were dismayed to find leaflets declaring, “You can sleep tonight knowing the Klan is awake!” Chances are good the flyers had the exact opposite effect, especially on anyone who wasn’t white, Protestant, or native born. Of course, the Knight’s leader, Frank Acona, claims his group isn’t “targeting any specific ethnicity.” They’re just concerned about all the recent car break-ins and aim to put a stop to it. To make things hard on the criminals, Acona’s men will give up their hoods in exchange for everyday clothing. This way, the crooks will never know which ugly, bucktoothed, unshaven white guy hanging around the neighborhood is a Klansman. But why would the Klan want to form a watch group? Well, they need as much publicity as they can get. Whereas they once were nearly four million men strong, today the Klan boasts less than four thousand members. Groups like the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) believe the Klan is desperate to recruit fresh troops and hopes crazy schemes will draw in new blood. However, there’s one last question… why aren’t they wearing their robes? According to the ADL, it’s because they’re not really patrolling the streets. As the Pennsylvania chapter of the Traditionalist American Knights probably has less than fifty members, they don’t have enough men to actually watch out for crooks. And that’s just fine with the folks of Fairview Township.

#10 The KKK Tried To Start Their Own Country Michael Perdue was a loser with big dreams. A Texas convict with Nazi ties, Perdue wanted what everyone wants — to conquer the island of Dominica and establish his own little empire. It was 1980, and the little nation had only been independent from Great Britain for two years. They didn’t have an army, and their newly created police force wasn’t exactly a top notch crime fighting agency. With enough money and the right men, Perdue figured staging a coup would be easiest thing in the world. He was wrong. The plan involved returning the recently deposed Dominican Prime Minister, Patrick John, to power. In exchange, John would give Perdue the right to export lumber and open a casino. The Texan also planned to start a lucrative cocaine operation and become rich beyond his wildest dreams. (Unbeknownst to Perdue, John actually planned on killing him once his position was restored.) With a puppet dictator in place and financial backing from Canadian mobsters, Perdue visited David Duke, the recently retired Grand Wizard of the Knights of the KKK. Duke thought the idea sounded great but was smart enough not to get directly involved. Instead, he agreed to help Perdue rent a boat and suggested several Klansman who might like to invade an island populated by black people. With Duke’s help, Perdue was able to assemble a team of ten mercenaries, almost all of whom were either Klansmen or Neo-Nazis. In fact, one of the gunmen was none other than Don Black, the current Grand Wizard of the Knights of the KKK. After nicknaming their little mission “Operation Red Dog,” the group armed themselves with thirty-three guns, twenty sticks of dynamite, several blasting caps, and five thousand bullets. In addition to their weapons, they also brought along Nazi flags, Confederate flags, and plenty of whiskey. Their plan was to set sail from Louisiana, invade the island, and seize the armory and police station. It seemed like a solid plan, but they didn’t count on the charter boat captain. When he learned about Perdue’s plans, he immediately notified the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF). What happened next sounds like a scene from a crazy comedy. On the night the mercenaries were to set sail, they met with undercover ATF agents posing as sailors. The officers loaded Perdue’s private army into the back of a van, explaining they’d drive them to the boat. Only when the doors were finally opened, the halfwit army found themselves staring down the barrel of forty SWAT team machine guns. “You’re not going to Dominica,” a voice epically boomed. “You’re going to jail!” Unfortunately, David Duke escaped prosecution due to a lack of evidence, but the rest of the nutty gang was found guilty of conspiracy and violation of the Neutrality Act. And while they never established their Ku Klux Kingdom, the “Bayou of Pigs” incident lives on as a tribute to true Klan stupidity.

Source: TopTenz

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