#useless venezuela facts

[saltofmercury]

Don't know that it's a *good* fic request but: Soap being freaked out by a giant spider and while others make fun of him, they're trying to hide that they're freaked out too

Thank you for this, I laughed and did not sleep for nights because I kept dreaming about this spider.

"Spider"

“I can’t believe we’re staying in a barn” Soap’s eyebrows raised, looking at the abandoned, huge, brown barn in front of him. 

On a mission in Venezuela, following a drug lord, the 141 ran out of options to secure a safehouse. A barn located about 45 miles from where they were supposed to be fighting, realizing they were a little bit over their heads on this mission. 

After a successful mission prior, cockiness had filled each of the members' heads. The barn, which smelled of lake water and horseshit, definitely humbled them in their new environment. 

Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz had all retreated to this small barn. Tired and hungry from walking so much. Price and Ghost settled outside keeping the first watch as Soap and Gaz took rest first.

Soap had opened the doors to the barn and the smell hit him. Gaz, who had been in much more disgusting places did not mind at all, just wanted to catch some rest before it was his turn to take watch.

He couldn’t help but shake his head at Soap. He never assumed Soap to be such a prissy thing when it came to staying in this barn.

Soap was disgusted. He had not slept in 3 days, the fatigue weighing heavily on his eyelids, shoulders, and legs. He dropped the gun slung over his shoulder and began to make a makeshift bed out of the hay and dirt left inside. He ended up realizing it was not dirt, but dried up feces he was mixing together. 

He gagged out loud. Now he was pissed. Rightfully pissed. Did they not have a better fucking place to take cover for the night? He threw his gloves to the end of the barn. “That’s boggin!”

He shifted over to another space of the barn where Gaz was. He flashed his light inside of the barn and began to make the hay bed again. He was fuming but he wasn’t going to say anything. Sure, there had been worse positions he was in, but right now, he could not handle a grotesque barn.

Gaz saw the opportunity he had to take. He knew Soap was pissed when his top lip curled into his mouth and he remained quiet. 

“Have you ever heard about the folklore here? They hanged a mom in a barn for killing all her children.”

Soap leaned in, “I told you I don’t like your ghost stories or any keech you researched.”

Gaz smiled, “You scared Soap?” “Y’know they say that in this very barn, the woman likes to come and snatch you by the legs to drown ya in the river nearby.”

“haud yer wheesht, just don’t like messin’ with the dead you dobber.” He was tired. Tired of all the useless facts Gaz had been blabbing about the country, and its ghost stories. 

He finished his set up near a thick post. The post was almost as big as his head. After shucking off his gear and carefully placing his weapons by him, he leaned by it, mentally telling himself this was better than any cold ground outside.

Gaz made an eerie noise. He made a guttural noise with this throat, followed by a poor impression of a woman.

“Johnny…. My children… please save my children”

“shitebag.. you startin’?”

Gaz bit the inside of his cheek to hold back laughter. Soap was just too easy.

Gaz continued to make noises, throwing small rocks from his pack to have Soap twitch around. The rocks weren’t hitting him, so he looked around for something else. He then saw his opportunity. A small spider on a post above Soap’s head. He grabbed it and chucked it softly onto Soap’s face.

Soap swiped at his face. His eyes went wide, and his stomach dropped. He turned to face Gaz.

“Enough playing around, I felt something crawl on my entire cheek”

Gaz howled. Soap was so stupid.

“Fuck this I’m not stayin’ here.” Soap had proceeded to sit up looking around.

“You scared of a little spider?” He said, attempting to catch his breath.

“You didn’t feel it mate, it took over ma’ entire cheek” Soap continued.

“You scared of a little bite?”

“You see when those get infected? Entire spot goes BLACK and your face starts fallin’ off I’m not dealing with that.”

Soap wasn’t satisfied. He got up and began searching beneath the hay with his flashlight. He pointed his knife and chucked the hay off trying to find whatever it was that crawled on him.

Gaz stopped laughing, thinking about how Price would surely be pissed knowing they were wasting time dicking around instead of resting up. He was about to tell him he grabbed the spider above his head and to try and get some rest. Soap flashed the light up on the post, where Gaz took the baby spider from and they soon realized the terror watching them from above.

They both jumped back. Soap almost dropped his flashlight just seeing it.

“Fuckin’ hell that’s HUGE!” Gaz pulled his light out and looked at the monstrosity.

The spider was massive. Hairy, brown, and thick– just like the post Soap was laying against. Completely camouflaged, its body had taken up the entire post, its legs wrapped around it. It didn’t move, or twitch. It laid there minding its own business.

Gaz now felt scared. “Shit what if it jumps?”

They turned off their lights. Gaz came to an awful realization in his head.

This was a goliath birdeater. He had been reading up on South America when he read a “fun fact” about Venezuela having a record for the biggest spider, and also eating this spider. He also came to the conclusion that the one he threw at Soap was its babies…

He spoke in shock –

“What if it laid babies underneath the hay?”

Soap eyed the barn hay, if any brown spots had been crawling around. Seeing Gaz terrified, only made him realize something horrific, if he was scared, who was going to kill it?

“Aye so now I’m not the only one scared?”

“Fuck off mate YOU never specified how BIG it was!” Gaz said, shaking his head.

“Aye and me sayin’ something crawled on my ENTIRE cheek wasn’t big enough for you?” Soap pointed at him with his knife. 

Gaz kept his eyesight on the spider. It was huge, hairy, and looked fake…like it took steroids, something you buy for a Halloween prop. It immediately reminded him of the time in Australia.

“This is why we left Australia,” he said in a low voice. Still astonished at the size of it.

Soap was already pissed he felt it crawl on him, and that he needed to get to sleep.

“What if we just shoot the damn thing?”

“Waste ammo? Do you think Price or Ghost would let us?” Gaz thought out loud.

“Cannae be sleeping with that half yorkie half crab above me.” Soap’s patience was thin. His fear had heightened.

“Right then, you should shoot it.”

Gaz cocked his head towards Soap. “You’re kiddin’ right?” Gaz knew once he shot that thing, either babies would come out or guts. “I’m not doing it. There’s no spider in my post.”

Soap rubbed down his face with his hand. He was about to tell Gaz to go fuck himself when Ghost opened the barn door and came in.

“You two muppets done cryin’? I can hear you from outside!”

“And you didn’t think to come inside to help?” Gaz asked him.

“Oh bloody hell, what are ya cryin’ about?”

Soap turned on his flashlight again trailing up the post for Ghost to see.

Ghost remained his composure, not believing his own eyes and spoke –

“Bloody hell, Soap shoot that damn thing!”

“I’m not shootin’ it Lt!” Soap looked at Ghost. “You shoot it and Gaz and I will be quiet for the rest of night.”

Ghost sighed, severely annoyed that they had been making all this noise over a spider, way up high away from them. He took his gun out and aimed for the spider.

When suddenly, something in his stomach told him to stop. What if it jumped on him or what if he missed? 

“Right then, let us stand back, yeah?” Ghost took a few steps back and asked Soap to position the flashlight on it. As soon as the light hit the spider again, it jumped forward.

Soap ran behind Ghost, where he pulled a gun from his pack, then positioned it with the light then began to shoot recklessly to the ground. Ghost’s eyes began frantically searching the floor before he shot anything while Gaz had been near the barn door, swaying his light around to make sure it didn’t jump on him. 

Price had barged through the door witnessing his task force acting like complete imbeciles.

“What the devil has got into all of you?”

“I still haven’t shot it, Lt. Let's just go outside. It’s his barn now” Soap motioned to Ghost walking toward the door.

“I’ve asked you all a question!” Price had shouted.

Ghost now felt so stupid, Price was the reason he came inside the barn to tell Soap and Gaz to shut up.

“Sir… it’s uh… a uh… spider.” Soap said.

Price had lost it. He yelled at his 3 members of the crew. “Givin’ out our location knowing that we’re basically on the run? Over a damn spider?”

Price was fuming. 

Gaz spoke up, “Sir it was huge. If we can kill it, I assure you we will go to sleep.”

The four of them turned on their flashlights and searched the barn. 

There was no sign of the brown creature anywhere. Price mumbled about not being paid enough for this.

“Well it seems it’s gone now, I’ve got no time for nonsense. ”

Soap nudged Gaz “Had t’ get yer daddy for this one aye?”

Gaz shoved him away, then out of the corner of his eye he saw the spider again. He motioned to it with his finger speechless. 

The spider looked unreal crawling around on the ground like that. It was fast too, crawling up the ground towards the barn door.

Price looked to where Gaz was pointing at, and stepped back, pulled his gun out and positioned it sideways, closing one eye to shoot the thing. The single bullet managed to kill the spider, guts flying everywhere. It shot one of his legs off in the process.

“There now, are we alright?” Price said again. Loading his gun into its holder. Mentally kicking himself for using ammo on a spider. “Let’s go Lt.” Ghost followed him outside, in disbelief that he overreacted.

Gaz and Soap settled by the door now, back to back, adrenaline still running through their bodies over the massive spider. Neither of them would admit it.

Right outside the barn door, Ghost and Price settled into their positions again, guns cocked and ready.

Price spoke, “bloody muppets crying over a spider.” he laughed to Ghost. Ghost nodding and continuing to scan the area.

“Tell you one thing, after seeing that creature in person I think it’s best we don't sleep in there.”

“Tell you one thing, after seeing that creature in person I think it’s best we don't sleep in there.”

#ask #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mwii

[renee-writer]



Yesterday, the Secretary General of the United Nations, António Guterres, took to the floor of the United Nations to blame Israel for the murder of 1,500 of its own citizens and the kidnapping of another 200. He intoned:

Nothing can justify the deliberate killing, injuring and kidnapping of civilians — or the launching of rockets against civilian targets. All hostages must be treated humanely and released immediately and without conditions. I respectfully note the presence among us of members of their families. Excellencies, it is important to also recognize the attacks by Hamas did not happen in a vacuum. The Palestinian people have been subjected to 56 years of suffocating occupation.

This is, simply put, Jew-hatred. It is an apology for terrorism. It ignores reality — the vast majority of Palestinians live under direct Palestinian rule, whether Hamas in the Gaza Strip or the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank. But worse than that, it reverses reality: It lays the blame for a genocidal mass slaughter of Jews, on the Jews.

Contextualizing mass murder is par for the course for the evil organization that is the United Nations.

Guterres didn’t stop there. He blamed Hamas’ perversities on settlements — meaning Jews building homes in the heartland of biblical Israel, Judea, and Samaria. Clearly, this somehow contextualizes mass rape and burning of babies.

He then drew equivalence between Hamas’ Holocaust atrocities and Israeli military retaliation directed at terrorist targets:

Excellencies, Even war has rules. … The relentless bombardment of Gaza by Israeli forces, the level of civilian casualties, and the wholesale destruction of neighborhoods continue to mount and are deeply alarming. … Protecting civilians can never mean using them as human shields. Protecting civilians does not mean ordering more than one million people to evacuate to the south, where there is no shelter, no food, no water, no medicine and no fuel, and then continuing to bomb the south itself. I am deeply concerned about the clear violations of international humanitarian law that we are witnessing in Gaza.

Yes, this is the supposed head of the international community likening military operations to terrorist ones, all in the name of international law and human rights. Disgusting.

And that’s the point. If Guterres and the international community can somehow equate Israel with its terrorist enemies, they can achieve their goal: the survival of Hamas. Which is precisely what Guterres called for:

To ease epic suffering, make the delivery of aid easier and safer, and facilitate the release of hostages, I reiterate my appeal for an immediate humanitarian ceasefire. … Even in this moment of grave and immediate danger, we cannot lose sight of the only realistic foundation for a true peace and stability: a two-State solution.

A two-state solution? With whom, pray tell? Hamas? The terror-supporting Palestinian Authority? Islamic Jihad?

It doesn’t matter. The end goal is clear: Stop Israel from defending itself. Perpetuate the so-called “cycle of violence.”

Latest Releases:



Watch



Watch



Watch



Watch

Make it harder for Israel to survive. Continue the UN’s mission to destroy the Jewish state.

The United Nations is a garbage heap of epic proportions. It’s not merely a useless organization that costs the United States over $12 billion per year, but it’s also an epic failure of an organization that provides cover for the world’s worst human rights abusers — and actively foments Jew-hatred and terrorism in the Middle East.

The United Nations General Assembly is dominated by nations that hate Israel and care little for human rights. That is why from 2015 to 2022, the UN General Assembly adopted 140 resolutions directed against Israel. It adopted one against North Korea, one against Afghanistan, zero against Venezuela, zero against Hamas, and zero against China. In fact, the rest of the world combined only merited 68 resolutions of condemnation.

The UN’s particular hatred for Israel has been a long-running theme.

That makes sense: Some 56 member nations are also members of the so-called Organization of Islamic Cooperation. But that means, the UN has served as the propaganda arm for Jew-haters all over the globe for decades. In 1975, at the behest of the Soviet Union, the United Nations General Assembly passed a resolution declaring Zionism — the political movement for a Jewish homeland — “racism,” prompting the U.S. Ambassador to the UN, Daniel Patrick Moynihan, to declare that the UN had made anti-Semitism international law, and adding, “A great evil has been loosed upon the world.”

Nothing in the nature of the UN has changed since.

The United Nations happens to have an entire department dedicated to the forwarding of anti-Israel propaganda and terrorism. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) was founded in December 1949 with the purpose of dealing with refugees from the 1948 Israeli War of Independence — the Arab refugees, that is. The 800,000 Jews expelled from Arab and Muslim lands in the same time period were simply taken in by Israel. The UNRWA is, in fact, the only agency dedicated to one specific population. And it has helped keep that population in refugee camps for over 70 years.

The UNRWA is almost entirely staffed by Palestinian Arabs. It is a globally sponsored welfare organization, with 23,000 Palestinian Arab employees and just 100 UN professionals from elsewhere. The UNRWA has never condemned Hamas’ agenda; it routinely hires members of Hamas and Islamic Jihad.

One of the UNRWA’s chief tasks is running dozens of Palestinian schools. The UNRWA, as you might predict, then helps indoctrinate Palestinian Arab schoolchildren in Jew-hatred. According to a March report from United Nations Watch, the UNRWA has overseen the broad indoctrination of Palestinian youths into such toxic and vile anti-Semitism. That report names 47 cases of incitement to violence by UNRWA staff; 133 UNRWA educators and staff who promote hate and violence on social media; and another 82 educators and staff involved in 30 UNRWA schools who create and distribute Jew-hating content to students.

For example, one reading comprehension exercise for ninth-graders at Al-Maghazi Middle School for Boys in the Gaza Strip celebrated the burning of a Jewish bus as a “barbecue party.” Fifth-graders at the same school were taught that martyrdom and jihad are “the most important meanings of life.”

This sort of stuff isn’t uncommon by any stretch of the imagination in Palestinian schools run by the UNRWA. That’s why Ismail Haniyeh, Hamas’ political leader, is a UNRWA graduate. So is Abdel Aziz al-Rantisi, former Hamas chief. So is Ibrahim Maqadama, the mastermind behind Hamas’ military structure.

Neither are UNRWA resources dedicated to helping terrorist groups directly. UNRWA vehicles have been used to transport terrorists and weapons — and that includes ambulances. UNRWA schools have been used by Hamas to store weapons. The UNRWA also helps promote Hamas front groups, including the Palestinian Return Center.

Latest Episode:



Ep. 1836 - F*** The United Nations

The Secretary General of the UN “contextualizes” Jew-hating mass murderers; the Biden administration tries to deter Iran; and the wheel of Republican speaker of the House candidates keeps on turning.

LISTEN NOW

The UNRWA has been used by Hamas to cover its tunnels. Last November, the UNRWA protested the “man-made cavity” on the grounds of a UNRWA school, calling it a “serious violation of the Agency’s neutrality.” The statement, naturally, made no mention of Hamas. In 2021, Hamas prevented entry to an investigative team from the UN to a shaft built under a UNRWA school.

For all these reasons, the Trump administration cut off contributions from the U.S. to the UNRWA. Then President Biden, in all his wisdom, restored hundreds of millions of dollars in funding — much of which, undoubtedly, went to Hamas. Over the course of two years, the administration gave the UNRWA some $700 million.

This is why, back in February, Rep. Chip Roy of Texas called for the defunding of the UNRWA, noting, “UNRWA’s lengthy and detailed history of promoting anti-Semitism, violence, and terrorism through ‘educational’ materials, and its continued ties to Hamas, should completely disqualify this corrupt entity from receiving any U.S. taxpayer funding.”

It didn’t happen.

And so it shouldn’t be surprising that, after the October 7 massacre, many employees of the UNRWA went online to celebrate the mass Jew-murder.

The United Nations has never fulfilled its core mandate. The purpose of the UN was expressed in its Charter:

… to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war, which twice in our lifetime has brought untold sorrow to mankind, and to reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men and women and of nations large and small, and to establish conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of international law can be maintained, and to promote social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom.

The United Nations was established, primarily by the United States, in the aftermath of World War II, in an attempt at creating a family of nations. It has been a disaster area ever since, serving more as a propaganda tool on behalf of third-world autocracies than the institution for defense of democracy that served as its initial mission.

The UN should be disbanded and defunded. The UN building should be fumigated and rededicated to something more useful — like manufacturing manure.

And never again should anyone pretend that the United Nations has the power of the moral high ground.

Ben Shapiro

Editor Emeritus,

The Daily Wire

Top five headlines:

Israel Repels Hamas Incursion From Sea

Israel Allows In More Aid But Not Fuel

Elite Universities Face Donor Revolt

Poll: Nobody Trusts Media

Meadows Testifies Trump Election Wasn’t Stolen



© Copyright 2023, The Daily Wire, LLC

1831 12th Ave South Ste. 460, Nashville, TN 37203

Terms of Use | Privacy Policy

Unsubscribe from special messages | Unsubscribe from all email



#ben shapiro #isreal #🇮🇱🙏🇮🇱🙏

[johnnyrobish]

Lauren Boebert Claims Taking Away AR-15s Will Cause Americans to Eat Their Dogs

Rep. Lauren Boebert (R-CO) told host Sebastian Gorka during a recent Newsmax interview, that if the Democrat Party is allowed to take away all your “AR-15s and your AK-47s,” we will end up like Venezuela where they started eating their dogs because the government took away their guns.

Now, as many of you know, I’m often a critic, but this time I have to admit Ms. Boebert is right on the money!  Frankly, it kind of makes me wonder why no one else has ever thought about anything like this before.  In fact, word on the street has it that after learning about the Boebert interview, a helluva lot of dogs are asking themselves why they only have a bunch of useless, chewable rubber toys to play with, but no AK-47s. 

Obviously, the only logical thing to do is immediately arm each and every American dog with an assault rifle, along with plenty of rounds of live ammo.  As for protecting the dogs of Venezuela, a quick solution might be for Rep. Boebert to consider sending some of her huge personal stash of assault weapons down to Venezuela’s dogs, just to get things started. 

One thing’s for sure, if every single dog in the US is heavily armed, no one will even dare try and eat them - especially Democrat Party hacks like Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer.  As the NRA might put it, “the country will be one helluva lot better off - once we start seeing more ‘Goooood Dogs’ with a gun.”  You know, with logic like that, it makes you wonder why Boebert isn’t advising the Herschel Walker campaign?  Talk about a perfect fit!     

Meanwhile, until Rep. Boebert’s plan comes to fruition, next time any Los Angelenos head over to Dodger Stadium and decide to partake in one of those world-famous “Dodger Dogs,” I suggest they better think twice about what the hell they may be eating.  All of that aside, the really sad thing is that eating stray dogs is probably a helluva lot safer choice, than eating anything ever served at Boebert’s restaurant.

If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve just read, please consider joining me at:

#Lauren Boebert #News #Politics #usa politics #comedy #humor #satire #jokes #news #current events #progressives #democracy #gun violence

[useless-venezuelafacts]

A million congratulations to Alfredo Romero of Foro Penal for earning the Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Award for his tireless work representing and advocating for the political prisoners of Venezuela!

#useless venezuela facts #useless venezuelafacts #alfredo romero #foro penal #venezuela #rfk human rights award #robert f kennedy human rights award #MY GODFATHER GUYS

[minisoc]

As requested, line by line breakdown of testoster2's anti communist rant about parties.

> idk which baby leftist needs to hear this

off to a great condescending start from someone whose only left credit is claiming to be on the left on their Tumblr

> but joining a socialist party will be a waste of your time.

I couldn't imagine a more cop opinion to start us off with. i see things like this and i think: whose interests does this serve? "oh no baby leftists, don't join a party" just brings to mind this image

> you'll probably have to pay a monthly due

that's true. every communist party in history has taken dues from members. it's typically scaled to what you can manage though and it's part of the collective effort of the party organization to make social change. my dues sent comrades to Venezuela and Cuba to learn from socialists there, they produced our programs for free lunches, it built our community centers. i have no regrets about paying my dues, i pay dues to my union as well.

> that goes to like. flyers no one reads

projection. sounds now like op is defending their own lack of action with a lack of belief in the possibility of change. in my experience people do read things and even change their minds after reading things. if people were not able to be affected by the written word then propagandists on all sides would be in a tough situation.

> that you yourself will have to give to people

oh no, you mean joining a party means you might have to do outreach and talk to people? can see why it's not for op, then.

> (this in case the money doesn't go straight in the party leader's pocket).

op has never seen this but says it like it's a fact. it would be pretty easy to find out if your party leadership is embezzling and your party should be structured in a way that you know they'd be thrown out if they betrayed everyone like this. i have that confidence in my party, at least.

this is also very reminiscent about how anti communists engage with propaganda. they feel comfortable making claims of any kind whether supported or not. anyway, this is another obvious cop opinion.

> you'll waste time writing papers and reports and shit, it'll feel like having a second job.

not explained is why writing is a waste of time. i think writing for a party is almost always a useful activity, whether you're making plans for a new action or campaign or producing new agitational materials or analysing the results of previous work so you can improve on it.

it is a job, though. being a communist does mean doing work, society won't change by sitting at home and attacking communist parties on Tumblr. the lifelong sacrifices made by hard working communists are why we have seen so many socialist victories in the last century.

> the most exciting events will be lib shit like elections

this again can only be projection. the most exciting times for me have been in some of the countries largest protest actions, organizing campaigns to free political prisoners, providing at risk communities with basic needs and engaging with them, building new unions, etc. etc

> or peaceful protests that the party would still organize w/o you as a member

here's the key issue with op i think. they want to be vital to the revolution. they don't want to think that they're only one of many people all working together. yes it's true the party will continue without you, especially a wannabe cop like you. but it doesn't mean party work is useless, it just means you are useless as an individual.

> (showing up at a protest w/o having a party affiliation gives you more freedom

freedom to do what, i do wonder? being afraid of party work bc it doesn't let you do whatever you want is kinda silly, if you don't want anyone to ever tell you what to do then yeah don't join a party. if you want to make change in the world then do.

> + makes you a bit less arrestable - as opposed to if a cop saw you carrying a name tag w the hammer and sickle on it. just fyi)

this again appears to have been just made up by op. I've never been arrested for wearing a pin or a party tshirt. i don't know a single person who has. and I've known plenty of people without any markings get arrested.

> all this w/o even mentioning how (depending on your luck) there could be a lot of infighting, splits, sometimes purges

well yes it sounds like there would be a lot of drama wherever op goes but it doesn't seem to be the case generally. my party did form in a split, but over 15 years ago. i don't see any reason to worry that it would happen again any time soon. we don't infight at all, sorta the concept of the party is people who want to work effectively together.

another bit of funny evidence that op is anti communist is the inclusion of the word purges, lol. purge means expulsion from party, ooh very sinister.

> all in all, joining a socialist party is a very, Very ineffective way of building communism lmao

well first it's simply a truth that no socialist country was ever built without a communist party. not one.

but also, did any of ops points have anything to do with effectiveness? all i gathered is they're pushing an individualistic, don't tell me what to do outlook. and the condescension about protests and flyering suggest they want something more adventurist, possibly involving violence. remember the fbi and police always instigate when they infiltrate groups. they always push for criminal actions and violence.

> i'd instead recommend you talk to your neighbours abt their lives, and see how you can help each other.

hey, guess what a party does! do you think our new tenants unions and unemployed councils could come into being without talking to neighbors? do you think our new unions could come into being without discussing the way we could help each other?

> if you live in like a very rich neighbourhood or something, instead of joining a socialist party

well isn't this an interesting premise. i wonder what it says about op that they want to emphasize what the well off should do.

> it'd be way more effective if you joined a liberal/conservative party and then fucked their shit up as much as possible

sure, just see every other attempt in history at wrecking or entryism with the Democratic party. i encourage you to look into it

> if ur only goal is meeting other leftists, only go to the first 2 or 3 party meetings, by then you'll know the scene and you'd have already befriended the interesting people. that;s my advice at least

this piece of advice is generally good. in fact before applying to join any party if at all possible i encourage you to meet with the members local to you, see how they work, see what you think of their ideas and what they're doing. if they're not active in your community, ask why not. there's nothing requiring you to join if it isn't for you. but if you want to make change in this country, learning how to do it from those with experience is best. and working together in an organization that can effectively chart a path forward is the only option there is. every communist revolution was built with the leadership of the communist party.

#testoster2 #close reading #communist parties #socialism #us politics

[ikingsley]

Ina x MC: That Day

Ina x MC: That Day

Loosely based on chapter 6 of QB. Read the other parts of the series here: The Dance, A Small Detour, One Chance.

Summary: Ina and Luna discuss their past.

Warnings: Sadness, I guess. Warning for coming out stories?

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1​ @swimmingshoebakerydreamer (Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)​

Author’s Notes: Sorry, I’ve been real busy, but here’s another installment of my series.

——————————————————————–———–———–———–

Luna strolled into Ina’s office at a quarter past seven. It’d been a long day for both of them. Ina had a full day of lectures and quizzes while Luna had midterms approaching. 

“Professor,” Luna said, putting down her bags.

“Good evening, Luna. How are you?”

The two made small talk while Ina pulled the stack of quizzes she needed graded. But as well as Ina could hide her emotions, Luna felt there was something off about Ina.

“Here’s the answer key,” Ina began. “It’s all multiple choice so it shouldn’t take too long.” 

Ina handed Luna a red pen. But Luna wasn’t paying attention to Ina. Instead, she scoured through the stack of papers, pulling one out and comparing the answers.

“Whose is that?” Ina peered over Luna’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s right. You took this quiz today.”

Luna hummed in reply. “Aww man. I got one wrong.”

This time, it was Ina’s turn to tease Luna. “Nerd,” she scoffed.

“Shut up.”

The two worked in silence, except for Ina going ham on her keyboard. That research paper wasn’t going to write itself.

“Why are you typing so vigorously?” Luna commented absent-mindedly.

“Hmm...I don’t know, maybe because this paper’s due at midnight,” Ina said quite uncharacteristically. Ina, the polite and beloved anthropology professor, was not one to be so brash.

Rude! For no reason! Luna thought. While Luna was pondering the true reason for Ina’s disrespect, Ina stood up and began pacing back and forth. Finally, she stopped, slumping onto the couch that sat at the corner of the room.

“Ina?” Luna questioned, getting off of her chair. Like usual, her initial intuition was spot-on, something was, in fact, off. 

Ina laid on the couch, her head resting on the couch’s arm. When Luna finally approached it, she took a look at Ina. Her face was slightly glossy, tear-stained.

“Scoot over,” Luna said firmly.

Ina huffed a little, but she moved further into the couch. Luna faced Ina, acting as a handkerchief, wiping away Ina’s tears.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Luna finally broke the silence.

“No.” 

“Okay. We can just lie here together. It’s okay.” Luna wrapped her arms around Ina. Ina subsequently buried her face in her shoulder, her tears falling slowly, wetting Luna’s shirt.

The two stayed like this for a few more moments, until Ina sat up, wiping the lasts of her tears. “I apologize, Luna. I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Please, I want to. I feel like you should know.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Ina had gained her confidence back. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I trust you. Maybe it’s naive or too early, but well...I feel like I could tell you anything, and you wouldn’t judge me. So here goes.” 

And boy, did Ina open up. It was unlike anything Luna had ever witnessed from the mysterious professor. But she wasn’t complaining. This was arguably what she loved most about Ina. 

“It was my freshman year of high school and I was sitting in my US history class. I was such a little nerd,” Ina recalled fondly. “Anyway, this girl walked into my class and god, I was smitten. What she made me feel...I’d never felt before. I mean, I hadn’t been with any guy, but this was different. Sure I’d thought some guys were attractive, but every time I looked at her, I got butterflies.”

“Aww! I’m imagining a little nerdy Ina staring at a pretty high schooler now.”

“Mhm. Well, we got assigned each other for a project. And we hit it off. She was brilliant, passionate, caring...I really liked her, but I thought it was just as friends. One afternoon, we went to the library together to prepare for the presentation of the project. She asked me if I liked girls, and I hadn’t really considered it. Some sort of internalized homophobia, I guess. I went home that day just deep in thought. But God, she made me feel so alive. It was something I’d never experienced before. And then I just started thinking of kissing her and I never wanted to stop. I think I knew then and there that I liked women.”

“Well? What happened after?” Luna asked, invested in Ina’s anecdote.

“A few days later, some teacher was berating her for not knowing an answer to something rather trivial and I found myself defending her. I guess my protective side came out.”

“Not the only thing that came out then...” Luna smirked.

Ina scoffed but had a huge grin on her face. But just as quickly as it appeared, her smile faded.

“When we left school that day, she uh thanked me with a kiss. And that’s how I knew for sure that I liked her. A lot. I asked her out a few weeks later and we were together for a little over a year. At the time, she meant the world to me. We’d do everything together and she was my first for a lot of things, my first kiss, my first love...”

“A year? That is...surprisingly long for a relationship at that time. Why’d it end?”

“Her parents were incredibly supportive. They knew about us since the beginning of the relationship. Mine...did not know. I had told Lilian, and she listened and supported me a lot. We were always pretty close. Well, after a year together, Emma asked to meet my conservative parents. I was both giddy and nervous, but I thought I was ready. I truly thought love was unconditional. Maybe I was naive to think acceptance was guaranteed. And well, I told my parents that I had someone special for them to meet. In retrospect, I should’ve told them more details. Maybe they were expecting a dashing young man that could escort me to Prom in the following year or whatnot. And well, Emma came over for dinner and I told my parents about us. They...were shocked. Their perfect little nerdy daughter was gay. They didn’t handle themselves well that night. They said some unforgivable things to Emma. We tried to work through it, but we were young and broke up a few weeks after that.”

“Ina, I’m so sorry.”

 “I...it’s okay. It’s been a while now. They didn’t throw me out of the house, but they didn’t talk about my sexuality at all. Emma was always my ‘friend.’ No one in the extended family knew. It was like they were ashamed of me. Lilian was the wild child and I was the apple of my parents’ eyes, but they never looked at me the same after that dinner. It was a tough time. Lilian and my friends at school supported me. If it weren’t for them...I don’t know where I’d be now.”

Luna caressed Ina’s check, wiping away the flowing tears.

“I just existed in their house for a while. I had a brief period of dating guys who were’t too good for me, probably out of my parents lack of support. Trying to be straight. But there was never any feelings between the two of us. They just...weren’t Emma. The last guy I dated was sweet, but I felt nothing for him romantically. And then Lilian was pregnant. And that was the last straw for my parents. They kicked out Lilian and I left with her. After all those years of her supporting me, I needed to support her. They said some inexcusable things to her and I’m glad we left. But it was incredibly difficult. Lilian and I struggled a lot. We had to work odd jobs just to pay rent whilst still going to school. Today’s the anniversary of them kicking us out. Today I have to be strong for Lilian’s sake, but I lost my parents that day too. I guess it all just hit me now.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Come here.”

Luna wrapped Ina in her arms once more. Then, she held Ina’s face, staring intensely into her eyes.

“You are the strongest woman I know. Strongest person I know. But it’s okay to not be strong too. You don’t need to pretend to be strong 24/7. Strength and weakness...that’s what makes us human.”

Ina smiled at Luna, tears falling freely. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Ina then leaned in, closing the gap between them. She captured Luna’s lips slowly, but as the kiss prolonged, the passion increased. When they finally pulled away, both women were out of breath.

Ina cleared her throat, standing up and beckoning Luna to get on her feet.

“Dance with me.”

Luna took a second to play a song on her phone, but she then gratefully accepted, leaning into Ina’s arms as they moved slowly.

Tu cabeza en mi hombro 

Quiero yo tener siempre

Acaríciame, cielo

Si me quieres tú

Ina smiled again at Luna, a hand rising from Luna’s waist to cup her cheek.

“I hope your coming out story is better than mine,” she jested.

“Well, yeah I guess. When my family moved to the States from Venezuela, my mom always emphasized the importance of getting a good education, being prudent, all of that. I was very involved in high school, and I was a part of a lot of science extracurriculars. My freshman year of high school, my mom forced me to join mock trial to improve my public speaking. I thought it was useless since I knew I wanted to do neuroscience. She drove me to every practice, every conference...I fell in love with it. The more I did research for trials, the more passionate I became about public policy, law, and civil rights. And of course, gay rights. I guess that’s how I knew. Mind you, I was one of those kids who cuffed their jeans and got called out for not sitting in chairs properly.”

“It makes so much sense now. And you are...extremely well-spoken. Anyway, how’d you tell your parents?”

“We were at a mock trial competition. I had just used Obergefell v. Hodges as legal precedent to win the trial. My parents picked me up and I told them all about the case. My dad kinda stopped me mid-sentence and asked me if I had anything to tell them.”

“And?”

“I told them, but they said they already knew. They didn’t care who I’d be with, as long as they’re someone decent, kind, protective...the whole nine yards. The only problem is that they’re just very nosy about my love life. If I texted someone and smiled they’d look to see who it is. They also acted as if each person I’d bring home to meet them was the love of my life.”

Unreasonable jealousy flashed through Ina’s eyes, but her voice remained steady. “Did you bring a lot of people home to meet your parents?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Luna smiled smugly.

#ina x mc #ina kingsley #queen b #luna garcia

[persephone-is-here-omg]

The fact people in Venezuela can take literally bills and paint Daniel Dehrs face on them because they're useless anyway... Just Venezuelan Things 😂

#venezuela is so surreal

[carolbandres]

About the theme

This theme is about the love, connection and my family.

My family is about me, my brother Anthony, my mom, my dad, and of course, my animals: Chispa, Willy and Linda (two dogs and one rabbit). We’ve always together ‘till September 2020.

Maybe the theme “family” is insignificant for most of the people because they only have mild problems, the normal ones you should have with your family, but I know too that exist people with serious issues with their family. My case is not the worst nor the better. Each case is different. I want to let you know better about my case.

Since I was born, the problem was always about my mom and my dad. They don’t love each other. Truly love. And if the problem starts there, then we have already started very badly.

Why build a family if the spouses don’t love each other? And this is the part when I say: I was not planned to be born, yeah. But they still decided to have me but with no love.

The family’s love is the most important in our life and the family’s love consists in the education, for example.

Since I was little my dad was always working and my mom always with me. At the material leveI never lacked anything, it’s true. But there was always a lack of love on their part.

I always thought it was normal / common to feel what I felt. I wanted to feel that there is a bond in my family that no one can break, I wanted to feel my parents' love for me, I wanted to feel the love of a brother better, I wanted to feel the love of family better. They made me grow up without union, without almost any love, they always thought that I was content only with materials, having a roof where I could shelter myself, a plate of food every day and gifts they offered me. No. I have always wanted more than that but it was never enough.

I don't even speak only among the four members of my family, I also speak about my father's family. How can there be such self-serving people? Because the only thing that comes forward is money, it doesn't matter anything or anyone, just money. They don't care who needs family help, they never ask if it's okay, if we need anything. They invite us to baptisms and weddings just to look good in the photograph, but that is useless if there is really no union. For what?

My mother's family is completely different, they are good people, they talk to me, not every day for sure, but they still worry if I'm alive, if I eat, if I lack something and those are the ones I wanted to have around but not I can because they are all in Venezuela. I know that there is a chance to go visit them but it is not the same thing, what I wanted was for them to live on the same island as me, then they would be close by. But even though they are not physically with me, I consider them family and people I can count on.

As I said and I repeat, I know that there are families with worse situations than me, but this is still serious for me, one day I will not even be able to count on anyone.That is why we can call family friends, in my case, it is easier to ask a friend for a favor than a family member.That's why I came to talk about it, that's why I wanted to show you what my family situation is like.We have to learn one thing in this life: don't call a family who shares the same blood as ours, call a family who really likes you at heart and nothing more. There are few, but there is.

In my performance I also show that I have a partner. As I was born without affection and love, I always thought that having a partner would be of no use. In fact, I had a relationship where I was shown to be right until I met a person who made me think differently. That person, currently, is my partner, and I consider the love of my life. He is a person who genuinely cares about me, asks if I'm okay, if I need anything and the like.

After all, it is not bad to have a partner with whom we can share our secrets, our home, in the end our life. Make a life together.I am saddened by the distance we now have to endure, but it is learning to cope, if we love, we do not give up. He made me show that love is beautiful, it exists, it makes us blind, it makes us think of the greatest insanities, but it also makes us have the greatest sorrows.

To have someone to trust 100%, someone to leave us with butterflies in our stomachs, someone to make us smile, someone to help, someone to advise, someone to share with you, someone who likes you as much as you like her.Deep down is your soul mate, your half. You are but masculine.With him I could better understand certain subjects about understanding between two people, I could understand what it is to love in truth, because none of this would be possible if we didn't really like each other.

I am aware that it is very difficult to have this type of connection with someone and I am grateful to have found someone who likes me as I am, and who never asked me to change my personality, or the way I dress, or the way I think, he always accepted me as I am and knew how to deal with everything as I did and always do with him! Basically, the theme is only about family because my partner is from my family.

[asarsgyan]

Chapter 9 - Extraditable Tits!

Catalina did not know it, because in her house television was destined for novels and they never watched the evening news, but in one of them and with a scoop quality, the United States Ambassador to Colombia appeared announcing that the DEA, In coordination with the Colombian state security agencies, a rigorous investigation had just completed that resulted in the names of the new drug lords responsible for shipping more than 200 tons of cocaine a year to the United States and Europe.    Among them were Morón, Cardona and "El Titi", in that order of importance.    The next day the newspapers headed their front pages with the names of Pablo Escobar's successors, the Rodríguez Orejuela, Carlos Ledher, Santacruz Londoño, the Ochoa and Gonzalo Rodríguez Gacha, emphasizing that these new bosses belonged to a more intelligent generation, in the sense of not showing off too much, more elusive, with greater capacity for bribery, more educated because some of them even studied at large universities, something that their relatives from whom they inherited the business had not done. In short, they were less visible.    Of course, the news that spread like wildfire and reached the ears of everyone, except Catalina and Yésica, put the members of the new Cartel into disarray.    Some said they were sheltering in guerrilla camps to evade the action of justice. Others said that they were negotiating with the paramilitaries who were negotiating peace with the Government at that time, so that they would pass them off as commanders and thus achieve a political status that could free them from an extradition request that the United States he did not deny any drug trafficker. Other sources claimed to have seen them fly to Venezuela, Panama and Cuba in their private planes. The truth is that when Catalina and Yésica arrived at the building where Cardona lived in order to ask for the money, they only found uniforms from the Police, the Prosecutor's Office, the DEA, the Army, the Interpol, the Sijin, the Dijin and the DAS and , at least a dozen journalists armed to their glasses.    They did not worry, because many characters of national life lived in the building and they thought it was their bodyguards, but they knew that something serious was happening at that moment when they were stopped at the door, by an officer, with the face of an inquisitor, who He asked them where they were going. Neither of them was able to answer and they were expelled from the place without explanation.    Catalina began to suspect that her luck was playing a new trick on her when Yésica asked one of the police officers, who was a friend of hers, about what was happening. The policeman who belonged to the cartel's payroll, told him in a code that the bosses had been taken by the whores and almost the police, so they had to leave before a DEA plane took them to the other side. He was referring to the fact that they were to be extradited to the United States. Catalina once again felt the world collapse at her feet and panicked when she learned that Cardona and his cronies had disappeared in disarray. Yésica marked them several times to their cell phones and found them turned off. Catalina was convinced of what the Policeman had just told her and felt, once again, the same desire to die that she felt the day that "El Titi" rejected her or the night that Albeiro told her that if she had bigger tits it would be the queen of Pereira.    —Parcera, we screwed up! —Yésica told him, very scared and she began to walk from one place to another, scared to death because this new situation was going to kill her with hunger and Catalina with sadness.    -And now? The petrified Catalina only managed to say while, inside, she vanished little by little. Yésica said nothing and went with her to find a list of her Mafia clients, but the only one who answered and with a changed voice was Mariño. Yésica asked him about Cardona, but he was scared, he told her very nervous that he did not know any Cardona and that, surely, she was wrong. Then he hung up on him. They dialed him again but his phone was already off. Without extenuating circumstances and painting the things the color they were, Yésica only managed to express with regret to her pale friend: "    Sister, we screwed up." Those guys left and left us sucking.    To capitalize on the anger she felt at this new disappointment, Catalina looked for Orlando Correa's phone number and made an appointment for him in the central park, under the statue of "Bolívar Desnudo" where "Caballo" had left her planted with the illusion in tow that afternoon rainy that never came. He congratulated him in code for having "made the return" as he was, that is, for having killed "Caballo" without being "caught" and summoned him at four in the afternoon, because he needed to see him to tell him how much he loved him and to ask her for the favor of making love to her.    Immersed in a fairy tale, knowing himself desired by a woman as beautiful as Catalina, Orlando Correa arrived at the meeting place at four o'clock and greeted her with effusiveness and enthusiasm. It was scented and wearing beige denim pants and brown suede shoes. The white shirt with green and brown stripes, which was already worn, looked very clean and neat. Catalina also looked beautiful and made enormous efforts so that the hatred she felt towards him or the sadness she felt for the rout of the drug traffickers, and especially Cardona's, was not noticed.    With anguish, Orlando wanted to finalize Catalina's main proposal during his call and invited her to a motel. The girl told him that she gladly accepted, but, weaving the web of her revenge, she exploited her billy goat weakness and asked if he would like to be with two women at the same time, because she had a friend who was also in need of a man and that she was sorry to leave her alone, in that state, being, as she was, his soul mate. Orlando responded with a lump in his throat that yes, of course, of course, of course, that there was no problem. I could not believe it. He was about to realize his sexual fantasy and even more so with the woman he was beginning to love. They then went to pick up Yésica,    At the generous request of Orlando, they settled in the most luxurious room they found in that place decorated with bad taste and a series of strange architectural expressions that combined columns full of channels and monumental pedestals copied from ancient Babylon, large postmodern windows to gardens with pots hanging from the windows of coffee farms. In the room they found a triple bed whose railing served as a support for two bedside tables without any grace, two lamps anchored to the wall and a car radio embedded in the main drawer of one of the nightclubs. Near the door was a comfortable striped fabric sofa and a table with three chairs and a thick, heavy glass vase. The curtains were red like the rug in the room and a television set against the wall, it projected the usual pornographic images: a woman sucking a man's penis. Before the incredulous and anxious look of the honoree, the two women began to remove their clothes with a high dose of premeditated sensuality, while the naive bodyguard only managed to undress with clumsiness and anguish, without taking his eyes off them.    According to plan, from one moment to the next the women stopped the show and asked Orlando to let himself be tied up to make the moment more exciting. Correa, as his colleagues and bosses called him, accepted the irresistible proposal without objection. The women proceeded to tie him hand and foot to the bed with ropes that they brought in his bag. Emotion did not make him suspect anything. The truth was that as soon as the innocent man was reduced to impotence, the women began to dress to his total amazement and they climbed on him with the desire to make him pay for everything he and his two friends had done and also everything he had not they had done. They beat him ruthlessly, in a kind of summary judgment, while reminding him of his crimes.    He was beaten to death, especially on the genitals, so that it would never occur to him to take advantage of a girl again. Catalina fiercely hit him on the penis and testicles with the vase that adorned the room. Orlando's screams competed with the radio, which Yésica turned the volume to its highest level. The hostage shouted for forgiveness, but his pleas were useless. The women were ready to take away forever the weapon with which he raped the girls and they did. Orlando lost a testicle, the sensitivity of the glans and the possibility of reproducing again.    Before fleeing the place, Catalina forced him to tell her the name of the third man who abused her that night and poor Orlando, beaten as he was and threatened with losing his penis and his remaining testicle forever, had no choice but to tell him that his name was Jorge Molina, while gave his phone number.    Jorge Molina was summoned in the same place. Catalina told him that she remembered him with desire, that of the three he was the one she liked the most, that if he had any problem making love to her and that if she was upset if she brought a friend to her love affair who was in need of a man Well, she was sorry to leave her wanting and even more after telling him that he was the best fuck in the world. Jorge Molina, the most lustful of the three, didn't bother. His omnipotent male ego soared through the roof.    He felt that the sky was not that set of white and gray clouds with blue backgrounds that he saw every morning from his window but rather the fact of making love with two beautiful girls like Catalina and Yésica. He took it so hard that before taking them to the Motel he went to a sex shop and spent a fortune buying Chinese stimulators, perverted thongs, ejaculation retardants and even a waitress apron that made them look more provocative than what they already looked.    On the way to the motel, he had all the illusions in the world. The most important was to propose that they both marry him. He was thinking of telling them that he loved them deeply and that the three of them go to live because wherever they saw him, in a borrowed car and everything, taking care of the bosses' backs, at all times, he was going to turn into a tough one in a short time. That he already knew the business, that he already knew how to make coca, that he already knew the routes by heart, that he already knew where to find the contacts in Mexico, Los Angeles, New York, Chicago and Madrid and that, very soon, When he reported his bosses to the DEA, he was going to have a lot of money to put both of them to live as they deserved, as the pair of queens they were.    She also thought that it was not a bad idea to spend the last of the fortnight taking them to a mall after leaving the motel and buying them a nice pint, with shoes included, so that they would become familiar with his broad and disinterested manner. to be. Entering the room he managed to tell them that they were going shopping when they left the motel. They thanked him with a simultaneous kiss on his cheeks and advised him, to calculate how much money he had, not to bother because they were very demanding, which is why the detail could be very expensive. Jorge Molina, who all his life had trachetal airs, told them not to worry because if he promised something it was because he could.    They did so before tying him up on the pretext of wanting more emotions and an hour later, poor Jorge Molina lay on the bed, bloody, about to lose consciousness, with his genitalia in a sorry state, his face bruised from blows and saying the code of the debit card that, along with 300 thousand pesos, was the only thing that supported his gossip. In an ATM in the center of Pereira they took out 860 thousand pesos, which was all that poor Molina had, and they went to get drunk twice. One to celebrate revenge against the three men who prevented him from selling the virgo to Mariño and another for the disbandment of his tracheo friends whom they missed with pain.    Orlando Correa and Jorge Molina found themselves in very similar situations during those days with broken faces and manhood, but they were ashamed to admit that they were in that sorry state thanks to the anger of two women, so one of them invented that a A taxi had run him over when he got out of the boss's truck; and the other, Jorge Molina, the most chicanero of all, that a man tried to kill him, probably because he did not want to pay extortion to the guerrilla group that blackmailed him. He said that because of his appearance, the cars in which he walked and how well dressed he kept, a front of the Farc often confused him with a rich man. Neither of us believed each other, but for the others,    But the drug stampede did not only affect Catalina's ego and dreams for the third time, nor Yésica's pocketbook, nor the occupation of the surgery room of the aesthetic clinic, nor Dr. Bermejo's plans to buy a BMW. It also affected the intra-family relationships of Ximena, Vanessa and Paola, whose mothers, accustomed to receiving large markets and money as a result of their daughters' work, dedicated themselves to singing them, day and night, until they made a desperate and denigrating determination: to work in a whorehouse where, for much less money, they would sleep up to three times a night with strangers of all kinds.    None of this was told to Catalina and Yésica who ended up filming in Bogotá, from aesthetic clinic to aesthetic clinic, and from friends 'houses, whom they bored in a week, at other friends' houses who did not know that they were going to them. to bore in a week.    The formerly listed Paola was assigned as the first client to a public official. Well scented and very well dressed, not so good lover. The bureaucrat agreed to an hour of pleasure with her for 200 thousand pesos. Once the deal was finished, he went to the bathroom, took a box of viagra from his jacket and took a pill with water taken from the sink and held between his juxtaposed hands.    Paola who was waiting for him in a damp room full of bad out of the six energies that the house had, all she did was think and think about "El Titi" and what he was going to say to her when he found out that because of her protective fault she had had to become a whore.    In those, the good-natured man with a corrupt face appeared and began to outline a nervous and stupid smile with which he asked for a kiss. She told him that the kisses were only for the boyfriend and he managed to upset him so much, to the point that, without a word, he got on the bed, got under the sheets, took off his pants and underwear, maniacally folded them, put them on on the nightstand and pulled her with his arms to make love to her later, in complete silence and without taking off his shirt or his black, thin, thin and knee-length stockings. Paola cried with rage, in silence and without perceiving any pleasure.    At that moment he did not feel his dizzying fall into the abyss of misfortune so much as when the smiling man with a corrupt face took out of his wallet two 50 and five 20 thousand bills and threw them at him slyly, on the rolled bed and wet, and then leave without saying goodbye.    It was worse for Ximena because she had to go to bed, the first night, with the owner of the establishment, with all his record of at least 500 women, most of them prostitutes, and without receiving a single peso for their services.    Vanessa didn't fare better than her two friends, either. Beginning because she had to fight with a client who refused to possess her using a condom. She said she didn't want to do it with a condom, that she didn't feel pleasure that way, and that she paid her double the rate if she allowed herself to be penetrated without that disgusting and uncomfortable rubber lining. Vanessa, who needed that money, was tempted to do so, but she began to think that if this guy did the same with all the prostitutes in the city, surely he was already a carrier of AIDS or at least venereal. That is why he resisted the urge to say yes and, in return, he suggested that he let himself do very tasty things without the need for penetration.    The guy reluctantly agreed and reluctantly undressed. He was even tempted to leave the room in search of another woman, but Vanessa asked him not to leave, to let her try something because she did not want him to leave with a bad image of the women of the place. The man who had the face of a serial killer, the look of a madman, bushy eyebrows, raised cheekbones, a pronounced jaw, and thick black-framed glasses, told him he had two minutes to show him why he didn't have to go.    But it only took Vanessa a minute to show that she was the best. In the end, the anonymous character in mourning was so pleased with the versatility and imagination of the little woman that he decided to pay her double for her services anyway. Simple, for meeting the rate and double for having taken it to the stars. He also asked her to become his concubine, but Vanessa, imagining that life next to a depraved like him was not going to be easy, took him out of the box with a very intelligent argument. He told her that he couldn't do that because she had to be very honest with him and she had to confess the reason for her reluctance to do it without a condom. He asked her why and Vanessa had no qualms about inventing that she was infected with the HIV virus.    The strange character laughed and pushed her affectionately and then told her not to worry, that there was no problem with them living together since he also had AIDS. An intense cold ran through Vanessa's body as the madman, dressed in black, explained the new functioning of his short life. He told her that he was infected by a boyfriend she had, without denying his bisexuality, and that when his partner died, he made up his mind to take revenge on the whole world by infecting everyone he could, women and men alike. That already a dozen prostitutes and another dozen youngsters in the city were infected by him and that his goal was to reach the fifty victims before he died.    Vanessa, who was about to become the twenty-fifth victim of the unbalanced, panicked and tried to get rid of him as soon as possible. He told her that all of this was wonderful. That it seemed good to him that others felt firsthand what they were feeling and that from now on he was going to suggest to his clients that they do it without a condom. The mentally deranged man even suggested that if the clients insisted with the condom that she sneakily pinch the end to make them "bitchy." They arranged to meet the next day to go shopping and the murderer disappeared with a happy face.    When she calculated that the depraved man was already far from the room, Vanessa began to tremble with fear, with the certainty that she had been on the verge of death and ran, in disgust, to bathe with a scrubber and then go out to ask everyone world if AIDS could be spread orally.    Vanessa, Paola and Ximena's mothers did better. The three of them did have their souls returned to their bodies, and also the market to the refrigerator. Happy with the return of the money to the house, none asked questions and all three began to scold their siblings for not letting them sleep during the day.    The truth is that with the arrival of the skinny cows, thanks to the rout of the drug traffickers, all the women who derived their livelihood and their ostentation from their unlimited checkbooks had to resort to different strategies so as not to deteriorate their standard of living and income. . Paola, Ximena and Vanessa became sex workers, Catalina and Yésica went to try their luck in Bogotá, many others who did not know, became they got into reigns of one thing and another and, the most beautiful and intelligent, entered television. Some of them, the least talented, slept with directors, librettists and producers to win a role, sparking a wave of outrage among actresses who burned themselves for years studying performing arts to deserve a second-rate role in a novel.

[lovemesomerafael]

No One Else                              Chapter 1:  Back In The Day

The bullets are flying and Sonny Carisi has no idea how he’s gonna get out of this one.  For that matter, he’s not entirely sure how he got into this one, but that question is less pressing right now.  There are four of them, all armed, and one of him, and he’s not sure how much ammunition he has left.  He sees one of them crouch-run behind some cars, and shoots, but hits nothing but one of the cars.  Although he has taken one of the shooters out of action, the point isn’t really to hit them, it’s to keep them pinned so he can get the hell out of here somehow. But he’s not sure how, exactly, he’s gonna accomplish that.  And it’s really starting to bug him that he forgot to start counting his shots.  He’s gotta be getting low and, of course, he doesn’t have a spare clip on him.  Why would he? He just came here to interview a witness.  

He really has to get out of Homicide.  Assuming, of course, he doesn’t become one today.  

He’s in a detatched, open garage full of junk stacked haphazardly, across an open yard from four piece-of-crap cars parked one behind the next on a gravel driveway that goes to a big old house. The house has been subdivided into several crackerbox apartments, one of which supposedly houses a guy who witnessed the murder he’s investigating.  But, for some reason, as Carisi approached the house, shield in plain view around his neck, some asshole started shooting at him from the house, and pretty soon he was pinned down here in this garage and more assholes were shooting at him from behind the cars.  Since his squad car is the fifth one in line on the driveway, it’s pretty clear he’s not leaving the way he came.  

Another of the shooters makes a move.  Crawling around between two of the cars, he tries to cower there and get a good shot at Carisi.  Carisi aims and the guy goes down.

But Carisi isn’t the one who fired.

The shot came from behind him. Now he’s screwed.  One of these assholes has crept up to the garage and is now behind him.  Except why did they shoot their own guy?  He’s trying to get very small and squeeze further between the stacks of junk he’s hiding in, since now he’s got shooters on both sides.  It was probably not a good idea to skip Confession last week, because this is not looking good.  He sees movement further back in the garage and thinks maybe if he can take this one out, and just have to deal with the three left behind the cars…

“Hey, can you hear me?” A female voice hisses.  

“Come out!”  Carisi shouts.  “Show yourself!”  

“Will you shut up?  It’s not like they don’t know where you are, but you don’t have to help them.  I’m Kinsella, Narcotics.”

“What?”

Carisi sees a dirty-blonde head pop up above a cardboard box, behind a Sig Sauer P226.  He hears the shot, followed by a loud, whiny string of curses from behind the cars.  The head and the Sig disappear back behind the box.  

“My name.  It’s Detective Kate Kinsella, NYPD.  Narcotics.”

“Carisi.  Homicide.”

“Well, Carisi Homicide, we got three down and three still shooting, and that’s about as good as it’s gonna get. We’re gonna have to shoot like hell and make a run for it.”

“Uh…  That’s gonna be a problem.  I’m low.”

“No extra clip?”

“I was comin’ here for a witness interview.”

“Shit.  If my count is right, you got two shots left.  Right?”

“Uh, yeah.  Right.”  She’s been counting my shots?  Shit.  Carisi didn’t think he could feel like more of a moron.  Live and learn.

He realizes that she must have slipped in through the door on the other side of the garage, which means the shooters saw her.  But they didn’t shoot at her, so she has to be undercover.  Or, she was.  The fact that she’s now shooting at them is gonna give these assholes a pretty big fucking clue that she’s not on their side.

He turns back to the cars. Seeing nothing moving, he picks up a broom with half the bristles missing and the others mildewed together in a clump, and waves it over his head.  A series of gunshots erupts, including one that hits uncomfortably close. But he does see one guy peeking up over the hood of one of the cars.  If he could get him to shoot again…

He takes aim and waves the broom again.  The guy lifts up for a second to shoot and Carisi fires his last two bullets.  The guy goes down, yelling, which means Carisi hasn’t hit him, but maybe he got some shrapnel in his eye or something. Good enough.

“All right, Carisi Homicide, that’s it.  Let’s get outta here before something else goes wrong.”

Sonny holsters his now-useless weapon.  “You got any ideas?”

“Head right, and run along the side of this building.  It’s at an angle to the driveway, we’ll have cover.  I’ll cover us.  Ready? On three?”

More shots begin, and they’re hitting very close to where Carisi is.  “Fuck that.  Just start shootin’!”

She does, and Carisi jumps from behind the pile of junk and runs like hell straight toward the gunmen behind the cars to the front of the garage.  He hears her fire several shots and sees her when he turns to his right and makes for the side of the garage.  She’s shooting wildly, just to keep the assholes’ heads down, and running for it.

Carisi makes the side of the garage and runs about halfway to the back before turning around.  He sees her come around the corner and flatten her back against the side of the garage.  She’s tall, probably five foot eight or nine.  She has disheveled dishwater blonde hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in a while, spilling out of a knot low down on her head.  She’s wearing torn, dirty fatigues and a ratty black leather jacket that looks a little too small.  He can see what looks like a pink T-shirt where the jacket is unzipped.  

“Don’t just stand there, find us a way outta here!”  She calls to him, and turns to fire a couple more shots toward the assholes still left behind the cars.  

“That’s my car, the black one at the end of the line.”

“Well, that’s clearly not gonna work.  Think again,” she shouts over her shoulder.  

Carisi looks around and says, “I got it.  Keep ‘em occupied,” before disappearing behind the garage.  

Kinsella is slapping a fresh clip into her Sig when she hears a car engine behind her and turns her head to see Carisi at the wheel of a barge of a vehicle.  She fires several rounds toward the driveway, then turns and runs toward the long, low-slung old sedan, skirting behind it so as not to expose herself to fire from the assholes shooting at them.  She struggles with the passenger door, finally getting it open with a grunt and a squeal of metal – the car has major body damage on that side and the door doesn’t want to move – and slides in, keeping low.  Carisi puts his foot down on the gas, and the heavy car reluctantly begins to move.  He heads the car across an expanse of mostly dead lawn to the street, where it thunks down the curb, bottoming out with a shower of sparks, and lumbers away from the house.

Kinsella is kneeling on the bench seat, trying to keep low but aiming out the back window in case they’re followed.  She doesn’t think it’s likely, but those idiots can be unpredictable.

When it’s clear they aren’t being followed, she turns around and plops down onto the seat.  She would put on her seatbelt, if this car had any.  It’s gotta be thirty years old or more.  It’s old fashioned Detroit steel, with bench seats that go all the way across in the front and the back and are as wide as couches.

Carisi is smiling.  Smiling.  

“What’s the smile for?”  She asks.

“C’mon.  You gotta admit that was a little bit fun.  You know, now that we didn’t die and all.”

“Fun.  You call that fun.”

“Yeah.  Well, a little.  Wasn’t it?”

Kinsella hesitates, but when Carisi looks over at her, her lips are twisted in a reluctant grin.  “Maybe a little.  I did kinda enjoy the part where you cruised up in this fucking aircraft carrier.  What is this thing?”

“This?  It’s a 1978 Mercury Grand Marquis.”

“Where did it come from?”

“It was behind the garage.  I wasn’t sure it would start, it doesn’t look like it’s been driven since the Reagan administration, but I hotwired it and it started right up.”

“You hotwired it?  How do you know how to do that?”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t always the paragon of law abiding behavior you see before you.  But we gotta figure out where we’re goin’, because there’s not much gas in the tank.”

Kinsella sighs.  “Turn right at the next light.  Might as well get this over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“Telling my bosses I just blew the cover it took me three months to build.  Which, by the way, why did I do that?  Who the hell are you?  What were you doing just walking up to a known BX9 house with your shield hanging around your neck like a target?”

“That’s a known BX9 house? Says who?  How come we didn’t know that?”

“Good question.  Which I’m sure you’re gonna get asked.  Turn left at the next corner.”

 Walking into the 92nd Precinct, Detective Kinsella is immediately greeted by a plainclothes officer with a shiny, shaved head and a wiry, compact frame who appears to have been heading out.  “Kate – what the fuck?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Are you blown?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Cap’s gonna kill you.  You probably should just start running.  I’m thinking Venezuela?”

She shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose.  “He in?”

“Yeah, he’s in.  I’m coming with you.  I wanna see this.”

“You always were a ghoul.” She turns to Carisi.  “Ahmad Washington, this is Carisi Homicide.”

“Detective Dominick Carisi, Junior. Call me Sonny.”  He shakes hands with Washington.

“Homicide, huh?  Which house?”

“The 94th.”

“He’s the reason I got blown,” Kinsella adds.

Washington smiles and Carisi follows them to a stairwell and up to the third floor.  At the back of a bustling, chaotic bullpen that comprises the entire third floor of the precinct, Kinsella knocks at the door of an office where, through a row of windows, they can see a huge, bullnecked man with a red face yelling into a phone.  He sees her and, if anything, his face gets redder.  He motions her in and shouts into the phone, “Look, I gotta call you back.” There’s a short silence while the person on the other end of the phone speaks.  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it.  Quit bustin’ my balls.  You’re givin’ me an ulcer.”  He slams the phone down.

“Kinsella, what the actual fuck?”

“I’m blown, Cap.  Not my fault.  In fact, I’m not sure whose fault it is.”

“Well what the fuck happened? And who the hell is this?”  

Carisi extends a hand to the Captain, who stares incredulously at it, but reflexively shakes it in a clammy grip that Carisi wasn’t expecting.

“Detective Dominick Carisi, Junior, Sir.  I’m from Homicide.”

The Captain turns his disbelieving stare back on Kinsella.  

“I was in the house, counting cash with Tamryn Fisher.  I heard shots coming from the other room, so I went to investigate, and I found Eddie Andrews shooting out the window at someone running across the yard.  You know that freestanding garage.  The doors are always open, and he ran in there.  I asked Eddie what he was doing and he said the guy was a cop. I asked him how he knew and he said the guy had a shield hanging around his neck.  Next thing I knew, the Easton brothers and their buddies were running outside, taking cover behind their cars, and shooting into the garage.  I had no choice, Cap.  If I hadn’t gotten him out, he wouldn’t have gotten out.  He was down to two bullets.”

Kinsella can hear Washington snickering behind her.  This is the kind of shit that happens to Kinsella, and he lives for it.  One of these days the Cap is simply gonna explode from stress, and Kinsella’s a big reason why.  Washington hopes he gets to see it.

“That’s true, Sir.  Your detective saved my life.”

The Captain starts yelling, and doesn’t stop yelling for the next forty-five minutes.  Some of the time, he yells at Kinsella and Carisi.  Then he calls Carisi’s Sergeant and yells at him, after which he gets transferred to his Captain and yells at him. Then he returns to yelling at Kinsella and Carisi again.  By the time they slink out of his office, Carisi’s ears are ringing and they have a meeting with several levels of brass from both the 92nd and 94th Precincts at four p.m., which is in two hours.  

Washington leaves, still laughing like he’s just been to a comedy show, and Kinsella shows Carisi to a break room.  It’s messy and a little dirty, pretty much like every other Precinct house break room he’s been in.  The coffee is just as bad as everywhere else, too.  

“Still think this is fun?” Kinsella asks, taking off her jacket and flopping down on a couch upholstered in plastic with cigarette burns in it. The number of years since smoking has been allowed in a police station tells Carisi how old the couch must be.

“I coulda done without the ass-chewing,” he grins, choosing a metal folding chair from around a large table in the center of the room.  He sort of folds himself onto it, long thighs splayed wide.

“Oh, trust me, that wasn’t the ass-chewing.  The ass-chewing happens at four.  But if we’re lucky, the brass’ll chew each other’s asses, and we can just watch.  This wasn’t our fuckup.  If the 94th didn’t know that house was BX9, and they sent you just walkin’ up the front sidewalk…  That’s not on us.”

“If you hadn’t been there, I’d be swiss cheese right now.”

“Remember that, and say it at four. Because they’re gonna wanna say I didn’t have to break cover.”

“I will.  Count on it.”

“You better, Carisi Homicide. You’re the only thing standing between me and being a resident cop at some middle school in Sheepshead Bay.”  

“I wish you’d quit callin’ me that.”

“Sorry,” she smiled mischievously, clearly not sorry at all.  “What’s your name again?”

“Call me Sonny.”

“Sonny.  I’m Kate.  And if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go take a shower and change for the meeting.”

Sonny thinks about her as he kills time reading outdated magazines and old newspapers in the dirty break room, waiting for it to be four O’clock.  She’s cute, and he noticed when she took off her jacket that she has a nice rack.  He likes her.  He especially likes that she was willing to wade into a firefight and risk her own life to get him out of that garage.  

 At four O’clock, Sonny is sitting next to his Sergeant at a large conference table.  He feels like he’s waiting outside the Principal’s office in elementary school, but he keeps reminding himself that this was not his fault. He was where he was told to go, doing what he was told to do.  Somebody fucked up, but it wasn’t him.  The meeting seems to be starting; everyone takes a seat, and it takes him a moment to realize that the woman across from him, sitting between her own Sergeant and the red-faced Captain, is Kate Kinsella.  

She looks very different than she had earlier.  Her hair is in some kind of a twist that’s professional as hell, and she’s wearing makeup, which she hadn’t been before.  She’s more than cute, Sonny thinks.  She’s hot. And the slacks and short-sleeved sweater she’s wearing do a lot more for her body than the fatigues she’d been wearing earlier.  She’d been cute when she was dressed to fit in with the gang bangers at the house. Dressed as herself, she’s a knockout. She sees him looking at her and gives him a little smile.  

Kate would have rescued a fellow cop in Sonny’s predicament no matter what.  But as she looks over at him, with those blue eyes and that unruly brown hair, wearing a black T-shirt under a black suit jacket and his shield still around his neck, she thinks he is definitely worth rescuing.  She wonders what his story is.  

Sonny is as good as his word, explaining that he could not have survived the garage had Kate not come to his aid.  Between the two of them, they quickly explain what happened and even Kate’s Captain agrees that she had to break cover.  Anyway, the brass doesn’t seem to be interested in Sonny or Kate.  They’re more interested in blaming each other for the fact that the 92nd had intelligence that the 94th did not. Soon, Sonny and Kate are able to sit quietly and try not to draw anyone’s attention, while shooting amused looks at one another at some of the heated exchanges that take place between their supervisors.  

When the meeting ends, no one thinks to say anything to Kinsella or Carisi, which is fine with them.  

 The next day, Kate gets a small bouquet of flowers at work, with a card that says, simply, “Thank you. Carisi Homicide”.   She’s charmed.

It takes Sonny very little time to use his fairly new detective skills to determine that Kate Kinsella is single and not known to be seeing anyone.  He wants to see her again, but he can’t think of a single pretext, so he ends up having to just man up and call her.  He invites her out to dinner, and she doesn’t do a very good job of trying to play it cool when she accepts.  She’s elated that he called, and he’s elated that she’s elated.  

He has to use his detective skills once again to find a place to take her in Brooklyn.  Sonny’s from Staten Island and, although he’s been working in Brooklyn for a year, he still doesn’t know it very well.  But he wants to take her somewhere nice, so he drives all his colleagues crazy asking for recommendations and finally decides on a nice Italian place that he can barely afford.  

Kate’s roommate opens the door of her apartment and lets him in, leaving him standing awkwardly in their small living room / kitchen while he hears them giggling in what must be Kate’s bedroom.  He hears the word “cute” and hopes that means he has the roommate’s seal of approval.  He does.

Kate comes out in a little black dress that actually belongs to her roommate, and makes Sonny re-evaluate his opinion that Kate has a nice rack.  In that dress, Kate has a spectacular rack, and he is suddenly tongue-tied and nervous, which makes him say all kinds of moronic things that will haunt him for days.  She finds it irresistible.  She finds him irresistible.  

Which is why, after dinner, when he fumbles his way through asking her back to his apartment, she quickly agrees. And when he makes a move to kiss her once they’re there, she agrees to that, too.  He’s a magnificent kisser.  So good, in fact, that she revises her plan to do no more than kiss him on this first date.  When he runs his hand down the front of her dress, she moans to encourage him, and when he slips his hand under the dress to caress her bare breast, she reaches back and unhooks the top.  It’s a halter dress, so Sonny can just push the top aside, which he does.  Pretty soon his shirt is off, too, and then his hand is under her skirt and then his fingers are inside her and she’s biting her tongue as she comes because the walls of his apartment are really thin. Which means good manners dictate that she undo his pants and make him come with her hand, too.  So she does.

Their second date is kind of not a date; with their schedules, it’s hard to find an evening when they are both free, so they go to the firing range, as they’re required to do once a month, and get paid to spend time together.  They’re competitive, or at least they pretend to be, so they both do pretty well.  They also thoroughly enjoy themselves.  On the way back to Kate’s Precinct, Sonny parks in the back of a liquor store parking lot and they thoroughly enjoy each other.   Or at least, they do the best they can in an unmarked police car in broad daylight.  

By their third date, Sonny is entirely smitten.  They’re going to see a spy movie Sonny has been wanting to see, but what he’s really excited about is he’s pretty sure they’re going to have sex.  He pays particular attention to his hair and worries so much about how much cologne to wear that he gets himself wrapped around the axle about it and ends up not wearing any.  Kate doesn’t care.  She thinks Sonny smells great, and she also thinks he’s about the cutest, sweetest man she’s ever met, let alone dated.  Kate’s smitten, too.

When they get back to Sonny’s apartment after the movie, he’s made coffee-flavored panna cotta, which Kate thinks is adorable.  It’s delicious and they feed each other spoonfuls which, of course, leads to kissing. Kissing leads to touching, and removing each other’s clothes, which leads to Sonny’s bed.  He’s been thinking about this.  He’s read or heard somewhere that women can’t usually have an orgasm just from intercourse, so he decides to go down on Kate before they actually have sex, so that having his own orgasm when they do have sex won’t make him a selfish bastard.  

When she recovers from the out-of-body experience of getting oral sex from Sonny Carisi, Kate is astounded at his skill and creativity.  She was planning to fuck him anyway, but after that, she’s on board for pretty much anything.  They have sex a few times that night and the following morning, and by the time the weekend is over, they’ve agreed to be an official, exclusive couple.  

The Carisi family falls head over heels for Kate, in large part because she’s so obviously head over heels for Sonny. His sisters freak Kate out a bit. She has sisters of her own, but they have boundaries.  Still, the Carisi girls don’t take long to bash their way into Kate’s heart, and pretty soon she’s going shopping and to brunch with them, without Sonny, and she’s in their confidence as though she’s one of them.  Kate likes Sonny’s Ma, too, with her obvious protective love for him and her equally obvious hatred of his dangerous career choice.  She wants him to go to law school and, although she likes Kate well enough, she wishes Sonny woulda picked a girl who wasn’t also a cop.  It’ll only encourage him.  Kate’s favorite member of the Carisi family has to be Sonny’s dad. In a house full of nattering, shrieking, cackling women, he is an oasis of taciturn calm.  He is as sweet, genuine, and funny as Sonny is, but he’s never gonna out-shout his women, so if you want to hear what he has to say, you have to come to him.  He is also the voice of finality in the family.  Everyone else can argue and rail to their hearts’ content, but when Dominick Carisi has rendered a verdict, the determination is final and everyone knows it.

Sonny and Kate spend the next year together and, somewhere closer to the beginning than the end, they realize they’re in love.  Sonny starts thinking about what he wants, because Homicide is getting to him and the idea of law school is pretty attractive, but if he leaves Brooklyn, it’s gonna get tough to be with Kate.  That’s the only reason he hasn’t asked her to marry him, because everything else is perfect. This, with her, is what he’s always wanted.  He imagines the future with her because he can’t stand the idea of a future without her. She’s his best friend, the sexiest and most fun best friend he’s ever had, and he can’t get enough of her.

But Homicide is really getting to him.  Kate tells Sonny to ask for a transfer.  His sisters tell him to ask for a transfer.  His Ma tells him to ask for a transfer and gives him some printouts about the night school law program at Fordham University. When his dad tells him to ask for a transfer, Sonny does.  He also applies and gets accepted to Fordham Law.  He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to find his calling.  

It takes six months, but he’s finally transferred to Staten Island SVU.  Almost immediately, he knows two things.  First, this is work he has a natural feeling for.  He thinks he could be good at this.  Second, living back in Staten Island and having a girlfriend he wants to spend every waking moment with (sleeping, too, for that matter) is not going to work.  After two months, he asks for and is transferred to Brooklyn SVU.  It’s a nightmare.  He’s with Kate, but the Captain running Brooklyn SVU hates his job almost as much as he hates women.  Sonny can’t take it.  He’s already feeling like SVU is what he was born to do, and he cannot watch victims be marginalized, disbelieved and, worst of all, disrespected.  

The asshole Captain also enjoys giving Sonny shit about looking so young, so Sonny grows a mustache.  It is completely and utterly wrong on him, the dictionary definition of a pornstache, but everyone loves Sonny too much to tell him. Kate can’t support the ‘stache, but she totally supports Sonny when he jumps at a chance to transfer to Queens SVU. Big mistake.  Both the lieutenant and Sonny’s partner take an immediate and active dislike to him and he lasts a week.

An Assistant Deputy Chief, who has always seen something in Carisi, steps in.  She contacts Deputy Chief Dodds and talks up Carisi’s interrogation skills which, to be fair, are raw but very promising.  She avoids mention of the mustache.  Dodds is always looking to bank a favor, so he agrees to send Carisi to Manhattan SVU.  He’s heard rumblings that the Captain in Brooklyn and the Lieutenant in Queens don’t like Carisi, but the Captain in Brooklyn is a cretin and the Lieutenant in Queens is a marginally competent whackjob, so Dodds figures that’s a point in Carisi’s favor.

Sonny likes Manhattan SVU right away.  This is a unit where they take sex crimes and their victims seriously, he can feel it.  He instantly sees the dedication and passion in everyone there, especially Sergeant Benson. He’s found a home, and it takes him very little time to recognize it.  

All his dreams are about to come true.  He’s halfway through law school now, and it’s long since become his ultimate dream to become an ADA and prosecute sex crimes.  Manhattan SVU’s ADA, a smug smartass named Barba, is fast becoming Sonny’s idol.  Barba doesn’t miss a chance to smack Sonny down for some reason, but it isn’t personal, just a bit of sadistic fun, and Sonny doesn’t mind it.  Everything seems to have fallen into place for Sonny Carisi.

Except.

Except his job can be 24/7, and it’s in Manhattan.  And he’s in love with a woman whose job can be 24/7, too, and it’s in Brooklyn.  And all that is in addition to him being in law school.  At first, Sonny and Kate just kiss and shrug and say they’ll make it work. But it’s not long before they’re stretched so thin their time together starts to feel like conjugal visits at Attica and he’s too exhausted sometimes even for that.  She tries not to complain.  There is no other man for her than Sonny Carisi, and she’ll accept whatever he can give her.  But it’s hard.  She misses him so bad sometimes she thinks she’ll die from it, and once he finally shaves off that fucking pornstache, she surrenders and asks about transferring to Narcotics in Manhattan.  Except no one in her chain of command is willing to let her do it.  

One of their all-too-infrequent visits hits her on a bad day, and she breaks down in front of him, something she has sworn not to do.  She tells him how bad it’s gotten for her, and he says it’s the same for him.  But they agree that they love each other too much to give up.  They struggle on for a couple more months until, out of nowhere, she thinks she might be pregnant.  She’s not, but it’s the beginning of the end, because it makes them face facts.  All of the options for living together, being a family with their child if there had been one, involve one or the other of them giving up pretty much everything else. And as much as they hate the idea of doing that themselves, neither of them is willing to let the other do it.  

Which is why, at this moment, Sonny is sitting on a stone bench in Prospect Park, crying in the arms of the woman he loves.  He is helplessly in love with Kate Kinsella.  He wants to marry her.  And there is simply no way that either one of them can see to make it work when he’s in Manhattan with his wagon hitched to a star and she’s in Brooklyn making a name for herself.  She’s about to go undercover for an extended period of time, maybe months. It’s time to give up on the idea that they can somehow find a way to be together.  They can’t, and it’s time to admit that before their relationship gets battered into little pieces and they end up destroying something that is sacred to both of them.

It’s rough.  They go back to Kate’s apartment – Sonny’s already given up his place in Brooklyn – and cry while they make love.  They kiss each other goodbye and wish each other happiness.  They’re not going to try to keep in touch.  It’s too painful.  It’s easier just to end it and be done.  But oh, fuck does it hurt.

 *****************

Kate always feels odd wearing a suit, and she thinks nylons are a misogynistic nightmare made to prey on women like her, who can’t figure out how to live a normal life and still keep a garment precisely one nanometer thick in one piece for an entire workday.  She usually doesn’t dress up this much for court, but this trial is a big deal.  The perp committed crimes in several Northeastern states, and those committed in New York were done in several different Precincts.  With the FBI involved and national attention on the trial, the Brooklyn DA’s office wants the 92nd Precinct to make Brooklyn look good.  Anyway, Kate’s all right.  After all the undercover work she’s done, she’s used to playing dress-up.  This is basically just a variation on a theme.  

Today, the Judge is hearing a number of motions, one of which is a motion to exclude her testimony and all the evidence they gathered when her team busted into his room at a cheap motel.  The reason is some bullshit having to do with her violating the perp’s Fourth Amendment rights during the search.  The Judge has agreed to let the attorneys voir dire her outside the presence of the jury so that she can make a ruling.  With no way to know in which order the Judge will want to hear the motions, Kate figures she’s in for a long, boring morning in court.

Until she sees him.  Until she sees his tall, lanky frame enter the courtroom with that unmistakable walk and that hair that looks like no one else’s on the planet.  Assistant District Attorney Dominick Carisi. Assistant fucking District Attorney Dominick Carisi.  She’s mildly concerned that her heart has been stopped since he walked in, but she’s more concerned about the instant tears that threaten.  Cardiac arrest won’t ruin her makeup.

He looks good.  He looks so good.  His hair has a lot of silver in it now, which brings home to Kate more than anything how many years it’s been.  The Senior ADA says something to him and he smiles at her and Kate actually feels a physical pain in her heart.  To say she’s missed him would be like saying the Hindenburg had a bit of a problem on landing.  She’d cried on the day he graduated from law school and she couldn’t be there to share his accompishment.  She’d looked for his name every time the Bar Association put out a list of those who had passed the bar exam, and she’d cried again when she saw it and knew that she hadn’t been there to celebrate with him.  Kate now hopes the motion she’s here for will be called last, so she can just sit here, watching him live his dream.  He’s beautiful.  She’d forgotten how impossible it was to look away from him.  She’d known she wasn’t over him.  She’d known the men she’d dated since Sonny had all been unfavorably – and unfairly – compared to him.  But until this moment, she hadn’t realized that he was still the only man for her.  

He’s apparently sitting second chair for this trial.  Kate doesn’t know where she gets off being proud of him, as though he still belonged to her, but she is.  And when he addresses the court and she gets to hear his voice, she wants to clap and cry at the same time.  Assistant fucking District Attorney Dominick Carisi.  He’s wearing a nice suit and it fits him well, which gets her to thinking about his body so that now, not only is she overjoyed for him, shocked to see him, and freshly heartbroken again, she’s horny for him, too.   Her testimony is going to be gobbledygook.

The motion to exclude that testimony is called mid-morning. She wonders whether he knew she was going to be testifying today, and figures he must have.  She wonders whether he will acknowledge her.  She’s not nervous about testifying after all the times she’s had to do it, but her rubbery legs and vibrating body tell her she’s very nervous about testifying in front of Sonny.  

She takes the stand and doesn’t look at him as she’s sworn in. She’s glad to see that the Senior ADA is the one who stands up to question her for the People, but it’s time. They’re going to have to acknowledge one another at some point, and it’s time.  She turns her eyes to him, and he’s looking at her.  He gives her just the tiniest grin and then he fucking winks. In open court.  From the Prosecution table.  The tears threaten again, but she emulates his little grin and then turns all her attention to the ADA.  

The Judge excuses Kate from the witness stand and she risks another look at Sonny.  He’s looking at her again, or still, and this time their smiles are just a bit bigger. Kate sits and listens to the Judge rule that Kate’s testimony and the evidence are in.  She’s glad.  It means she can help nail the scumbag who’s on trial, and it means she’ll see Sonny again. She’s making plans to buy a new suit for the trial as she stands to leave the courtroom, expecting that Sonny will be very busy doing ADA things and won’t even see her go.  

Those who had been watching the motions shuffle slowly down the aisle until, just before reaching the door, Kate steps aside behind the last row of seats.  She’s promised herself one long, last look at Sonny before she actually leaves the courtroom. She turns around to look, and Sonny isn’t there.  

He’s five feet away, waiting impatiently for people to move out of his way so he can catch her.  When he knows she sees him, his smile is bright enough to scorch the air.  He looks so happy she feels those damn tears again, only this time, there’s no way she can stop them.  Fortunately, there are only a few, and she wipes them quickly away with her hand before he finally reaches her.  His eyes seem a bit moist, too.  He always did wear his heart on his sleeve.  Oh, how she loves him.  Still.

He takes her into his arms, lifting her off her feet, although she’s only a few inches shorter than he is.  

“Kate, it’s so good to see you,” he says into her hair, his voice thick with emotion.  He’s not going to cry, not here in the courtroom, but he could if he let himself. He’s been looking forward to this meeting for weeks.  Imagined it a thousand times.  She feels exactly how he remembers, only better because it’s been so damnably, unbearably long.  He’s happy to feel that she’s squeezing him back, holding him close the way he’s holding her.  “I’ve missed you.  You’ll never know how much I missed you,” he murmurs, turning his head to inhale as much of her scent as possible.  He doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching, or what they think.  This is Kate.  She’s right here, right now, and he isn’t going to miss a thing.  

“Probably about as much as I missed you,” she says into his ear.

When he loosens his arms, he doesn’t completely let her go. He keeps his hands on her waist, just like he’d planned.  His big hands could almost touch around her small waist.  He’s looking down into her eyes, and they’re both smiling broadly and – what?  Giggling, maybe?  Oh, what the hell.  This is a huge moment, and if they giggle through it, so be it.  That is kinda them, anyway.

“Look at you!  Assistant DA. You’ve come a long way, Carisi Homicide.”

“Got a long way to go, still, but I’m here.”

“I hardly know what to say to you.  You look fantastic, and your family must be about dying with pride.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty happy.  My Ma’s thrilled I’m not carryin’ a gun anymore, or gettin’ shot at.”

“Especially when I’m not around to save your ass.”

They smile at eachother and suddenly they’re hugging again.

“I saw you made Detective First Grade.  Proud a’ you.”

Kate blushes a little and Sonny can feel that blush, way low down.

“I wanna see you.  I can’t today, I’m neck deep, but sometime soon.”

Kate doesn’t know how to respond.  She looks a little surprised.

“Please?”

“Shit, Sonny, of course I want to see you, I just, wasn’t expecting that is all.”

“We’re still friends, right?”

“Always.”  

“You got a boyfriend or somethin’, you could bring him along,” he says, praying fervently that she will say she doesn’t.  He has no right to, but he wants to break things at the thought of her with someone else.  Especially because she’s become even more beautiful since he’s seen her last.  She moves with an authority that becomes her, that probably stems from the success she’s had at Brooklyn Narcotics.  She’s wearing her hair down, and it’s got a little curl to it, and he wants nothing more than to run his hands through it and then grab handfuls and pull her to him and kiss her stupid.  

“I don’t, actually.  You got a girlfriend?”

“Not me.  I’m a little married to the DA’s office right now.  So I guess it’ll be just us.”

“I guess so.”

“Can I call you?”

“Of course.”

They put each other’s current numbers into their phones and then it’s time for her to go.  Court’s about to reconvene.  They hug for the third time in ten minutes, and it lasts too long, but neither of them can let go.  Sonny’s dick is definitely feeling Kate’s presence, which is eventually what makes him break the hug.  

After she says goodbye and he watches her leave the courtroom, giving him a little backward glance, he swears under his breath.  He’s still as much in love with Kate Kinsella as he ever was. He’s tried, but he hasn’t met anyone who can hold a candle to her, and he realizes that, somewhere in his imaginings about seeing her today, he had dimly hoped that she would be different.  That he would feel nothing and realize he’d moved on.  Nope. His heart still belongs entirely to her.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #sonny carisi #peter scanavino #ADA Carisi #Dominick Sonny Carisi Jr #Call me Sonny

[alexsmitposts]

Relax America: Putin Controls the Horizontal When did you first wake up from the collective sleep? For me, it was right before the Sochi Olympics of 2014. The roll-up blinds turned loose and snapped open, letting the bright morning sun rush into my sleepy brain. I remember thinking, “Wait a minute, us Americans, we’re supposed to be sportsmanlike.” So, something went was all wrong about Russia’s big Winter Olympic extravaganza. Only it had nothing to do with the Russians. The “something” was the onset of Russophobic chaos, you can call it Cold War II. All that hate leveled on Russia at her shining moment, it was the trumpeting of the end of peace in our time. “There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. We can roll the image, make it flutter. We can change the focus to a soft blur, or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat: There is nothing wrong with your television set. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to… The Outer Limits.” Cut scene away from the 1962 TV series to 2021. Russian strongman Vladimir Putin now controls the world. An American billionaire president is run like a sock puppet by the former KGB Colonel. The great democracy is a push-button Russian toy. Putin’s GRU operatives in secret cyber pods across Russia monkey with the inner workings our America’s system. And now, even the Democratic Party candidates of a once-great nation are nothing more than little wooden Pinocchios for Vladimir to have fun with. It’s over. The Ruskies have won the game. Before long Starbucks will be serving blinis and borscht with a shot of Belebeyevskaya classic vodka. At least this is the rumor from CNN and The New York Times. GQ Magazine asks the question; “Why Does Putin Love Bernie?” James Carville, President Clinton’s former adviser, and campaign manager says; “the Nevada caucuses are a big win for top vote-getter Bernie Sanders, and for Vladimir Putin.” Google promotes the topic of “Russia and Bernie Sanders” to the top of any news search for Putin. Mike Bloomberg is telling the world Bernie Sanders is Putin’s choice because he can’t beat Donald Trump come November. And the United States of America is reduced to a great big mess of finger-pointers and Chicken Little fraidy-cats hollering “THE SKY IS FALLING!” Bloomberg likes China’s President Xi Jinping, Trump’s in Putin’s pocket, Sanders is the Russian interference super-cop, and the people of my country are a fragmented mess of dizzy Disney characters hell-bent on self. The world can go to hell, as long as we can feel like America is great again. In the meantime, the globalists who got the world in the current mess are creating a bipolar power struggle that can only lead to confrontation. From my perspective, everything we are seeing is the beating of war drums in preparation for some ultimate confrontation. The tension feels a lot worse than the original Cold War, in many ways. It’s as if some Wizard of Arms is behind the curtain pulling the strings to take us to a massive arms buildup. This hate and fear Russia narrative can only end in greater world crises. Just the other day Putin commented that Russia is ready for another “Cuban Missile Crisis” scenario if the west takes things that far. But the game big problem is not the complexion of this new Great Game. The more dangerous issue is the fact that policy analysis and geostrategy have become impossible now. The current situation cannot be looked at objectively anymore. Nobody is the expert in a cosmic mind mashing of misinformation and tailored rhetoric coming from all sides. Media is no longer news. Research is tainted by the big money. Profit superimposes an invisible will on everything we hear, see, think, and do. Putin the villain. Crazy Trump. And now the useless Bernie comes under the Russian mind control beam. Nuts. The world has gone nuts. We might as well be in the Dark Ages waiting for the total demographic, cultural, and economic deterioration to come. The New York Times’ On Politics writer Lisa Lerer says “the Russians don’t have to help President Trump or Bernie Sanders. They may already be winning.” It’s funny to me that none of these genius journalists and experts ever ask “What if?” Think about it. Let’s say Vladimir Putin is the great wizard pulling all the levers. What happens when the evil genius Putin finally wins it all? I guess, worst-case scenario, every Russian has two SUVs in their two-car garages in their Vladivostok or Yekaterinburg suburbs. Hell, America operates as if there are not enough gas-guzzling 4x4s to go around. A moment of pause, please. Why was it that the United States and Russia were enemies in the first place? Was there a purpose in all this west-east maneuvering? In my honest opinion, Vladimir Putin has done everything in his power to reconcile relations with the United States. In fact, he’s bent over backward to moderate the situation that came about because of the Ukraine coup. Yes, I said coup. The United States was behind Ukraine-EU integration all along, and Russia has only been on the defensive since before the Georgia War, which was also instigated by the United States. Even though the analysis of the overall geopolitical situation has become impossible, evaluating Putin’s role is not so complex. If the Russian president had wanted this bipolar power struggle, all he needed to do was to forge a military alliance with Iran and/or China. If his grand idea was territorial dominance, air dominance land-based military control of Asia, the Persian Gulf, and satellites in Latin America like Venezuela would pretty much do it. Sadly, this scenario looms darkly over the current situation we face. Americans are totally brainwashed and blinded by controlled media. The MAGA nonsense ripped the United States right down the middle. One provocation, a Gulf of Tonkin, and the next Vietnam or Korea is a reality. There’s nobody and nothing to stop it. Hell, a full-scale revolution is not beyond the scope of imagination if there is a close 2020 presidential race. The stage is set on that. With Putin and Russia as the convenient instigators, try and imagine how a silent or loud coup in America works. Think like the 21st Century robber barons in charge of this whole mess. Somewhere in London or New York, a room thick with cigar smoke and old leather echoes with the casual planning of powerful men. And no, there are no ladies present, I am sorry for those among you who believe in things like equality. This mahogany clad penthouse overlooking us peons is where the fates are being calculated. Two, five, six, or seven old and angry men decide it all. The end game. What Putin will do. How Trump’s play will impact the big win or lose of west versus east. Bernie or Bloomberg. None of this really matters, don’t you see? I can assure you, these people are there planning and plotting based on foreknowledge that presidential outcomes are controlled. Come on America, we know this since forever. The only question is; “Are they planning for the ultimate takeover of the world, or do they already control it?” My only hope is that I am right in betting on Vladimir Putin being on the level. I hope Putin does control the horizontal in this case, because the vertical is controlled by the worst of the worst among us.

[finnanbeaton]

Worldbuilding questions! In your world... Is the economy currency based or based on bartering physical goods? What is most valuable? What is least? | What do dwellings typically look like? What materials are usually used in their construction? Are there stylistic features common among structures? | What is the typical wardrobe like? Colourful or dull? Fancy or functional? Warm or light?

This got super long, so there’s now a read more

~Is the Economy Currency Based or based on Bartering?

  a) It depends on location and access. In the Spindle ‘Verse, there are several major economies that happen simultaneously. The major economy that’s is the evolution of our current model of currency but has switched to an entire electronic method. You have your legal methods and your illegal methods of transferring money between people. The legal method is determined based on your UBI which all citizens have once a spindle is installed and they’ve reached the age of sixteen. Citizens can apply for work programs, university education, and internships once they’ve finished schooling but the numbers for each are limited. Each Megalopolis have their own numbers for what positions and jobs are available at any given time. Spindles work as a biometric tag, an identification, access to the internet, access to the government, complete health history. Everything is collated and transferred via the Spindle. Money is no longer physically necessary because those who wish to purchase things, can either purchase them from the net, or if they would like to go to a local store walk in and walk out with their items the system debiting their bank accounts upon leave. However, this hasn’t stopped people from referring to money, the general term used is Coin.

However, to get around these limitations and to have funds available or necessary items not provided by UBI or other means, bartering has sprung up in many places. Most notably you’ll find bartering systems in the old Waterfront, and inside the Weeds. The tent cities that pop up around the waterfront are strictly prohibited from using any forms of currency, they’re given only so much and access so Spindles are limited to citizens only.

That being said, economies spring up where they need to and use whatever they have on hand. Bartering is one of the easiest forms of trade, whether in physical goods or in skill. Pop ups are very common where noncoms open up quick pop markets, for exchange skills (repair services, health services, etc), textiles are very popular.

The Weeds has done something similar with markets and bartering. When the Havens started enforcing limits on jobs and businesses that could be opened they stopped requesting and opened stalls on the street. In the beginning the police tried to quell the markets, claiming they opened up to black market items and illegal goods, but the markets kept on coming and the people fought back. In order to keep the peace the markets were allowed to stay.

Off Comms deal with their economy an even different way, dealing with both currency and bartering systems as necessary. Most OffComms are socialist communes where no one person owns one thing. Things within the public domain are kept there and everyone has access. Fair compensation is given for goods and things like food and shelter are provided and obtained as a collective. It’s not a perfect system and there are things that need to be worked out and communication between everyone is necessary to keep it functioning but so far so good.

~What is Most Valuable/What is Least?

a) Skill sets are one of the most valuable commodity among bartering econs. Textiles, repair services, gardening, cooking, art pieces, jewelry making. All of these have great value within the market because they’re often unique and can be traded one to one. Someone who is very good at carpentry or repair work can barter their services to fix someone’s home for clothing, or for food items not provided or difficult to obtain fresh. In the Weeds, actual money, is useless unless being used one of the registered businesses and you can’t get anything without a spindle anywhere else.

~What do dwellings typically look like? What materials are usually used in their construction? Are there stylistic features common among structures?

a) Homes in the Havens are tall, towering skyscrapers and super sleek apartments. They’re hyper green, with aesthetically pleasing gardens cascading artfully over balconies. It’s full of shining white concrete and sleek metals, tasteful and appropriate flowers and trees. The Havens has all the money, or a lot of it and all the government. And all the control. It’s home of the Spindle, main offices of SpOre and has the largest space cargo hubs in North America. The next largest is in South America in Caracas Venezuela.

The Hub’s location in the Havens is relatively. Following the events of the L_1_Virus outbreak in the 2070s the old system was scratched and a new one was built in the Havens in the early 2080s.

The Havens is a poster child, set up to be photographed and looked at from afar. Not many have the clearance or status to enter the main part of the city except on certain holidays and events.

The Weeds, when it was known as the Garden had much the same infrastructure but overtime and through shitty government handling building in the Garden took on a life of its own until SpOre under the instruction of the Government and with the help of the Spindles to corral growth. (This was much longer and included but I lost all of it because tumblr if you’re interested in the really shitty government handlings and the fact that Canada as we know it doesn’t exist anymore -- neither does the US mind you, I can go into more detail in a separate post)

Materials are pretty simple and prefab within the Weeds and even objects are simple and come with AR enabled options so that people customize their homes based on their spindles not wht’s actually present.

~What is the typical wardrobe like? Colourful or dull? Fancy or functional? Warm or light?

 I am going full cyberpunk cliche with the clothing styles, sleek and form fitting with clean lines, or leather and lots of buckles. Think sci fi anime and blade runner had a really well dressed baby. Colours are generally dark greys but that’s to enable the smart coding for the spindles to read the styles. People can change their styles and their clothes on a whim and purchase sets electronically.

There are other ways clothing is produced, and see above with the economy, cloth, weaving, and other forms of textile manufacture are still carried out and done. Some is boutique and sells for ridiculous sums in the Havens. (I have yet to determine the giagantic question of where are the sheep, but this is humanity and I’m just going to say we’ve found a way, and you’re just as likely to see a goat wandering down the streets in the weeds as a cat.

#quilloftheclouds #worldbuilding questions #writeblr #spindle:wip #finn asks

[isas-identity]

Listen. I could be whining about my lifestyle, about how nothing here works, how basic necessities don’t work, transport doesn’t work, about how every day is a struggle, about how politics suck and so on in Venezuela, i could complain about all of that every single day here in in my blog or social platforms.

But like, the thing is... that Im Tired. And I just want to watch anime and movies and have an ok time. 

Things never stop getting worse, so I just make my social platform be full of the things I like, god knows there’s enough bullshit on my day to day. 

So yeah, even with things the way they are I never post much about it, unless it’s like, really important THINGS. But that doesn’t mean they stop.

There are still blackouts every single day, and I barely get decent water service during one day and a half per week (we get saved because we have a very big water tank in the vuilding we live in), the transortation here is a joke, I even stopped working and haven’t been able to find another work exactly because lights go out every day and that affects transport and that stops me from getting to work and interviews, without mentioning the food problems. (AND dont get me started with the fact my mom has health problems and we cannot get her her medicine. whack.)

And all I can do is wait for the day they get those useless people who are in power right now out of there, that they pay for what they’ve done and rot in prison.

But until then, I’ll swoon over the next Harley Quinn and Wonder Woman movies coming out next year, watch anime and playthroughs on YT of badass videogames I wish I was playing all the while whining from time to time about the weather because sometimes it gets a degree too cold or too hot. 

Because fuck the fact I might have no future, but I might as well enjoy my present day a little bit.

#isa's ramblings #Venezuela #sorry i dont know where this rant came out from #personal #long wall of text post

[tomlinsun]

fun n useless fact: tmrw its venezuelas independence day

#and here we are in a dictatorship lol lmao #i just think its fun how today is murica’s n tmrw its venezuela’s

[bloojayoolie]

Apparently, Books, and Crazy: My bros I have been doing a lot of reading about Wacky wwll Hijinks lately and I want to tell you a story because I ove it okay once upon a time there was a dude in Spain named Juan Pujol Garcia. Pujol was a chicken farmer. Pujol hated him some goddamn fascists See Spain had recently ended its civil war, with the fascists taking power. So when Wwil broke out in Europe, Spain technically remained neutral but in practice was buddy buddy wih the Nazis. Juan Pujol Garcia thought this was pretty buishit so soon afer war breaks out Pujol travels to his local British embassy and goes hey I wanna spy on the Nazis for you who the fuck are you? say the British, and kick him out but Pujol is not deterred! He still wants to dunk on some fascists, so now he goes to his local German embassy instead. "hey" he says, 1 wanna spy on the British for you, I sure do hate them yeah okay" say the Germans "that seems pretty legint and just like that Pujol now officially works for the Abwehr, the German intelligence agency. They hand him some spy gear (invisible ink and such) and instruct him to travel to Lisbon, and from there make his way into the UK So Pujol heads to Lisbon, and a little while later wirites to his German handlers telling them he's made it to England Pujol had not made it to England. He had, in fact, made it to the Lisbon public library, where he checked out a number of English guide books and set about just wholesaie making shit up this is slightly complicated by the fact that, for example, he completely did not understand British currency and all his expense reports were basically gibberish. He also reported things like bribing Scotsmen, because the people of Glasgow would do anything for a litre of wine (an actual quote) because, hey, people in Spain like wine so that's probably the same right? Here is where it starts to get really crazy, because the Abwehr loves this. wow this dude is a great spy they say, because apparently none of them had ever been the England either In fact, they are so pumped about this new awesome spy that the British start to get woried you see, by this time the British had cracked German's supposedly unbreakable Enigma code and were totally dunking on the Nazis by reading basically all of their super top secret- radio transmissions. And, crucially, they'd become so good at breaking and reading traffic that there were literally no German spies in England. The Germans would set up a spy drop (usually dropping dudes in by parachute in the middle of the night), the British would intercept the message and then just scoop the dudes up as soon as they landed in a move that must have been SUPER embarrassing to the spies so there are no German spies in the UK because they're all sitting in a prison run by MI5 (although some are being run under supervision as double agents feeding Germany bullshit). But suddenly MI5 is picking up all this traffic from the Germans talking about their super great spy- a spy the British do not have in their ja ch shit says Mi5, and starts rereading all the transmissions they have to and from this mysterious super spy hey wait says MI5, upon actually reading the shit the spy was sending someone is playing sily buggers, pip pip cheerio At this point, Pujol still in Lisbon, had actually been approaching the British embassy again, repeatedly, but apparently 1 am literally an Abwehr agent and would like to offer you my services" wasn't interesting enough, because he was repeatedly turned away, again It wasn't until MIS started asking around that one of the embassy staff was like "oh yeah we know that guy so in 1942 the British finally make contact with Pujol and he officially becomes a spy for MI5. They move him to London and assign him a case officer so he can start making up even better bullshit and he does. Once actually in London, Pujol reports to the Abwehr that he'd recruted a whole slew of informants- from a bunch of Welsh Aryans to disaffected army officers. He ends up with a network of 20+ sub-spies, all feeding him information from around the UK none of these people actualy exist Pujol just straight up invented like 20 people, keeping careful track of their fake personalities, names, and activities. With the help of Mi5, the information he sends becomes even better- a mbx of true but umimately useless facts and actually important intel timed to arrive in Germany just slightly too late to be of any use. He and his "spy network become the Abwehr's most trusted agents Pujol, now codenamed Agent Garbo (for his acting skils), ends up playing a huge role in the run-up to D-Day, where the Allies mounted a huge inteligence campaign to convince Hitler that the planned site of attack was going to be Calais and not Normandy (this was Operation Fortitude and you should absolutely look it up for more Wacky wwi Adventures). Obviously you know how this ended crazily enough, the Abwehr never figured out that Pujol was a double agent Afler the war he received both the Iron Cross Second Class (which require personal authorization from Hitler), and a Member of the Order of the British Empire (from King George V) unable to resist being totally fucking ridicuious, Pujol turned down MI5's post-war offer to continue spying, but this time against the USSR. o, he said just help me fake my own death and then Im moving to Venezuela and thats exactly what he did. Juan Garcia Pujol died in 1988, at the age of 76 Okay Im just editing my reblog to add this picture of Juan Pujol Garcia because I feel that n adds so much to the story to picture him doing ALL THE ABOVE with this expression What a legend

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Apparently #Books #an

[ainawgsd]

Oilbird

The oilbird (Steatornis caripensis), locally known as the guácharo, is a bird species found in the northern areas of South America including the island of Trinidad. It is the only species in the genus Steatornis and the family Steatornithidae. Nesting in colonies in caves, oilbirds are nocturnal feeders on the fruits of the oil palm and tropical laurels. They are the only nocturnal flying fruit-eating birds in the world. They forage at night, with specially adapted eyesight. However they navigate by echolocation in the same way as bats, and are one of the few kinds of birds known to do so.

Oilbirds are related to the nightjars and usually placed with these in the order Caprimulgiformes. However, the nightjars and their relatives are insectivores while the oilbird is a specialist fructivore, and it is sufficiently distinctive to be placed in a family (Steatornithidae) and suborder (Steatornithes) of its own. The caripensis of the binomial name means "of Caripe", and Steatornis means "fat bird", in reference to the fatness of the chicks. The oilbird is called a guácharo or tayo in Spanish, both terms being of indigenous origin. In Trinidad it was sometimes called diablotin (French for "little devil"), presumably referring to its loud cries, which have been likened to those of tortured men. The common name "oilbird" comes from the fact that in the past chicks were captured and boiled down in order to make oil.

This is a large, slim bird at 16–19 inches, with a wing span of 37 inches. It has a flattened, powerfully hooked, bill surrounded by deep chestnut rictal bristles up to 2 inches long. The adult weighs 350–475 g (12.3–16.8 oz) but the chicks can weigh considerably more, at up to 600 grams (21 oz), when their parents feed them a good deal of fruit before they fly. The feathers of the oilbird are soft like those of many nightbirds, but not as soft as those of owls or nightjars, as they do not need to be silent like predatory species. The feet are small and almost useless, other than for clinging to vertical surfaces. The long wings have evolved to make it capable of hovering and twisting flight, which enables it to navigate through restricted areas of its caves. 

The eyes of oilbirds are highly adapted to nocturnal foraging. The eyes are small, but the pupils are relatively large, allowing the highest light-gathering capacity of any bird. The retina is dominated by rod cells, 1,000,000 per rods mm2, the highest density of any vertebrate eye, which are organised in layers, an arrangement unique among birds but shared by deep-sea fish. They have low numbers of cone cells, and the whole arrangement would allow them to capture more light in low light conditions but probably have poor vision in daylight. Although they have specially adapted vision to forage by sight, they are among the few birds known to supplement sight by echolocation in sufficiently poor light conditions, using a series of sharp audible clicks for this purpose. The only other birds known to do this are some species of swift.

Oilbirds are nocturnal. During the day the birds rest on cave ledges and leave at night to find fruit outside the cave. It was once thought that oilbirds only roosted in caves, and indeed never saw daylight, but studies using GPS/acceleration loggers found that non-breeding birds only roosted in caves or other rock shelters one night in three, the other nights roosting in trees. The scientists responsible for the discovery also found that birds roosting in caves were highly active through the night, whereas birds roosting in the forest were far less active. They hypothesised that each environment carried costs; birds roosting in the forest were more vulnerable to predators and birds roosting in caves expended considerable energy competing with rivals and defending nesting and roosting ledges.

The Guácharo Cave was Venezuela's first national monument, and is the centerpiece of a national park; according to some estimates there may be 15,000 or more birds living there. Colombia also has a national park named after its "Cueva de los Guácharos", near the southern border with Ecuador. Oilbirds have been reported in various other places along the Andean mountain chain, including near Ecuador's Cueva de los Tayos and in Brazil: they are known to dwell as far south as the Carrasco National Park in Bolivia. Dunston Cave, at the Asa Wright Nature Centre in Trinidad, is home to about 200 nesting pairs.

#animal abc's #O #oilbird #guacharo #tayo #echolocation #bat birds #south american animals #source: google