Plan B, it was.
Plan B, it was.
Q’s van has one really nice feature: it’s long.
Schedules have been squishing around, here. Q was planning on showing up next week but was free now, so he arrived last night. I had a beer and he fried some fungus [chicken of the woods] he picked up in Moshannon state park and we schemed a bit. Having had the experience of nearly crapping myself to death after eating a wild mushroom, I had some heat and eat curry and rice while I watched him prepare his doom.
If you expect someone to trade “quid pro quo” (this for that) you can’t randomly renege on the deal.
At the presidential debate. Question for Joe Biden about the long-term impact of deferring corporate payments into social security… Then, it’s Trump’s turn:
One of my favorite parts of a project is the final assembly. It’s so gratifying when all the pieces come together and you see your vision, radiant and complete.
My recent study of labor relations in the US, during “the golden age” (AKA “when the robber barons ruled”) leaves me with a memory of beatings. Endless beatings. It seems as though the establishment’s first resort when confronted is to grab a stout stick, and beat on someone. If that doesn’t work, they beat that person’s wife and kids.
If the US political news weren’t already over-saturated with the smoke and flames from the multiple murder dumpster fire that is the executive branch, maybe there would be some attention spared for the tragedy of another oligarch whose turn it is, having to actually struggle to access power.
Donald Trump specializes in self-own. This has actually resulted in a sort of mini-revelation for me: now I respect all presidents less than I used to; we’re into negative numbers.
When the FBI and DHS fusion centers started building vast, unregulated, facial recognition databases, they shrugged elaborately and said that there weren’t any standard protections for doing so, and that they were just experimenting, and it wasn’t going to be used operationally until the legalities were all sorted out.
