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OLIE & the Z-Lotz

20 Monday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in story, Veritas

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Democracy, politics, story, Veritas

With Shadow Walker looking on with his sword at the ready, Many Paths searched the Z-Lotz stranger for concealed weapons. They tied a length of rope around both his ankles so that he could shuffle along, but not run or kick. They also tied OLIE’s hands behind him. While performing these tasks, Shadow Walker & Many Paths carried on a rapid conversation in Veritas and watched for signs of comprehension but saw none. 

Shadow Walker spoke to the fettered man using a combination of signs and the broken Z-Lotz that he knew. “We do not plan to harm you. As we said, some might try. Their anger might burn out of control before they think. We will prepare people first to help ensure your safety. We have bound you, but you would be foolish to try to escape. The last time Z-Lotz came under a flag of truce, they left deadly poisonous “gifts” and many among the Veritas consider this … unworthy … a most unworthy action for a human being.” 

Many Paths led the trio back toward the Center Place of the Veritas, while Shadow Walker walked behind their prisoner. He forced himself to stay ever-alert to the possibility that the man might bolt into the underbrush or use some hidden weapon or signal some nearby warriors to attack. Though he didn’t consider this likely, the consequences of being too complacent could be catastrophic. It occurred to Shadow Path that having a “prisoner” was actually a burden. It slowed down their progress considerably. It made conversation between himself and Many Paths stiffer and more circuitous. Though he was reasonably sure that OLIE really knew very little or no Veritas, he couldn’t be completely sure. Maybe everything was play-acting. Maybe they were walking into — or even already in — a trap of some kind that he could not foresee. How could a people become like the Z-Lotz — full of deception and deceit? Couldn’t they perceive how much more difficult it made life for the Z-Lotz themselves? 

Many Paths engaged in silent reflection of her own. She had been astounded at how little the Z-Lotz seemed to have known about the Veritas. And yet — the thought that haunted her was that the Veritas themselves has known so little about their neighbors. All their neighbors. Knowing more about the other tribes would make war less likely, but if war came, she reasoned, it would also make for a less costly victory. She frowned. She realized that it wasn’t just knowing about the other tribes. It was also understanding them. It wasn’t enough simply to know that the Z-Lotz and the Cupiditas had chosen their leaders by mortal combat. Now she knew that. In fact, bynow, all the Veritas knew that. But none had any idea why they did that. Yet, if OLIE were to be believed, even the priests of the Z-Lotz could see that it was now leading to too much bloodshed. Again, if OLIE could be believed, having Shadow Walker step down as king — or, to put it more accurately — flee the Z-Lotz City — Read-It OLIE had called it — Shadow Walker had fled the Read-It and that caused more chaos. 

Though the mind of Many Paths never strayed far from the puzzle of how to have the various tribes work together to ensure peace, her senses stayed tune to the world around her. The path back to the village was extremely well known to her and she stayed on the lookout for the slightest evidence of the presence of additional Z-Lotz. Her next thought made her suddenly chuckle to herself. She said to Shadow Walker, “Ask OLIE why their custom is to choose their leader as the one most lethal or … perhaps that is not the way they think of … just ask how they pick their leaders and why they do it that way. 

Shadow Walker tried to think how best to phrase the question. “OLIE, you said my leaving suddenly made things worse for you. For that, I am sorry. One thing we Veritas cannot understand is the whole — I don’t really understand exactly how you choose leaders and I have no idea why you choose them that way. If I understand it, someone always dies and … never mind. Please explain it as you do to your own children. We truly wish to understand.”

OLIE continued to shuffle along for a time then said, “How do you choose a new leader?” 

Shadow Walker frowned. He translated the question for his Partner. She chuckled but made no attempt to answer the question. Shadow Walker said, “Our leader stays in power only so long as she — or he — is seen by the people as doing a good job of leading. Initially, the old leader devises a series of trials for those who would be leader. Most recently, our old leader devised a series of seven tests. Many Paths was the only one to succeed at all the trials. So, she became the leader.”

OLIE nodded. “Why do you choose leaders in the way you do?”

Shadow Walker pursed his lips. He translated the question for Many Paths. Then he sighed and answered this way. “It is custom, I suppose. It seems to work. I have heard many reasons and thought of a few myself. First, the current leader knows what it takes to be the leader. She, or more rarely, he, has spent much time trying to honestly understand her mistakes and how she could have avoided them or how her successor might avoid similar mistakes in the future. She learns from everyone in the entire Tribe and from the place we live — the birds, the lizards, the bees, the flowers, the trees, the river, the mountains. They all inform her of what the people need to learn and especially what the leader must be able to do. 

“Second, the tests or trials are themselves a learning experience, especially for those who wish to be the leader, but also for the Tribe as a whole and also for the current leader. 

“Third, the trials are not secret as to outcome, and everyone who wanted to be a leader can see who did the various tasks well and who did not. All of those who tried to be leader could see for themselves how well Many Paths did on these tasks. If they are honest with themselves, they all realize that she performed the best.  

“Fourth, the tribe itself sings of these trials. Not only the recent ones, but all of them. The stories in our songs also speak of how the various leaders actually were — how they behaved — what their successes and failures were. So, we not only learn from the trials and from the past leaders but also look for mistakes in how the leaders were chosen. One of our tales is about a would-be leader we call ‘The Orange Man’ — our tale tells of how his lying and his greed resulted in the death of an entire village as well as his own death. He was never actually a leader but he wanted to be in charge of everything and everyone. Such a one would never be chosen by a real leader, but if he had been chosen, the people would soon have called for a new leader. As it was, he was rightfully just an outcast. But if he had been a leader of the Veritas, and if he had actually passed some tests, we would incorporate the failure of those tests to discover this dishonesty and greed.

“There may be more reasons, but tell me why you choose your leaders the way you do.” 

OLIE began what seemed to be a well-rehearsed recitation. “The Book that tells us All says leaders choose themselves. Only the strongest and the smartest will survive. Only the strongest and the smartest will be leaders. Thus, it has been from the beginning of time. Thus it is now. Thus, it shall always be.” 

OLIE shuffled forward adding nothing to this quotation. 

After a time, Shadow Walker said, “That says nothing about mortal combat determining the outcome. Is there more?” 

OLIE stopped in his tracks. He turned awkwardly to look at Shadow Walker. “What do you mean? It says that only the strongest and smartest will survive. What else could it mean?” 

Many Paths had turned around as well. “Is everything all right?” 

Shadow Walker recapped his little discussion with OLIE.

Many Paths beamed! “Wonderful! Keep going! This is excellent. Fill me in when you can.” The tiniest hint of a smile curled her lip and she looked at Shadow Walker and raised one eyebrow. 

Shadow Walker felt himself blush slightly, but plunged back into his halting conversation in Z-Lotz {Translator’s Note: here reproduced without the haltingness}. “There are many contests of strength! Felling trees, swimming rivers, lifting stones, wrestling. A contest of strength doesn’t have to be a fight to the death.” 

OLIE frowned. “But fight to the death is the natural way. All animals do this.”

Shadow Walker stifled a laugh. “No they don’t! A few fight for top position, but such fights are rarely lethal. I have never witnessed one, but our tales say it is possible. Even in such a position, the top wolf or elk will consider input from all. They are not all-powerful. That makes them blind to what is really happening. It has to. They are under constant fear that someone will kill them at any time, with or without but probably with the help of traitors. But that means, no-one really trusts anyone. If everyone must hide the truth…? Did the Z-Lotz build Read-It?”

OLIE shook his head. “No, they were built by the ancients. Then, they left because god told them to and left the City for the homeless and nomadic Z-Lotz.”

“Could you build such a City as Read-It again?”

OLIE shook his head. “You ask strange questions. I have never heard anyone speak of such a thing. But it is obvious the answer is ‘no.’ Much of what the Ancients left us, we do not understand. If we do not understand, it is safest not to touch it. Some died touching things that they did not understand. But we have no knowing of how-to such buildings nor the magic stems that bring us water. Nor the vines that bring us light. What does this have to do with how our leaders are chosen?” 

Shadow Walker nodded gravely. “You came to something you did not understand. When you tried to learn from it, people died. You as a people decided that you didn’t want to challenge knowledge and explore because that would be dangerous. You liked having an absolute King so that all disputes could be settled at once though arbitrarily and almost always in favor of the King’s own interests. Such a King would rarely be motivated to do great good for a great number of people. That would simply enable more challenges to his rule. He would instill fear in the people by brutality. And that brutality would be aimed precisely at the strongest and the smartest! He would want to eliminate this most likely challengers. What he would prefer are the most pliable and, frankly…But let me hear what you think about this. You lived there. I only — let us say — visited.” 

yths

————————

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The Trust Dilemma

06 Monday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in story, Veritas

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Democracy, legend, meeting, myth, USA

Many Paths eagerly took the hand of Shadow Walker. The latter said, “Let’s walk to the top of Wolf’s Back Ridge. We can pick some blackberries on the way. I wanted to tell you about an interesting conversation I had with Horse Whisperer the other day.” Many Paths smiled and nodded in assent. Despite the opening, they walked in silence for a time. This suited Many Paths for her mind was still on the conversation she had just had with She Who Saved Many Lives. At last, they came to the bend in the path where the blackberries grew. They were warm and luscious from the sun. 

As they picked — and ate — Shadow Walker said, “So. Horse Whisperer. Of all the people we know, he surely is the most fluent in ROI.” Shadow Walker could see that a dark cloud passed over the face of his lover. “I know. I’m no fan of the ROI either. Yet, eventually, we need a way to invite them to the Meeting of the Six Tribes. Tu-Swift vouches for him, in a way. Horse Whisperer was okay with being part of the business of stealing children and selling them for slaves to the Z-Lotz. That’s true. But now, I think he is … his mind is more aligned with our ways than theirs. He is happier than he ever was in the ROI. And, he knows that. He mentioned it to me when we were fishing the other day.” Shadow Walker laughed and added, “Well, when I was fishing. He knew nothing about it. Can you imagine? All his life was ordered around taking care of the horses. He knew very little about fishing, or even hunting, or being a warrior. The ROI — they are very — their lives are put into different urns. And, they live most of their lives in those urns. Or, I suppose, I should say ‘lived’ because I’m not even sure there are enough ROI left to have a way of life separate from the Z-Lotz. I told him what I saw and heard when I was a captive of the Z-Lotz; namely, that after the ROI lost their village, the ROI who fled to the Z-Lotz village were little better than servants — almost slaves, really.” 

Shadow Walker paused to create a space for Many Paths to comment. None was forthcoming so he ventured on. “When I told him that, he simply nodded and said that he would suspect as much.” There was no trace of anger or resentment in his voice. It was as though I was describing a tree or a way to climb a bluff. He didn’t seem to blame the Z-Lotz. He was not surprised. Anyway, this led to a deeper conversation about his own beliefs about the world. He has very little to say about how the various tribes have decided to arrange themselves other than to acknowledge that there are vast differences. He enjoys living among us.” 

Many Paths nodded. “Yes. I think so too. Tu-Swift said that he was a kind as he was allowed to be, both with him and with the horses. He doesn’t seem to enjoy cruelty, but he was not averse to being cruel if and when custom required it. But what are you suggesting, exactly?” 

“The Z-Lotz, we now know well, can be quite treacherous. They came to us with supposed gifts and they were poisons that ruined Stone Chipper and requested … well, really, demanded that you go see them. I have no doubt that they would have killed you … or perhaps demanded we surrender to them in order to save your life.”


Many Paths grimaced at this. “I hope you would have sense enough not to ever go along with such a trick! They are not to be trusted!”

Shadow Walker nodded. “I agree. But you are well-loved, and not just by me. It may have been difficult … anyway, the point is, how do we bring the ROI and Z-Lotz to the Meeting of the Six Tribes when we cannot trust them? And, we know very little of their language and customs. We tried having us sneak into the Z-Lotz village to learn more and that certainly did not go as planned. Eagle Eyes & I were very lucky to have escaped. And now we find ourselves in a position of ignorance about their current situation. The parents of Cat Eyes, Tree Vines and Gathers Acorns, were prisoners long enough to have learned something of their ways. Other than that, we have learned the most from Cat Eyes herself.”

“True,” said Many Paths, “But who are we talking about here? Horse Whisperer? Or, Cat Eyes?” 

Shadow Walker sighed. He smiled and realized he wouldn’t mind a few more blackberries. “I am not sure I have the full answer. I just have a feeling that Horse Whisperer can be trusted and he knows much about the ROI. If the ROI were still in their separate village, I would say we should send him to meet with the ROI and convince them to come to the Meeting of the Six Tribes. Unfortunately, we don’t have that option. The ROI are embedded now with the Z-Lotz. And, the person most well-suited to dealing with them is Cat Eyes. Although…”

Many Paths plucked a few more of the delicious blackberries and placed one on the lips of Shadow Walker who closed his eyes with pleasure. He chuckled and said, “That is the most delicious berry yet!”

Many Paths tilted her head and asked, “Although what?”

Shadow Walker sighed. “They might. They might still view me as their leader. I don’t know. It would be risky.” 

“What!?” Many Paths frowned. “You are not going to go there again! As you said, you were lucky to escape with your life! I need you and the Veritas need you. It’s true that I cannot well predict the Z-Lotz, but it seems quite likely that they would simply kill you on sight. Or worse.” 

Shadow Walker spoke quietly. “Yet, just a few minutes ago, you said that if we could save your life by surrendering to the Z-Lotz we should not do it.”

Many Paths scoffed. “Because there wouldn’t have been any point! They cannot be trusted to keep their word!” 

Shadow Walker bit his lip. “I know. That’s why I think we have a dilemma. You don’t trust them. I don’t trust them. The person who knows them the best — Cat Eyes — she certainly doesn’t trust them. I think it may be in their nature. In the same way that Horse Whisperer would help his tribe steal children without seeing anything wrong with it, I don’t think the Z-Lotz think lying and cheating and going back on their word means anything — or at least, it doesn’t mean what it does to us. We need to be careful. But if we really can’t trust them at all, then, what can come of a Meeting of the Six Tribes? Perhaps it should only be a meeting of the Five Tribes. Perhaps, when the Z-Lotz see the advantages to all five tribes, it could get them to change their ways. I don’t know. What do you think?”

Many Paths let out a long sigh. “I think we have eaten enough berries for one day. We’ve tamed eagles. And we’ve trained wolves. And we’re learning to tame horses. From Horse Whisperer. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s too large a leap to trust them at a council. That still leaves the problem of how to separate the ROI from the Z-Lotz and even if we succeed, that will certainly do nothing to help the Z-Lotz trust us! The last thing we did was to destroy — or at least temporarily disable — their precious killing sticks.”

Shadow Walker frowned. “We had to do that. If not … “

Many Paths nodded vigorously. “I know! I know! You did the right thing. I agree. But just as it’s hard for us to trust them, it will be hard for them to trust us as well.” Suddenly, Many Paths put up her hand for quiet and made the short but quick gesture to get down. Shadow Walker fell silently to his belly and put his hands behind his ears for better listening. The two of them slowed their breathing and listened. Something — or someone — seemed to be slithering in the blackberry bushes. 

——————————-

The First Ring of Empathy

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Fractured Friday Fables: The Sty at Seaside

03 Friday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, story

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fable

Matt the Pig, who called himself “Matt the Magnificent,” strolled along the hill when he heard a curious sound. It sounded a little like the roar of a lion but very distant. He turned to his companion, Marjory the Muskrat and asked, “What could be making that sound?” 

Marjory Muskrat, who secretly called herself, “Marjory the Magnificent” flung her backpack off her shoulder and searched for an idea hiding among the many assault weapons, but she couldn’t find an idea anywhere. That was not surprising because she had not really had an idea for many years. Nonetheless, she smiled at Matt the Pig and said, “I know exactly what that is!” 

Matt tilted his snout and stared at Marjory with his beady pig eyes and wiggled his pig ears and said, “Really? What?” 

Marjory Muskrat wriggled her muskrat nose and said, “What what? What are you talking about?” 

Matt sighed in a porcine manner and said, “You said you knew what made that roaring sound. What is it?”

Marjory Muskrat never felt obligated to answer a question, especially when she didn’t know the answer (which was usually) and would be caught in a lie (which was always) so instead she said, “Follow me and I’ll show you!” With that, she scurried up the side of a nearby dune.

Matt the Pig came snuffling after her. His cloven hooves spiked deep into the soft sand. Marjory, on the other hand, found that her feet allowed her to climb up the dune quite easily. She waited at the top for her more cumbersome companion to join her. Finally, he clumsily clambered up beside her. He huffed and he puffed. He wanted to ask her again, but he never got the chance. Marjory Muskrat was skittering down the other side of the dune toward the seashore. 

Matt the Pig ran a few more steps before he tripped himself up with one of his own lies and somersaulted head over hooves down the far side ending up in some wet sand. It felt good. For awhile, he forgot what he had wanted to ask Marjory. 

The roaring noise returned, much louder than before. “What is that? What’s making that noise, Marjory? You said you knew?” 

“That” began Marjory, “is the sound of a million billion trillion migrants swimming ashore on our borders!” 

Just then, a Teacher walked by. Having overheard the Misguided Muskrat, he said, “Nonsense. It’s just the roar of the ocean waves.”

Matt the Pig oinked with delight. “At least, it’s not a lion! I like the sand. I’m going to build a house here! Do you want to help, Marjory?” 

Marjory Muskrat grinned so broadly that all fifty of her little white needle teeth showed. “No, you go ahead. Since you’ll be working hard building a house with your oh-so-powerful snout and hooves, I’d better go find us something to eat. I’ll be back in a jiffy!” 

Matt muttered, “Typical. I’m left to do all the work. It’s okay. It’s easy to dig here in the soft sand. I should have a house in no time at all. Matt the Pig began shoveling with his powerful long snout.” 

No sooner had he begun, however, than the Teacher said, “Excuse me. My name is Teacher. If you build your house here, the ocean will wash it away.” 

Matt the Pig scoffed at the teacher. “What do you know? It’s easy to dig here. I’ll make the quickest house ever. I shall name it, The Sty at Seaside. 

Teacher cocked his head to one side and said, “You’ll want to rename it Bye Bye Sty, because, as I said, within a few hours, the ocean will come and wash it away.”

Matt the Pig didn’t see any reason to believe a teacher of all people. “Nonsense! You’re just jealous you didn’t think to build a house here first! What do you know, anyway?”

“I walk this beach nearly every day. Also, I look at the tide charts. Every high tide, the ocean comes in much further than where you are digging and … “

Matt the Pig grunted. “Hah! I see where the ocean is. I see where the house is. Foolish man!”

Teacher shook his head and walked off. He muttered, “Suit yourself. You’ll see.” 

Matt the Pig continued to wallow and snuffle and snuggle into the sand. He began to grow hungry and he looked up to see whether Marjory Muskrat had returned with their lunch. No sign of her. As hungry as Matt the Pig was, he realized that all the hard rooting around had made him very thirsty. He wobbled over to the ocean and began lapping up the water. 

A Doctor who was out for his morning constitutional noticed that the swine was swizzling seawater. “Hey!” Said Doctor. “That’s salt water! You can’t drink that!” 

Matt snorted. “Hah! That shows how much you know. I just did drink some. Though not enough because I am still thirsty.” 

Doctor sighed. “Yes, I mean you can drink it, but it’s bad for you. It will only make you thirstier! It’s salt water. I’m a Doctor. Believe me when I tell you that it’s bad to drink it!” 

Matt snorted. “Hah! Who cares what a Doctor thinks. Water is water! Everyone knows that! I’m plenty thirsty so I need some more so I can finish the work.”

Doctor shook his head and walked off. He muttered, “Suit yourself. You’ll see.” 

Matt realized that despite having drunk quite a bit, he was thirstier than ever. He decided he would see whether the Doctor was telling the truth so he pulled out his smart phone and googled, “Do Doctors Lie?”

Matt looked at the results page. Over 8000 results! Matt snorted. “I guess that proves it! Eight thousand results! Of course, Doctors lie!” 

Matt the Pig was getting seriously hungry as well as thirsty. He glanced at the dunes, but didn’t see any sign of Marjory Muskrat. He wondered out loud to himself, “Surely, there must be something to eat along this beach. Clams? Oysters?” 

Matt began rooting for shellfish. It wasn’t long before he dug one up. He was about to smash it on some nearby rocks, when a Wild Boar came crashing up beside him, “Whoa there, fellow! Can’t you see the Red Tide? Don’t eat shellfish now! You’ll get deathly ill!” 

Matt snorted, “And who are you, pray tell, that you should interfere with my dinner?” 

“I’m a Wild Boar. My friends call me Crashing Boar, but you can call me Mister Boar. Everyone knows that you don’t eat shellfish during the Red Tide. Why are you digging up such a large part of the beach anyway?”

Matt snorted. Again. “I’m making a new home here. I’m naming it The Sty at Seaside.”

The Wild Boar frowned. “This is not a good place for a home. You’re right near the ocean!”

Matt snorted. He seemed to be snorting a lot these days. He didn’t care. He said, “That shows how much you know! This happens to be a perfect location! It’s easy to dig. There’s plenty of water and food within easy reach!” 

Wild Boar nearly gored himself with his own tusks. “What?! Listen, Pig. The tide will come in and wash away your home. And the water is not potable. The shellfish can sometimes be eaten, but not now. You best find another place for your home.”

Matt snorted yet again. “Hah! You just want this excellent location for yourself. Leave me alone. And, no, I am not sharing my clams with you. Nor can you have any of that water which I claim for myself.”

“That’s the ocean! You can’t “claim it” for yourself! It belongs to everyone! But anyway, you can’t drink it.”

Matt snorted until his nostrils bled. “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do! I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions! Be on your way. And let your more civilized cousin finish his house.” 

The Wild Boar galloped up a nearby hill and began crashing through some underbrush. He looked one last time back at Matt the Pig, shook his head, and sauntered off. 

Matt the Pig, meanwhile, realized that all his work and arguing had made him uncommonly thirsty so he went back to the ocean and took a few more tremendous gulps of brine. It didn’t help. “I must be very hungry. That’s the problem,” Matt muttered. So, he dug up a few more clams and smashed all of them on nearby rocks and ate them all. That satisfied his hunger but he still found himself to be extremely thirsty. He decided to take a short nap in his new seaside sty. He lay down in the nice soft sand. 

Matt lay basking in the hot sun. Matt lay in his new home and enjoyed the sound of the name of his new home, The Sty at the Seaside. The many clams he had eaten satisfied his hunger, but he still felt terribly thirsty. He closed his eyes and thought back to the sty where he used to live. He remembered the girl in the gingham dress who filled his water trough with cold clear water. He wished Marjory Muskrat could be more like the little girl. It felt to Matt as though the world was spinning around. Or, that he was spinning around. Or that everything was spinning around. Suddenly, he felt very sick. He wanted to go somewhere else. But the roar of the water. Confusion. Where was that Muskrat, he thought to himself. Why is my home so wet? I’m so smart I know everything. But I don’t know why my sand home is so muddy now. And I’m so thirsty. 

No-one knows even to this very day whether Matt died of food poisoning, or dehydration, or drowned. Marjory didn’t care. She knew he was still fresh enough to eat and that’s all that mattered to her. He went very well with the Russian dressing she had gotten at the market. He tasted okay — but way too salty. She felt oddly tired and distant as she finished off the last morsel and stared at his well gnawed bones. I’m too tired to move, she thought to herself and then mumbled, “Best to just let the waves wash over me. They make a nice wet blanket. Later, I’ll turn him over and eat the other half. Right now, I just need a long, long nap.” 

Indeed, Matt had been right about one thing. The Sty at Seaside did make a nice home.

For the crabs.  


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He is the Very Model of a Modern Consigliere General

29 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, politics, story, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, Barr, BLM, Corruption, COVID-19, Democracy, Election, pandemic, parody, politics, racism, satire, treason, USA

{Satirical Impressions from the Consigliere General House hearing on July 28th, 2020.}  

Gym “I see no child abuse” Jordan: “Let the man answer the question! You brought him here to hear his answers. Let him answer!”

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

House Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “OK, I will ask you again. Did you or did you not discuss with the President where you would deploy storm troopers to suppress the vote in blue states?” 

Bilious Barr: “Hmm. Discuss. Discuss. Well, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘discuss’ — there are many kinds of discussions. I don’t think discussing things is a crime. Not in my book. It’s a free country. A country is larger than a state but smaller than a continent. But still a lot bigger than a city. Well. Typically. You see, the Vatican is actually, in many ways, a country. But it is inside the city of Rome. Which is inside the country of Italy. Which is inside the continent of Europe. What was the question again? I know I’ve forgotten and hopefully so has most of the TV audience.” 

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “Did you discuss with the President where you would deploy storm troopers to suppress the vote in blue states.” 

Bilious Barr: “Hmm. Is your time up yet? No? Ok, well, in that case, let’s discuss the word discuss. Or did you say ‘debate’? Because ‘discuss’ and ‘debate’ are similar but different.” 

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “I reclaim my time. I ask you a simple question. Yes. Or no. Did you — or did you not discuss with President Trump the deployment of troops to suppress the vote.”

Bilious Barr: “I will not reveal the details of my discussions with the President. I might accidentally reveal important — you know — it could compromise the security of the country. Excuse me. Can I have a five minute break? I really am having trouble keeping a straight face here. Just let me go laugh for five minutes in the rest room and I can come back out here and lie and obfuscate a bit more. And — you know — keep up the “sincerely trying to help” face. 

Jerry Nadler: “We’re almost done. You need a break right now?” 

Bilious Barr: “Well. Yes. It will seem unseemly to laugh about national security but Jesus H. Christ, you’ve got a traitor in the White House, plain as day. I mean why the … why do you think Putin put him in the White House? So he could learn golf? I can’t talk about national security issues. I really need a break or I am going to fall down on the floor laughing. Trump’s about to be dictator and you are acting like we’re going to be all polite and ask and answer questions. Is your time up yet? Can I have a break? Just five minutes.” 

———————- (five minute break. To simulate that break, you could read this short story and return). ——- 

Plans for us some GRUsome

—————————————————-

Member Who Still Believes In a Democratic Process: “Did you discuss with the President sending troops to suppress the vote in November?” 

Bilious Barr: “November of this year? Did we discuss troop deployments in November? No. It’s only July. We haven’t discussed anything in November yet. Did you know that the days of the week are named primarily after pagan gods. I think we should change that. Wednesday, for instance, is much like “Wodin’s Day” or “Odin’s Day.” And yet we have a Christian nation, under the one true God so…”

“Reclaiming my time.” 

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Gym “It wasn’t my kids who were abused” Jordan: “Let the man finish the answer! You ask him a question but you don’t want to hear the answer!”  

Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Did you or did you not discuss with President Trump, with regard to the upcoming election in November, deploying troops to suppress the vote?” 

Bilious Barr: “Well, that assumes we will have an election. That’s a hypothetical. I don’t really answer about hypotheticals. And I definitely don’t rat out on other traitors in the White House, so I think that pretty much falls outside the scope of the inquiry.” 

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Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Did you talk with the President about deploying troops to suppress voter turnout?”

Bilious Barr: “When? Today? I haven’t even seen the President today.”

Person Who Believed in a Democratic Process: “Any time! It doesn’t matter when! Have you had discussions with the President about using troops to suppress voter turnout?” 

Bilious Barr: “It’s an election year. So, I’ve been in Cabinet meetings. And in the Cabinet meetings, we naturally discuss what are important problems for the country and how to solve them.” 

Democrat: “So what were the topics of important problems to solve? The pandemic? The economy? The Black Lives Matter movement? What?” 

Bilious Barr: “Did you know that police shot more white people last year than black people? That’s the score. Only 8 black people needlessly killed and 11 white people! Seems to me, there’s no evidence of racism in this country. Why would you think there is any racism?” 

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Democrat: “But… but black people are only 14% of the population!”

Bilious Barr: “That’s exactly my point. Why don’t we pay attention to the other 86%? What about them? The forgotten Americans. The poor, beleaguered white people who never get a break. If black people would just respect the police and not do stupid things like jog, or hang out, or walk out their front doors, or reach for their ID when the police demand to see their ID, or have roommates who own a gun, no-one would get hurt! By the way, have you ever tried to read a book that’s all black? No. I didn’t think so. You can’t even read the words, without the white space around the letters. I’m not prejudiced. I’m just stating facts.”

Democrat: “Let’s return to this question. Did you — or did you not — discuss with the President the deployment of troops or police or whatever to suppress the vote?” 

Bilious Barr: “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘whatever’. We certainly did not discuss the deployment of B-36 bombers or any of the carrier groups. But who can say about whether we discussed ‘whatever’? You know – that’s a pretty big category!  As I say, we talked about important things. Of course, the most important is the upcoming re-election and how to make sure that the results are secure.”

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Democrat: “We’re in the middle of a pandemic. There are 150,000 Americans dead. Science says it’s important to wear masks and to socially distance. The best way to let people vote safely would be to let everyone vote by mail. Yet, you’ve said, you’re against it. You claim there’s a chance of voter fraud if we have vote by mail.”

Bilious Barr: “Oh, yes. Substantial risk. Outsized risk. A virtual certainty. You know, other countries could easily print up ballots and forge signatures and the next thing you know, Putin would lose his re-election.”   

Democrat: “Putin?” 

Bilious Barr: “What about Putin?”

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Democrat: “You just said ‘Putin would lose his re-election.’” 

Bilious Barr: “I never said that.”

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Democrat: “Well, you did just say exactly that.”

Bilious Barr: “Exactly what? What are we talking about? I thought you asked me a question about how wonderful our great President is. He’s saved billions of American lives with his speedy and brilliant actions about the pandemic. OKKK?” 

Democrat: “My question is a simple one. Did you and the President discuss using troops or police to suppress the vote?” 

Bilious Barr: “I can’t answer the question because I’m not sure what the scope of the question is. Are you asking me about something we might have discussed in a cabinet meeting? Or, just an off-hand conversation? Are you talking about a phone call? If it’s a phone call, are you asking about a secure line or a mobile phone or — you know I have four different phones? And, also I have four different e-mails? My favorite is consigliere@us.gov but are you including e-mail in the scope of the question?” 

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Democrat: “I reclaim my time. It’s a very simple question….”

Gym ‘once you’ve covered up for a buddy’s sexual abuse, it’s easy to lie for Trump’ Jordan: “Let him answer the damned question!” 

Democrat: “Yes, by all means! Answer the damned question. Have you at any time in any place in any manner discussed using police or troops to suppress voter turnout?” 

Bilious Barr: “Turnout as in ballet? My wife’s a big fan. I don’t go very often. But it is amazing how much they can turn….did you know they put their feet parallel to each other but not … but they are pointed 180 degrees from each other. Amazing! I couldn’t do that. Could you?” 

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Democrat: “I reclaim my time. Did you discuss with the President using troops to suppress the vote?” 

Bilious Barr: “Hmmm.  ‘With’ is a problematic word, isn’t it?”

Democrat: “No, not really. Just answer the question.” 

Bilious Barr: “So, let’s say, hypothetically, we are discussing important business for America such as launching investigations into the President’s political opponents. And then, a phone call comes in. And it’s a alarmed phone call meaning it’s top priority. So, naturally the President puts it on speaker phone so we can all listen in. And a general on the phone is talking about troops moving in Russia. We hear the word ‘troops’ and then he says, ‘Won’t it be great when black people aren’t allowed to vote any more?’”

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Democrat: “Did he say that?”

“Bilious Barr: “Did he say what?” 

Democrat: “Just answer whether you talked with the President about voter suppression and using troops or police to accomplish that!” 

Jim “All bullies are cowards” Jordan: “Let him answer the question! I have never in my 355 years as Congressman ever seen anything so rude in all my life. Let the man answer! Let him answer. Let him answer! These proceedings are a farce. A hoax. A fake news. There’s no proof I saw him in the shower doing those things to those boys who probably liked it anyway. They were pals for God’s sake. It’s not like being queer you know. Just because guys get sweaty wrestling and then…”

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Jerry Nadler: “You are out of order. You are not recognized. The witness will answer the question.”

Bilious Barr: “Thank you. I have been trying to answer for a long time. I was pointing out the substantial irregularities and ambiguities with the word ‘with’ — honestly, we may outlaw that word after Putin’s re-election.”

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Democrat: “You said ‘Putin’ again.”  

Bilious Barr: “Don’t be ridiculous. I said no such thing. Anyway, we all call him Vlad the Bad. We never refer to him as Putin in our strategy meetings so I definitely wouldn’t have called Trump ‘Putin.’ You know, secretly, we all have our pet names for Trump. It’s so funny. I wish I could share them but — not now. Of course, we have to be careful he doesn’t overhear us. And, the best part is, Vlad the Bad’s in on it too. He has — well, frankly, his names are the nastiest, but never mind all that.”

Jerry Nadler: “I see our time is up. I’d like to thank the witness for his thorough display of the entire spectrum of lies, deceit, and misdirection. Any last comments from the Consigliere General?” 

Bilious Barr: “Nyet. Spasibo.” 

—————————————————-

The Truth Train 

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

At Least he’s Our Monster

———————————————-

Purely Fictional Stories about a Child Sociopath: 

Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man

Donnie Visits Granny

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon in Spelling

Donnie Boy Plays Soldier Man

Donnie Boy Plays Captain Man

Donnie Gets his name on a Trophy

Donnie Lets his Brother Take the Fall

Who are the Speakers for the Dead?

13 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

communication, coronavirus, COVID19, death, Impeachment, pandemic, plauge, Putin, Trumpandemic, truth, wisdom

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With space-Alien violence, people all across the world are ri

pped from their worlds and taken to those special beds.

The COVID beds. 

And just as in the movie an alien presence is 

forced down their throat and in their 

head

Perhaps they wonder whether they

Will get a final say 

Departing to those left behind 

The wisdom of an old, yet un-befuddled mind.

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B 

Of, if befuddled, who’s to say

Whether older wisdom may filter through 

To light a little (just a little), our path to a brighter day.

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Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

Perhaps they whisper one and all with the self-same silence of the lambs

The lambs led to slaughter from the King-Con Man of the Cowards. 

Supported by the most menial of the Blowhards. 

If they have no breath, 

If no-one speaks before their death, 

Then,

 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

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No-one can say. 

That’s kind of the whole point, don’t you see? 

Everyone is different. 

Everyone learns something different. 

Everyone has a piece of the puzzle laid before us growing ever larger till it will overwhelm

And when no-one will dare to grab the helm. 

And so these lives go silently 

Out of this life and into something else entirely.

 

Are we learning 

Through the burning 

And the yearning unfulfilled 

All the turning unwilled

That we are all:

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Leaves upon the Tree of Life. 

The Life of the Tree

Depends upon the health of every Leaf

And every Leaf 

Depends upon the Health of the entire Tree. 

Is that so hard to see? 

That’s it — in its entirety. 

Like most trees, humanity 

Must be its own gardener, 

Tender, 

Lover.

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How can we grow and glow 

Without the unspoken words of the many 

Dispersed instead of our waiting ears,

The unspoken syllables slide into the bowels of a machine?

 

And some few recover.

We should be listening carefully to each one. 

They are bringing tales from distant lands 

Which we hope never to visit ourselves. 

 

Are they, then, the Speakers for the Dead? 

And what, prey, do they tell? 

 

Or, shall we let the politicians far and wide 

Whose ear-to-ear grins have never faded.
Regardless of thousands of corpses laded.
(They’re playing for the other side) 

Shall we let them be 

Speakers for the Dead? 

No, they will not be Speakers for the Dead.

Because they cannot hear.
Because they cannot see.

Because they cannot feel. 

Because they have forgotten that Truth is not “ours” or “theirs.”

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Truth belongs to the Tree of Life 

Not to one Leaf or Another.

Every single Leaf’s your sis or brother!

Let us sing then; sing together.
Heal the Tree wherever it’s needed. 
That’s how forests are reseeded. 

worms eyeview of green trees

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Other Poems on the Web

The Impossible

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Isa Dream?

Ah Wilderness!

 

Wake Up!

24 Wednesday Jun 2020

Posted by petersironwood in politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

fiction, hope, innovation, legend, life, memory, myth, prison, story, truth, Veritas

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Shadow Walker couldn’t understand where the bright light was. It seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. The noise overwhelmed him, seemed to jar his bones and make his teeth chatter.  Breathe, he told himself. Breathe. Disgusting. Sour. Rotten. He was spinning. The bright lights changed to blue and then red and back to blue. “I can’t think straight,” he mumbled aloud. Shadow Walker slowed his breathing. The word “inventory” came to mind. He slowly and carefully took stock of his body, part by part. It was all there; sore, but no broken bones. He moved his hand to his head. Apparently, a tree burl had grown on his head. But that cannot be, he thought. I must have fallen. I’m in a hole. He blinked and listened to the roar. 

Not a roar. Those are voices. Whose voices? Many voices. They were speaking gibberish. Gibberish he had heard before. ROI and Z-Lotz. Why were people speaking those languages? A picture came to mind — a beautiful young woman bathing. Then, she was speaking. They were pointing to some vines high up in a tree. Another image: crawling through the grass. He drew close to the beautiful woman. Her scent was nice. Not like now. Who was she? She was not the only woman though. There was another. If only the pain were less, I could think better. 

The light at least had grown dimmer. He could now make out mountains and in this vast landscape, no plants grew. He closed his eyes and saw the image of another beautiful woman with eyes like those of a cougar. He mumbled aloud, “I wish Cougar Eyes were here. She could translate this sea of words into something I could understand. Where the hell am I?”

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He stared back onto the giant landscape. Something was very wrong with it. He blinked a few times and suddenly realized that he was not staring at a giant landscape at all. He stared at a dirt floor a few inches in front of his face. He was lying on his side. He tilted his head to take in the room. 

I am in a prison, he thought. But why? He pushed himself up to a sitting position. A single shaft of sunlight struck the floor near where he had just been lying. He closed his eyes and nearly fainted. He sat alone on one side of this prison room, he realized. The other three sides showed a few dozen others hunched against the other three sides. They reacted to him — his sitting up — by pointing and jabbering — but he only caught an occasional word that made any sense: “death” “NUT-PI” “ceremony” “yesterday” or “tomorrow” — he couldn’t be sure which. Again he said and said aloud, “If only Cougar Eyes were here.” Across the room, a thin, frail, long-bearded man arose and hobbled toward him slowly. He stood directly in front of Shadow Walker and then awkwardly sat down in front of him and began speaking — in Veritas!

“Excuse me, Sir. My name is Tree Vines. Did you say ‘Cougar Eyes’ just now?” 

“Tree Vines! You speak Veritas!” 

“I do. Yes. I am Veritas. But I don’t recognize you. I suppose you have grown quite a bit since I last saw you. But did you say ‘Cougar Eyes.’?” 

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“Yes. I don’t recognize you either. I am Shadow Walker. Cougar… that’s not right. Tiger Eyes. No. Something. Her name escapes me. I have been struck hard on the head. I don’t know how I got here. Where are we?” 

“You are in a place called Hopeless because all who come here, die here, or — or out in the public square. NUT-PI mostly lets us die of slow starvation, but sometimes, he likes to put on a show. I am afraid that is likely your fate. According to what I overheard from the guards, you came here two days ago with a woman. Was this woman by any chance called ‘Cat Eyes’?”

“Cat Eyes! Yes. No. I mean, I do know a woman named Cat Eyes. But that is not the woman I came here with. She’s — her name is — also something to do with cats or eyes or fish. But no. Cat Eyes — not Cougar Eyes — she — I found her in the village of the ROI. Like you, she speaks Veritas, but she also — but I cannot recall how I came to be here. I cannot…my mind is not working properly. I’m sorry. But you speak Veritas. Yet, I don’t recognize you.”

“Nor do I recognize you. Though I have been among the Z-Lotz for a long time now. I set out long ago on a journey to find my daughter, Cat Eyes, and was captured and used as a slave here in their city. My master became deathly ill ….”

Shadow Walker interrupted, “What? Wait. Cat Eyes is your daughter?” 

“Yes. Yes. Her irises are shaped like those of a cat. And you know her? Is she well?” 

“Tree Vines, the last time I saw her, she was well. She led … several of my tribe went to try to reach the Veritas beyond the Twin Peaks. She went with them. She said that’s where she was from.” 

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“That’s right! But how — I don’t think they could get there. She was stolen from us when she was young. She was taken by these people who steal children. My wife and I set out to follow the trail and try to find her. Several of our tribe accompanied us. But we came to a sheer cliff. No-one could find a way in or around. The others turned back, convinced there was no way over the mountain. My wife and I stayed and at last, a huge hole appeared in the side of the mountain itself…a kind of giant door. We could see nothing but we were desperate and slowly approached this hole hoping it might lead to her. Before our eyes had adjusted to the strange dim light inside, a troop of horsemen came riding out. They struck us with clubs and I woke up in the City of the Z-Lotz. I was chained and beaten and made to understand that I was their slave. They made me change my name to Tree Vines to make fun of my thin muscular limbs. I used to called “Of The Night” but I seldom think of that now. I was never allowed outside my master’s house. I am not sure whether my wife…sometimes other slaves came and I tried to ask about my wife, but we could never talk long. I gave up on life. I poisoned my master, not to kill, but to make him ill, and they found out or rather guessed — and put me in here. But only the ROI and the Z-Lotz know the secret of the giant hole in the mountain. I don’t think she could get through. But why are you here?” 

“Tree Vines, it is good to hear someone speak Veritas again. And, hearing your words has helped me recall some things, but I am still not — I don’t know why I am here or — we came — there is something here that we need. I came with — a different woman because she was here before and she sees — yes! She is called ‘Eagle Eyes.’ She can see really well. But not well enough to keep us from being captured — or killed.”

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“I’m sorry to say so, Shadow Walker, but they are going to kill you. By the light on the floor, I see it is nigh on to the Summer Solstice and they have … festivities planned … in fact, I would do the mercy of killing you, but we must find a way to kill each other or they will have me take your place. They make everyone — even the slaves and prisoners — go and watch the torture death. It would be better to die here.” Tree Vines, shook his head slowly from side to side. “It’s very bad. I’m sorry.” 

“Everyone dies eventually. But I am going to kill as many as I can. Meanwhile, tell me as much as you can about this ceremonial death so I can find my best chance of escape, Tree Vines. Or, would you rather I call you Of The Night?” 

Tree Vines sighed. “No, that name will just confused me. Call me Tree Vines. I will tell you of the killing rituals, but what else can you say about my daughter? Please. Tell me. What sort of person is she?” 

“Your daughter is strong, beautiful, and very smart. I will give you the short version and if fortune looks favorably on us, I will tell you all you want to know later.” 

“Fair enough, Shadow Walker, but — this prison is called ‘Hopeless’ for a reason. NUT-PI uses a special rod to wound people and torture them. No-one has ever come close to escaping.” 

“Killing sticks! Yes! That is why we came here. To find out more about them and possibly steal one. My young brother in law, Tu-Swift, was also taken by the People Who Steal Children. We followed the trail and eventually I found him. He was living as a slave among the ROI and they were using him to train horses. We escaped with Tu-Swift, but the ROI followed us and used fire arrows to attack us, but the fire spread by the wind back to their own village and burned it to the ground. Most of them abandoned the wreckage of that village. But beneath the burned armory, we found a wounded ROI man named Jaccim. Your daughter was tending to him. She is a very good and kind person. And, as I said, very smart. She helped Tu-Swift learn to decode markings so that messages may be sent without the sender of the message being present.” 

“So, Cat Eyes was not hurt or injured or tortured?” 

Shadow Walker sighed. “The ROI…the Z-Lotz…I don’t know for certain. She looks to be unhurt on the outside. But her heart — that I cannot say. She avoids talking much about her time in captivity. But she was very excited to learn that Jaccim knew a way through the mountains. And, we sent a small party to try to connect with the Veritas who live beyond the Twin Peaks.” 

Tree Vines chewed nervously on his lips. “You let her go with one of the people who steals children?” 

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“Jaccim actually seems like a decent person. Your daughter cared for him and I brought him medicine. And, he spent a fair amount of time with us. Tu-Swift vouches for him. What we discovered — actually mostly Cat Eyes — is that the ROI do not seem to even question what they are asked to do. If it’s effective and efficient, they are happy even if it something like stealing children. I don’t think on his own, he is likely to do bad things. Anyway, it wasn’t just the two of them. One of our strongest warriors, Trunk of Tree went as well as Fleet of Foot and two of our friends from the Nomads of the South. Your daughter is very resourceful. She spoke once of poisoning her captors as well. But she didn’t get caught.” 

Here, Shadow Walker tried carefully to study the face of Tree Vines to see whether he regarded this as a reproach since he had been caught. There was a frown, but Shadow Walker didn’t think it was from reproach. 

“I am — I am glad to know she is alive. But now, I am worried all over again. You let her go with one from among The People Who Steal Children. She is still a child herself. She — you have no idea how she is. And, now, it seems unlikely either of us will ever find out.” 

Now, Shadow Walker frowned. “Your daughter is very much a young woman now. She definitely has a mind of her own. She insisted that she wanted to go. We dialogued about the pros and cons, but all of us, most especially your daughter insisted on going — she mainly wanted to see you — and her mother. But what do you mean, none of us will ever know?” 

“Shadow Walker of the Veritas Center Place, there is a reason that this prison is called Hopeless. No-one can escape.” 

“Tree Vines of the Veritas Beyond the Twin Peaks, I know well why they call the prison Hopeless. It is precisely so no-one will even try to escape. It is a label they chose. They mean to demoralize us. We will find a way out and you, I believe, will yet be reunited with your daughter. She is very resourceful. I told you she helped Tu-Swift decode the marks of the Z-Lotz.” 

Tree Vines tilted his head and tightened his lips. “You mentioned these marks before. Do you remember what any of them look like? I wonder…. No, it couldn’t be.” 

“Oh, I remember them all! Once Tu-Swift realized that each mark is like a stick figure drawing of someone making a sign, you see, and then your daughter and Tu-Swift together realized that each mark was only the initial sound of the word that the hand signs signify, we were able to decode the entire birchbark collection that Eagle Eyes … managed to take from here.” 

birch tree photography

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“Did my daughter, Cat Eyes, ever mention the work of the Veritas beyond the Twin Peaks to understand the ancient artifacts we discovered?” 

“No. No. Not that I recall.” 

Shadow Walker glanced around the prison. He noted that none of the others were talking. Each seemed to be cocooned in their own private prison of hopelessness, they all sat, backs to the wall, arms wrapped around their knees, heads down. Perhaps they had sent their souls into another place since this one was so … filled with death. Each of them sees the others act hopeless so they do too. It’s perpetuated from one prisoner to the next. The name — hopelessness — and the expectation — those are better guards, I think, than any of the human ones out there. 

“Listen.” Shadow Walker drew closer and began whispering. “I intend to break out of this prison. But I may need the help of others. Do you know which of these men is to be trusted? Is it possible there is a spy?” 

Tree Vines inhaled deeply. He had become inured to the stench. “People in here don’t talk much. I’m not sure I’d really trust any of them. On the one hand, they are probably not great fans of NUT-PI. After all, they’re in prison. On the other hand, if they heard of your plans they might inform the guards in the hope of securing better treatment. That’s how NUT-PI operates. He betrays everyone but has everyone believing that they will he lucky exception. Anyway, plans are hopeless. You only have a day — perhaps two — before they will use you for entertainment.” 

“What sort of — entertainment?” 

Tree Vines drew still closer. “Are you sure you want to know?” 

Shadow Walker, despite his body still being wracked with pain, felt a small smile on the right side of his mouth. “Oh, yes. I definitely want to know.”

Tree Vines said, “If you want my advice, spend your last days thinking of something good, not dwelling on the horror that lies ahead.”

Shadow Walker’s smile spread. “I assure you that I will spend very little time dreading. I will spend my time planning, imagining, trying alternatives, imagining consequences, imagining alternative consequences, like a tree growing limbs from trunk, and twigs from limbs and leaves from twigs. I will find a way out as surely as I found a way in.” Shadow Walker paused for a moment and then looked into the eyes of the other man. “And you are coming with us.”

“You really think you can do it?”

“Either that or die trying. I’m not going to spend my days … underground. Now, tell me about how they imagine that they will use my death to provide entertainment?”

“All right. Well, the first thing is that it is always different. But variations on a theme. There will be some sort of sexual perversion involved. You can count on that. And there will be a lot of pain involved. And, the audience of — well, different people are in different positions but everyone is there — even the prisoners. It is our only entertainment — and — you will think me sick — a despicable man — but we all cheer, even though the person being tortured to death is one of us. Crazy when you think about it.”

colosseum rome italy

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“Okay, thank you Tree Vines. But I need you to be much, much more specific. What weapons of torture? Where is the person relative to the audience. Where are the prisoners?  I realize it may all be different, but there will be patterns and if I can understand those patterns, I can see the weaknesses, the cracks in those patterns, that will always be there regardless of specifics. I already know what some of the cracks are because they are flaws of NUT-PI himself and will always limit his thinking. For instance, he is a colossal coward. And, he assumes (without knowing that he does so) that everyone else is the same. So that colors his predictions. He rules largely through other cowards because he can use fear to manipulate them. But it also means that very few, if any, are truly loyal to him. Even if there are such people, he will never be able to trust anyone. He will not be able to tell who are the few who truly want what he wants or think he is a god from those who will simply act that way to curry temporary favor or avoid punishment. These are general patterns of weakness, but there are many more for a system such as NUT-PI and the Z-Lotz have set up. But I also need to understand their cruelty in great detail so I can see the weakness patterns there as well.”

Tree Vines had a grim look on his face. It was painful to reveal some of the many possible tortures, but guilt tripled his pain. He along with all his fellow prisoners had cheered and he kept asking himself why. “All right, Shadow Walker. First of all, they always have the person restrained in some way. Perhaps his hands will be tied behind his back. Perhaps he’ll be suspended from a pole. Perhaps he’ll have one leg in a chain with a heavy ball attached.”

Tree Vines paused. “Do you want me to go on?”

“Yes. But take yourself back. Instead of saying, ‘sometimes this, sometimes that’ tell me of one particular torture from beginning to end; everything you saw, you heard, you smelled, you felt. Everything. Just like I was watching right beside you.” 

Tree Vines paused. He actually found himself smiling. He had been taught this skill at a young age, but he hadn’t used it in years. For the first time in an endless string of gray days in Hopeless Prison, Tree Vines felt hope. 

——————————————————————

Author Page on Amazon

The Myth of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

The Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

 

 

Donnie Gets his Name on Tennis Trophy! 

18 Thursday Jun 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, family, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

criminal mind, crook, fascism, felon, fiction, IMPOTUS, psychopath, sociopath, story, traitor

 

 

man wearing brown suit jacket mocking on white telephone

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Fred slammed the black phone down onto its cradle and swore. “Damn, damn, damn!!” 

Fred looked up and glared at his three children. His face wore that dangerous mottled red and yellow pallor that often foretold that someone would get a beating. The kids dare not walk away, but none of them wanted to be the one to incur his wrath. They stared down at the floor, avoiding his eyes and each other’s.

“F###ing doctors! F###ing hospitals! They’re keeping your mother for more tests! Well?! Do you have anything to say for yourselves?! Dolts!” 

At last, Junior chanced a response, “I’m sorry, Dad, will she be okay?” 

Fred stared at Junior as though he had spinach caught between his ears. “Who the hell knows? But it means she won’t be here to take care of you! I’m no f###ing babysitter! What the hell does she think I’m going to do with you for another damned day? F###! I’ve got marks to make. Patsies to take. All right, look, Mary, go to your room and read till dinner time. Junior, take Donnie Boy to the club and have him pick up balls while you have a tennis lesson. I’ll pay for all day, so long as he keeps you two out of trouble. GO!! Get your stuff and go! GO!!” 

The three children obediently went off. Mary liked to read but she wondered vaguely as she climbed the stairs what was wrong with her mom.  Fred Junior was silent but inwardly grumbled because his younger brother always spoiled his fun. Donnie Boy was wondering how he could horn in on Junior’s lesson.

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While the boys gathered their tennis clothes, shoes, and racquets, Fred Senior made a quick call to the club. “Listen, Joe, Junior’s coming down for a lesson. Donny’s tagging along. Clear your calendar. I want you to keep them out there all day. Kind of a family emergency. Mom’s in the hospital. I need you to keep those two out of trouble till dinner time. I’ve got a big deal coming up. So, I don’t want to see or hear from them till after 6 pm tonight. Got it? Okay, good. They’ll be there in about half an hour. What? What other commitment? I just told you! It’s an emergency! Cancel the lesson for Missy Fancy Panties. She can come another time. What? I don’t care! Jesus. You’re a smart man. Just make something up. Tell her your hemorrhoids are bothering you. Tell her your cousin from Florida just came to visit. Tell her you broke your arm. I don’t care. Just lie. It’s not rocket science!” 

The boys arrived and soon enough went to court one where Joe had a large basket of balls. The sun shone through a hazy August sky. It was hot and humid and the three of them were all sweating even before the lesson began. “Okay, Fred, go to the service line and let’s warm up a little — like we need to warm up today. He chuckled at his own joke.

Donnie Boy said, “What about me? Where should I go?” 

Joe, who was quite familiar with the whole family, and especially tiny-handed Donnie Boy, thought to himself that a visit in hell might do him good. But he had been promised a substantial tip from Fred Senior if he kept them occupied the whole day, so he bit his tongue and said, “You stand over there Donnie and just watch the ball and watch how I hit it for a while. Pick up the balls that go astray and put them in the basket. Keep it filled. Then, when your brother gets tired, we’ll see whether we can teach you something.” 

“I already know how to play! I just want to get better! I want my name on a trophy! Today!” 

Joe laughed in spite of himself. “Donnie, no-one gets a trophy the first day they play. You need to earn it.”

Donnie Boy thought to himself: Oh yeah? We’ll see about that. Aloud, he said, “I told you. I already know how to play. I watched it on TV one time. It’s really easy.”

 

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Joe shook his head, glared a little more fiercely than he meant to at the scrawny awkward kid. He decided not to pursue that line of thought and instead concentrated on Junior.  “Here you go. Yes. Nice.” Fred Junior proved to be half-way decent, with good form. “No, bend your knees on those low ones. Don’t bend over. Get your butt down.”

Donnie shouted, “If I don’t get to play, I’m going to tell Daddy you said the word ‘butt’!” 

Donnie wondered whether it would rain later. He didn’t think so. Not till they got home. He didn’t want it to rain, so it probably wouldn’t rain. He practiced making it not rain. It didn’t always work, but sometimes it did. It’s because I’m a genius, Donnie Boy thought to himself. He became vaguely aware that play had stopped. Why? 

Joe spoke loudly but did not yell. “See anything missing from our tennis game, Donnie Boy?” 

Donnie Boy blinked. “Well, when I watched tennis on TV, there were lots of fans screaming. Nobody’s watching us play tennis. Nobody at all.” 

Joe shook his head. “Donnie Boy. What do you need to play tennis?” 

Donnie Boy brightened. “Rackets! My dad loves rackets!” 

Joe sighed. “Right, but what else do you need?” 

Donnie frowned. “A court?” 

Joe continued, “Right. A court. And what else do you need to play tennis?” 

Donnie stared at Joe. He glanced at his brother who seemed to mouth the word, ‘Paul’s’ but he didn’t know which ‘Paul’ his brother was talking about. He said, “Paul’s! You need Paul’s!” 

“Paul’s? What are you talking about Donnie Boy? Who’s Paul?” Joe was visibly annoyed now despite his attempts not to let it show. “What were you supposed to be doing while you were watching your brother, Donnie Boy?”

Donnie stared at Joe. “Watching.” He glanced at his big brother again but Junior was just shaking his head. “Donnie Boy, you were supposed to be fetching the balls for us and putting them back in the basket!” 

Donnie gritted his teeth. He hated the word “fetch.” That was for dogs and dark-skinned people, not for the likes of him. “Okay, okay. But when do I get a turn?” 

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“You’ll get a turn when I say you do, and that will happen much sooner if you help by picking up the stray balls and putting them back in the basket! Just like I asked you to.” 

“Okay, Joe. I’ll get them.” Donnie Boy ran to one spot and picked up a ball and carried it back to the basket and put it in. Then, he went to gather another ball and put that in. Finally, when there were five balls in the basket, Joe asked Junior to go to the baseline and practice backhands. Fred had progressed a lot this summer, but the five balls were gone just as Donnie Boy put a sixth one in the basket.

Fred yelled to his younger brother. “Donnie Boy! For God’s sake, don’t just put the balls in one at a time. You should be able to hold five or six — even in your teeny hands. Take the basket with you so you can put them in quickly. Are you thinking?” 

Oh, I’m thinking brother, he thought. Count on it. Aloud, Donnie said, “Yes, Fred. I’ll get them all. Thank you for your suggestion.” Don’t want him to be on guard here.

Donald put his mouth into the shape of a smile and said to Joe, “I’m going to watch from back here, Joe. I want to see how to hit from the back.” Donnie Boy found that he could only hold three in teeny hands, but he could jam a few more into his shorts.

Joe ignored Donnie Boy but shouted to Junior. “Recover! Hit and recover. That’s it! If you are way over there you need to move back quickly to cover the cross-court shot. There you go. Faster next time.”

Junior was hitting pretty well now and watching the ball intently. He was executing a pattern so obvious that even Donnie Boy could see it. And when the coach hit to Junior way out near the alley, Donnie put four balls in his teeny hands and slid all four onto Junior’s path just as he was sprinting back to just past the middle of the court. 

Fred Junior stepped directly onto one of the stray balls and his right ankle rolled and he fell on his elbow and shoulder. “CRAP!” he screamed.

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Joe sprinted directly to Junior, easily hurdling the net in the process. Crap indeed, thought Joe. Now I have to fill out a frigging report and maybe Fred Senior won’t give me that promised tip after all. Crap. Although, half the time, he doesn’t keep his promises anyway. He’ll just deny he ever made the promise. What proof do I have. Anyway, injuries are crap for the club.” 

Joe helped Fred over to the stands and had him sit down. He could see that the ankle was already swelling. He got an ice pack and put it on Fred’s swollen ankle. He looked at Donnie Boy and wondered how someone could be so inept.

Still hoping for the promised tip, Joe kept his face neutral as he said, “Okay, Donnie Boy. Your turn. Show me your stroke.” 

“What?! I’m not doing that in front of you! You pervert!” Donnie put his face into a look of horror and revulsion. 

“What? What the — what are you talking about? Show me your tennis stroke, Donny.” 

Donnie pretended to gain some insight. “Oh, okay. Like this!” As he said the word ‘this’ Donnie slapped the racquet through the air as hard as he could.

Joe sighed. “This is going to be a long afternoon”, he mumbled under his breath. “More slowly, Donnie. Ac-cele-rate through the shot. Never mind. Just don’t try to kill it.” Joe hit an easy shot over the net to where he thought Donnie’s racquet head might go. Donnie swung with all his might and hit the tennis ball onto an adjoining court. 

“I win!” shouted Donnie Boy. 

“Donnie,” explained Joe patiently, “it’s not a contest to see how far you can hit it. You have to make it land inside these white lines. That’s the court. It has to land in the court or it’s my point.”

Joe fed another easy ball to Donnie who swung as hard as he could and this time hit the ball onto a nearby fairway. “I WIN!” shouted Donnie.

“No, Donnie Boy. I told you. It has to land in the court. Inside these lines. Or on the line. But not over the fence.” 

“My shot was IN!” shouted Donne Boy. 

“It wasn’t even close! You have to think about where you want the ball to go, Donnie.” 

“MY SHOT WAS IN!!” shouted Donnie. 

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“It was not in. We not even playing for points, Donnie. I’m just trying to get you to hit a better stroke.” 

“It was too in! You just don’t like me! That’s why you said it was out. You don’t want me to win! You won’t let me win! You don’t like me!” 

The pain in Fred’s ankle was still increasing despite the ice. “Donnie, the ball was way out! Surely you can see that. Anyway, it’s not a match! He’s a professional! You’re a beginner! We’re here to learn!” 

“It was IN! insisted Donnie Boy. “You say it wasn’t in, Junior, because you don’t like me either!” 

“Of course I like you, Donnie. You’re my brother.” Fred Junior tried to make this sound sincere, but he really couldn’t quite muster it. It sounded thin and hollow as though he were reading it off a teleprompter without understanding any of the words. “The ball is either in or out. It has nothing to do with whether we like you.” 

“So people’s eyes never play tricks on them? People always see just perfectly, I suppose?”

Joe said, “Of course, when it’s close, sometimes people are mistaken. Your shots were not close. Not even close to close. They were way out, Donnie.” 

“No, you don’t like me. Anyway, show me how to play tennis. That’s what Daddy’s paying you for.” 

Joe sighed. He amazed himself by suddenly picturing himself sprinting over to Donnie and smashing that thick skull of his with Donny’s own racquet. He shook his head and dismissed the image. At long last, the worst hour of Joe’s teaching career was over and it was time for a short break and lunch. Joe helped Fred Junior hobble inside while Donnie got his bag from the locker room and then stood in front of the club trophy case; stared longingly at the display of cups, plates, and statues. At last, he walked over to Joe and said, “Hey, Joe, I think it would help motivate me better if I could see what one of those trophies really looks like up close. So close, I could grab it by the pedestal! Do you think I could see one?” 

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Joe frowned. It was definitely an unusual request, but hell, why not. If it would keep Donnie off his back for a moment. “Okay, sure.” He took out his keys and opened the trophy case and took out one of the large shiny trophies and handed it to Donnie, saying, “This is the Club Championship Trophy. Be careful, by the way.”

“Oh, I will, Joe. I will be very careful!” Donnie Boy made his face look sincere. 

Soon, the three had ordered. “Joe and Fred Junior talked about some tennis people Donnie had never heard of. Suddenly he leapt to his feet! “Uh-oh! Can you guys watch my trophy for a second? I’ll be right back.” Without waiting, Donnie strode into the kitchen. Joe glanced after him, but turned back to the conversation. In a few moments, Donnie returned and sat. Joe and Fred Junior stared at him. “Oh, I had to change my order. I forgot I want a cheeseburger, not just a hamberder.” 

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They talked for a few moments when Donnie called out, “LOOK!” He leapt up, pointing toward the kitchen. Thick white smoke was coming out. The fire alarm shrieked at them mercilessly. The sprinklers soaked them. The quiet chatter of the dining room shattered into cacophony like a dropped stack of dishes. No-one noticed Donnie Boy slip the Trophy into his gym bag. 

The fire damage to the Club was only a few thousand dollars. No-one in the kitchen had any idea how the fire had started. The Head Chef was, nonetheless handed a pink slip. Joe was reprimanded for Junior’s injury. He never received the promised tip. Indeed, Fred Senior had instead threatened to sue the instructor “for every f###ing penny he had” unless he agreed to give a summer’s worth of free lessons to both boys. He rumbled and grumbled before he crumbled.

A few weeks later, Donnie Boy came by to practice his putting and chipping on the practice green. When he checked in, he opened up a pocket in his golf bag and handed a large trophy to what’s his face — the freckled guy with red hair — who often checked people in. Luckily, he had a name tag: WALLACE. “Wally, could you please do me a favor and get this trophy back into the trophy case. Joe was showing it to me when the kitchen caught fire. Wanting to protect it, I shoved it into my gym bag. Well, of course, here it is now, safe and sound.” 

“Oh, you were here when they had that fire! Wow! That was something.” 

“Yes, Wally! It was scary. Nobody knows how it started, right?” 

“No sir. Weird. The cook said someone had apparently spilled cooking oil all over one of the stovetops. No-one remembers doing it or seeing it. Anyway, I’ll make sure it gets back where it belongs.” 

“Thank you so much, Wally.” 

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Neither Wallace nor the receptionist noticed that the name of last year’s club champion had been replaced. Donny Boy had scratched the original tag beyond recognition and then had taken it to a jeweler. Donny explained that he had been mad at his Dad and scratched his Dad’s name off of the trophy plaque. Donny clenched his nails into his fist until tears appeared. He explained that Dad would black and blue him if he found out. The jeweler swore it as a low price for the new engraving, but Donny Boy had to pay ten dollars of his own money that he had stolen from his sister’s purse. But it was worth it. Every time he walked through the club lobby, he glanced over at the Club Championship Trophy and it made him feel how special he was. 

Months later, the actual champion, who had since moved to California, returned to play a match with an old buddy of his. He wanted to remind his buddy about his skill and on the way out to court six, pointed to the Trophy in the display case. “Oh, look. What do you know. There I am,” he drawled jokingly. 

His friend glanced in. “Yeah, yeah. Well today…What the—?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. He pointed at the Trophy Case wordlessly.

The champion stepped slowly toward the glass case. He stopped only when his nose touched the glass. His mouth fell open. His name was gone. Donny Boy had instead had his own name engraved. “Who the hell is this?” He seemed to be addressing the question to the universe, but if he was, the universe didn’t answer. 

At least not in so many words.

———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Other stories of the mythical and completely fictional child sociopath, Donny Boy. 

Donnie Boy Plays Bull-Dazzle Man

Donnie Learns Golf

Donnie Visits Granny!

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Donnie Boy Plays Soldier Man

Donnie Plays Captain Man

Donnie takes a Blue Ribbon in Spelling

 

Overheard Conversations of Fiction

13 Saturday Jun 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, story, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

cheat, collution, con man, conversation, fiction, graft, GRU, KGB, Putin, story, treason

“Nyet, nyet, Puppy. I told you. Polls mean nothing. You just stick to your strength: Cruelty.”

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“If you say so, Poppa Putey Bear. But it’s hard. You know? Everyone’s out to get me.”

“I told you before. Don’t listen to anyone who disagrees with you.” 

“I know. I know. But it’s so hard to be Dick-tater. Maybe, I should have more rallies. But we still have the damned CHINA virus. If I have a rally, a rally it might kill some of the people who’d vote for me. Maybe none. Maybe all. Maybe some. Who knows? We’ll see.” 

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“Da! Da! Hold a rally! Great idea. Just have them sign a waiver. They won’t read it! They’ll just sign it. Make a joke about it. Blame it on the lawyers. They’ll laugh with you. And, you’ll be safe from lawsuits. A few hundred of your followers dying is a good thing. Powerful. It shows how much you value their lives — not at all. And that will make all the others realize that you are super-powerful because you can get folks to kill themselves! Another day, another step toward Dictator.”

“I hate being President. I want to be Dick-Tater!”

“You will be. Just be patient.”

“But what if they wake up and realize I haven’t actually done anything to make their life better. Not in three years.”

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“They don’t care! They only care about what you tell them to care about. Tell them — this is a good one — tell them you would have made their world perfect but you just don’t have enough power. Tell them you need absolute power to make their world perfect. Just keep telling them how great it’s going to be and how great they have it now. Just keep telling them there is no virus. And even if they do get sick, tell them they can take a bogus drug or drink bleach.”

“But what if one of them dies from taking the drug?” 

“Now, Puppy, we’ve talked about this before. What do you always say?” 

“It’s not my fault. It’s Obama. It’s China. It’s WHO. It’s a liberal hoax. It’s the fake media. It’s Hillary’s fault. It’s the CDC’s fault. It’s George Soros’s fault. It’s Muslims. It’s Black People. It’s NATO’s fault. It’s the UN’s fault. It’s the governor’s fault. It’s the mayor’s fault. It’s the ANTIFA! It’s the Mexicans. It’s the immigrants. It’s the Deep State. It’s the anti-conspiracy theory conspiracy!”

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Photo by CDC on Pexels.com

“Okay, okay, Puppy. I can only stand so much of your BS. I have things to do, Puppy. Don’t call until you have something important to say. Understand?”

“Yes, Poppy Putey Bear.” 

“Good boy. Now go kick Billious Barr or Missy Lindsey to make yourself feel better.” 

selective focus photography of black rotary phone

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Series of Fictional Stories that are meant to illustrate how the mind of a fictional child sociopath works.

Donnie Plays Bull-dazzle Man!

Donnie Plays Soldier Man!

Donnie Plays Doctor Man!

Donnie Learns Golf!

Donnie Visits Granny!

Donnie Gets a Hamster!

Donnie Boy Plays Captain Man

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon for Spelling

 

 

The URGENT E-mail

31 Sunday May 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, management, politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, ecology, fiction, greed, pandemic, Sci-Fi, Science fiction, story, USA

man in black holding phone

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“You ready to head home, Barry?” 

“Yeah, just let me read this URGENT e-mail. Hold on.” 

DO NOT REPLY TO THIS USERID. THIS WAS SENT FROM A DISCONNECTED SERVICE MACHINE. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, PLEASE DIAL THE TOLL FREE NUMBER AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS MESSAGE. 

“What the heck? I’d better read the rest.” 

WARNING: You have an incompatibility possibility between your X-CalDYS system CWP and your YODEL system HGH. If this continues, you will either cease to exist or your SNABLE account will be cancelled or both or neither. In any case, please fix this immediately by following the proper procedures. Dial 1-800-555-9876 for help. 

“What procedures? What are they talking about? I didn’t even know I had these systems.” 

“Sorry, Barry, I can’t help you on this one. Hey, it’s 8 PM. I’ve been going since six this morning. I’m gone.” 

“See you tomorrow. I’d better call.” 

Barry’s fingers beeped out the tones and then heard the cheery voice of concatenated speech: 

“You have reached the help center. Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and you’ll be helped by the first available agent. Meanwhile, please listen to these important and informative messages from our CEO!

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“Hello fellow employees. Our results for the second quarter of last year are not so far behind the analysts’ expectations for our results for the third quarter of next year as they had been thought to be by the fifth quarter of this year. What does this mean for you? Work harder! Work smarter!! And, whatever you do, help make us the most efficient company in the world so my bonus will be bigger. Next quarter, we….” 

The pre-recorded and completely irrelevant message of the CEO was replaced by the concatenated speech synthesis.

“Thank you for holding. Press 1 for help on Windows, Doors, and Sewer Pipes. Press 2 for help on recipes for Chicken Tetrazzini. Press 3 for general counseling. Press 4 for other help.” 

Barry jabbed the 4 key. 

“Thank you. You have reached general help. Please enter your employee number followed by the Hunkdab.” 

Barry keyed in his employee number. “The what? Hunkdab? This must have been mistranslated from Serbo-Croatian. Probably the pound sign.” 

“That is not a valid employee number. There is no corresponding record in the SNABLE system. Please enter a valid employee number.” 

“What? Maybe the asterisk key?” 

He rekeyed his employee number followed by the asterisk. 

“That is not a valid employee number. There is no corresponding record in the SNABLE system. Please enter a valid employee number.” 

“Oh, crap. What is this all about? Geez. It’s 8:30. I’m outta here.” 

Barry moved the cursor to the entry line and typed “LOGOFF.” 

The computer beeped. “ERROR 95433-J: Machine cannot be logged off by a non-existent user.” 

“What the–? What is this? Some kind of virus?” He hit the power switch. “What a day.” Barry packed up his laptop and opened his office door. 

Beyond the door, the dim hallways and locked doors that typified the drab and depressing departmental decor had disappeared. Instead, Barry looked out on pure whiteness, infinite and featureless in every direction. He blinked. Tentatively, he began to stick the tip of his finger into the white goo, thought better of it, and used his pen instead. The pen felt as though it was going into hot tar. It disappeared beyond the plane of his doorframe. He pulled the pen back. The half that had been enveloped in the whiteness was gone. 

He went back to his desk, grabbed some loose change and tossed a few pennies into the white space. He waited for the coins to hit something far below. Barry cocked his head. A long time went by. There was no sound. He shouted into the whiteness, waiting to hear a tiny echo. 

Nothing. 

“Okay. Okay. Possibility one. I’m crazy. Possibility two. I’m in some really new weird part of the universe. Possibility three. I’m the victim of an elaborate practical joke.” 

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J slid to S’s work bubble and peered at S’s progressively overheated dance. S blinked at J’s presence and joined her hands. The bubble popped. 

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“Problems with your A-life studies, S?” 

“Yes, Master. Just like all my previous experiments, the organization reaches a certain level of complexity and it self-destructs. Each of the autonomous agents still seems rational but the whole doesn’t work. What am I doing wrong here, Master?” 

J laughed his mighty laugh. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, S. Even I haven’t totally mastered the emergence.” 

“I guess you did have a problem…there were some creations you had to scratch. Just recently, the Sol Project, I believe?” 

“Rumor races faster than fact. I call it the Earth Project after the planet with the intelligent life forms, but you are right, I might well have to scrap it. Same problems you’re having but at a larger scale. The so-called intelligent agents are destroying their own ecosystem.” 

air air pollution climate change dawn

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Smart!” said S sarcastically. He pondered for a few moments. “Are they too smart? Is that it?” 

J considered. “I don’t think they are too intelligent. Cetaceans are more intelligent and they are doing just fine except for being killed off by the two-legged apes and having their oceans befouled. No, these particular forms grew into this weird combination of being intelligent problem solvers and inventors yet nearly blind to Ka and Karma.” 

“How can they survive at all?” 

“Not completely blind. I said ‘nearly’ blind. They are aware of the fact that they are destroying the ecosystem in a kind of frenzied self-centered greed. They have actually made a scientific study of their own behavior; written books about what they call ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’.” 

“Well, then, with all those insights, what’s the problem?” 

“They aren’t doing anything about it, or at least not enough to survive. Instead of baking more pies, they squabble about the pie they have.”  

“It’s the same thing really in my little experiment. Everybody knows the company has too much bureaucracy and greed and some people do try to fix it but as often as not, the fixes make things worse. But, you obviously already solved it for the company case, right?” 

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Barry found the number for the crisis line, picked up the phone to dial. Then, he noticed that the whiteness was creeping closer like a sea of living, moving, Elmer’s Glue, thick and deadly. And closer. And closer. The office, just a few feet in front of him, was disappearing with a hiss. He dropped the phone, turned, then ran to the emergency exit. Then, he remembered that it was locked from the outside to prevent people from stealing equipment — though, in fact, that had never once happened. 

“What the hell?!” were the last words he uttered. 

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————————————-

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Pies on Offer: Mincemeat & Rhubarb

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Donnie Boy Plays Captain Man

25 Monday May 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, management, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

criminal, drowning, evil, fiction, liar, maritime, ocean, sailboat, sailing, sociopath, story

photo of sailboat on sea during daytime

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“Donnie, look, I told you. My Dad has strictly forbidden me to let anyone else steer. Get away from the wheel.”

“I know navigation, Biff. I’m following Pluto.” 

“What are you talking about Donnie? You can’t see Pluto with the naked eye?” Biff shook his head; sometimes, it was unfathomable how ignorant Donnie could be about even commonsense things.

Donnie went on. “It’s the brightest star in the sky! It’s huge. It’s Jupiter! It’s the Jupiter of stars, I mean. It’s the biggest and the best and the smartest and it’s the farthest away so it’s the brightest so we can see it!” 

eye of the storm image from outer space

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As Donnie spoke, his voice became more and more impassioned. At the end of this meaningless drivel of words, Biff found himself wondering whether perhaps everything he knew about navigation and astronomy were somehow wrong. Then he sighed and shook his head. 

“Donnie, look. We need to get back to the dock. Look at the radar. There’s a storm coming. See these?” Biff pointed to a bunch of blurs on the screen. 

It made no sense to Donald so he ignored it. Best to change the subject, he thought. “Hey, Biff, how come you didn’t bring any girls on board? I could use one about now. I mean, if we’re going to die in a matter of minutes, why not spend it making them.… Do you keep any on board, like chained up?” 

“No. God, that’s sick. Donnie, go tell the crew that we’ve got to come about. Now.” 

Donnie thought to himself, what a big prick. He thinks just because his daddy owns a sailboat, he can order me around. Yeah, we’ll see about that. Jerk. Prick. “Aye, Aye, Sir!” Donnie saluted as he said this but Biff was looking at the instruments. 

photography of clouds during dusk

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Donnie went to the cabin door. He could see that Biff was paying no attention so he shot him the bird and thought to himself: my friend Jeffrey would have thought to chain some girls on board. Young, skinny ones. I could beat the crap out of them till they did what I want. I could be just like Daddy. 

The wind freshened so that Donnie had to shout to be heard. “BIFF SAYS TO DROP ANCHOR!” 

John and Mitt looked at each other and frowned. “WHAT?!” John yelled. 

Donnie repeated himself, “BIFF SAYS TO DROP ANCHOR!!” 

Mitt scuttled over to Donnie Boy, “That makes no sense. Look at the horizon! There’s a storm coming! We don’t…you must have misheard him. Go ask him again!”

Donnie screamed, “I’M NOT YOUR DAMNED ERRAND BOY! GO ASK HIM YOURSELF!” 

aerial photo of waterfalls

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Mitt stepped up onto a railing to get around Donnie. As he did so, Donnie gave in, as he often did, to a sudden urge to hurt someone. He wrapped one arm around the back of Mitt’s knee and shoved hard with this other hand. The boat lurched just then and instead of watching Mitt scramble to keep from falling overboard, which would have been great fun, he instead watched Mitt plummet into the ocean — which was even more fun! Donnie looked around. No-one had seen it. He held tightly onto the gunwale as he leaned over to watch Mitt bobbing among the waves. He was waving his hand and shouting something about throwing a life preserver. Hell, why, thought Donnie. He’s already wearing a life preserver. Stupid. Mitt was screaming in earnest now. Somehow his desperate voice carried enough to alert John who managed to slide and walk over to the starboard. He looked over to see Mitt floundering in the icy water. He looked at Donnie who was standing right next to a life preserver. 

“THROW HIM THE LIFE PRESERVER!” he screamed. 

Just then, the boat lurched again and the boom of the mainsail flew across the deck and caught John across the back of the head and it made a wonderful sound to Donnie’s ears as it cracked the back of John’s skull. John flew into the water in a wonderful sort of drunken cartwheel that was great fun to watch. 

Donnie figured he would go somewhere where he couldn’t get hit by the bang. Or blast. Whatever it was called. So many fancy schmansy terms. Holding on against the bucking of the small craft, Donnie managed to get back into the small cabin. 

Biff saw him out of the corner of his eye and yelled, “What the hell is going on out there? Are those guys too drunk to help me?”

“I don’t know. I told them to … I told them your orders and they said to tell you “F&&& You! They wanted to drop anchor and watch the lightening.” 

“WHAT?!! Don’t be ridiculous! Why would they do that? Did you tell them a storm was coming?” 

island during golden hour and upcoming storm

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

“Oh, they already knew. You can see it without the radar gun, Biff. Look!” Donnie pointed one of his teeny fingers toward the horizon. The sky had turned and ugly dark orange color. 

“Oh, crap. Why aren’t they trimming the sails then?!” 

“Biff, when I talked to them, they sounded high. Like they’d been smoking marijuana or drinking beer.” 

“Okay, Donnie but where are they? I don’t see either of them?” 

“Don’t worry, Biff, I’m sure they’re doing something to help you out. But, like you said, I don’t know anything about sailing so I can’t make head or tail out of it.” 

“You’ve got to help me trim the sail! That wind’ll tear the mast right off the boat! Or, capsize us.” 

Donnie looked at Biff, “God damn, Biff. With all your money, you couldn’t afford to get a sail the right size in the first place?” 

“WHAT?! Donnie, oh CRAP!” 

There was a terrific crash and the boat seemed to be coming apart. 

A string of unprintable curse words came out of Biff’s mouth and then he screamed some primitive non-verbal cry of rage. He ground his teeth together. How the hell could this be happening!? he asked himself.  (More profanity followed). Biff clenched his jaw and his hands tightly. Damn, he thought; I’ll be grounded now for the rest of my life! Or, the summer, for sure.

As horrible as that might be, Biff was no dummy and realized it was better to be alive and spend the rest of the summer in the house than it was to be dead. “COME ON, DONNIE. HELP ME GET THE DINGHY.”

“I’M NOT LETTING YOU DO MY THINGY!” screamed Donnie. 

“DINGHY! DINGHY! You dolt, not your thingy. Where are John & Mitt?” 

Biff let out another string of the usual profanities interspersed with some nautical terms and the names of various Saints. He poked a button on the Captain’s console. He managed to have a strained conversation of sorts with the Coast Guard who said they would come give them a hand or a chopper if at all possible. 

boat military coast guard

Photo by Onur Kurtic on Pexels.com

Relieved a little to know help was on the way, Biff cautiously worked his way out onto the deck to search for his friends. He was soon convinced that they must have fallen overboard.

He came back in the cabin. “DONNIE, I THINK THEY WENT OVERBOARD! I don’t see either one anywhere. Help me LOOK!” 

Donnie Boy put his teeny hand near his temple and said, “AYE, AYE, SIR!” 

Donnie cautiously went over to a part of the railing that had good hand holds. “BIFF!” he shouted. “BIFF! OVER HERE! I FOUND THEM!” 

Biff worked his way across the deck to where Donnie stood. Donnie held on with both hands but gestured starboard with his head. “THERE!” he shouted.

Biff leaned over to look into the waves. The waves were so high, it would be hard to see them. He might just catch a glimpse. They would soon freeze in this cold Atlantic water, he thought. As Biff leaned over for a better look, Donnie got down behind him on all fours and then stood up suddenly throwing Biff overboard with the weight of his body. He quickly stood up and watched Biff struggling in the water. “THROW ME A LIFE PRESERVER! THROW ME A LIFE PRESERVER! I FELL!”

Donnie held on with one hand as tight as he could but he couldn’t resist saluting “Captain Biff” one last time, “AYE, AYE, SIR!” Donnie shook his head. It was so easy to destroy people on your own side. They kept assuming you would work with them and you could literally get away with murder. That idiot Biff still didn’t realize that Donnie had pushed him. It was a lot more pleasant in the cabin, but Donnie braved the rain and wind to watch Biff’s stupid face as he realized right before hypothermia and exhaustion turned his features to stone that Donnie was not, in fact, going to throw him a life preserver. 

Later, safe and sound in the cabin of the large Coast Guard Cutter, Donnie tearfully explained how the storm had taken them all by surprise. Slowly, and as though against his will, he let it be known that his shipmates had been drinking a lot and smoking marijuana and that they began to get naked and engage sexually with each other because that’s what pot does to people and booze.

“It was disgusting! It was awful. They tried to force me to join them. Of course, I wouldn’t. But they were so busy fighting me that I guess they didn’t notice the storm coming. When it did, they panicked and started screaming at each other. I stayed inside the cabin. I didn’t know what to do. It’s probably my fault I guess that they’re dead. If I had given in, maybe they would have noticed the storm. But it’s so gross. I just couldn’t.”

The kindly gray-haired officer in charge put his hand on Donnie’s shoulder to comfort him. “It’s not your fault son. You did the right thing not giving in to those homos.” 

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

Donnie bit his quivering lower lip and nodded sagely, “I suppose you’re right, Sir. But Biff. Mitt. John. Whatever their sins, now, they are gone. It’s terrible. Just terrible. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever really get over it, Sir.” 

Donnie was playing the part so well and then suddenly he damned near laughed out loud. He had learned to see this coming in himself and quickly bit his tongue and jammed his right toe into the back of his left calf. He didn’t want to get hurt, but he did manage to cause enough pain to wipe the grin off his face. 

He thought to himself, and not for the last time, that it’s so easy to cheat people if you pretend to be their friend. How stupid everyone is, he thought, quickly hiding his grin in his hands. He pretended to cry as the idiot Coast Guard guy again patted his shoulder to console him about the loss of his friends, or as Donnie himself liked to think of them, his toys. 

herd of sheep

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—————————————-

Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man

Donnie gets a Hamster!

Donnie visits Granny! 

Donnie plays soldier man

Donnie Learns Golf

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon for Spelling

Author page on Amazon

 

 

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