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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: Conman

Essays on America: The Update Problem

31 Friday Jul 2020

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

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

America, Conman, COVID19, Democracy, pandemic, politics, USA

photography of maple trees

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Things change. 

Sometimes, the external world changes. One day it’s sunny. The next day it pours. 

If you go outside on the sunny day and you enjoy it, that’s wonderful.
The next day, however, as I said, rain comes.
Sadly, you must go to the grocery store. 

You have a choice: You can be like Albert and take a look out the window at the rain and decide to wear a rain coat and take an umbrella.

people near buildings during nighttime with lights

Photo by Alex Knight on Pexels.com

 
Or
You can be like Teeny and refuse to look out the window. Instead, you open up the refrigerator door and you look inside. “No rain! Good!”  And then, remembering how much fun it was to walk in the sunshine, you stride out the door confidently in your nice casual clothes and soon to be soggy sweater.

 

woman in black coat standing on beach

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I’m sure all of us, at one time or another, have played the part of Teeny. Despite all evidence to the contrary, we insist that: we’re not really getting any older/heavier/slower/thinner/more hooked/ etc. To be exhaustive would be exhausting because it’s a long list, but you get the idea.

Be Smart. Be like Albert. 

 

close up photo of spider

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There are more subtle forms of the update problem. 

Suppose that Albert and Teeny go to a speech by someone, let’s call him ConMan, who touts himself as an extremely successful entrepreneur and that, for a price, he can teach you to do the same. It all sounds quite interesting and plausible to both Albert and Teeny. They each send in a check for $50 to get their first set of training materials before they make a commitment for the $5000 investment which will allow them to eventually become millionaires.

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The next day, Albert and Teeny see a headline in the newspaper that says that ConMan is under indictment for mail fraud, copyright infringement, and running a pyramid scheme.

Albert turns to his friend and says, “Crap! We’ve been had!”

Teeny says, “Not so fast. Let’s hear his side of the story.” 

 

And sure enough, on the nightly news there were three stories about various unethical and criminal actions of the ConMan (involving a person, a man, a woman, a camera & a TV and by the way, isn’t that basically what you need for a porn film? Curious coincidence #422) .  And, then, ConMan appeared on TV and said, quite sincerely, “It’s all lies. It’s all just my enemies trying to take me down so that immigrants can come here and ruin everything and take everything and rape your wife and kick your dog and I’m a stable genius and you must ONLY listen to me and to NO-ONE else because I might have to kick them under the bus too. And many people, the best people, my people, the real people, the ones who send me contributions so I can keep this wonderful money-making machine we call CONMAN ENTERPRISES going and I want to share that wealth all that unimaginable wealth with all of YOU and that’s why you must do *whatever it takes* folks to keep me generating money for YOU.”

The station switches to a commercial break and Albert’s well practiced finger taps mute before a single lying phoneme spews out about the wonder drug that will at last cure the heartbreak of having to sleep every night. 

crop person cleaning toilet with brush

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Albert laughs and looks at Teeny. “Well, I guess that settles that!” 

Teeny says, “Yep. Just as I suspected. All fake news. He’s innocent.” 

After picking his jaw back up off the floor, Albert says, “WHAT? You can’t be serious! That was the most unconvincing nonsensical and irrelevant excuse or lie or whatever you want to call it that I’ve ever heard. He’s a self-serving ConMan.”

actor adult business cards

Photo by Nikolay Ivanov on Pexels.com

Teeny scrunches up his face and says, “OKKK, but I’m still going to take his course and become a millionaire.” 

Albert shakes his head as though it had been a struck tuning fork. “WHAT?! What are you talking about? Don’t you understand? He doesn’t know anything about making real money. The only ‘business’ he’s in is making money off suckers like you and me. And, he’s going to jail for it!”

“Not if we can prevent it,” Teeny said.

Albert countered, “He was set to gyp us out of $5000! Why do you want to help him?”

 

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Teeny crossed his arms and literally said “Hmph!” as though he had been cast as a cartoon character in an early Bugs Bunny cartoon. Perhaps Leghorn the Chicken. Yeah, that works.

Anyway, Albert joined a class action suit to get his $50 back. 

Teeny was still looking to become a millionaire based on ConMan’s con so he sent another $5000 to the ConMan and joined a protest to free ConMan.

Teeny found out that ConMan was indeed a con man. But Teeny did not update his brain to the implications of that knowledge. Or, he found the update so painful that he decided he would just pretend not to know. 

Be smart. Be like Albert. 

 

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———————————————-

The Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

In case you missed the Bill Barr hearing, here is a slightly satirical summary. I say “slightly” and I long for the days when I could not have added that modifier.

https://petersironwood.com/2020/07/29/he-is-the-very-model-of-a-modern-consigliere-general/

 

If you have the courage, you could go beyond Albert and be more like John Lewis. Courage, strategically applied.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Lewis_(civil_rights_leader)

Donnie Visits Granny!! 

10 Friday Apr 2020

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

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Conman, crime, death, fiction, greed, inheritance, life, psychopathy, sociopath, story

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Donnie looked from one gray green wall to another. Nothing to break the monotony but outlets, weird machines, some stupid hangers for charts. Also, it smelled bad.

Worse, Donnie was bored. There was nothing interesting in this entire room. Who the hell designed this? Certainly, nothing worth stealing. Well, not necessarily stealing, he thought to himself. Getting someone in trouble though? It didn’t really matter what the thing was worth; what’s most important is to make it bad for the other person but have no possible blame on me. Good Lord, I’m smart. But there’s nobody here to blame except Daddy and if he found out, he’d make me play “good dog/bad dog” for a week. If only Maryanne were here or, better, Fred Junior. He was supposed to come visit too. 

Granny was asleep and snoring. Dad, folded up his newspaper; arose and walked out, seeming to forget that his young son was there too. Donnie stood up; took one step; stopped; took another step. “Sir?” He enquired. 

Dad turned in surprise. Oh, of course, he thought. The dumb one. “Hey, Donnie, come on. Granny’s asleep. Let’s go grab a bite.” 

Soon, they were sitting at a small round table on uncomfortable chairs and eating off a chipped and badly cleaned red formica top — eating hospital hamburgers, cold greasy fries, and sipping ersatz coke. But Donnie didn’t care. This was more fun that sitting quietly in a room with the old lady. Daddy seemed to be in a good mood, so he chanced a question. 

tables and chairs outside an irish pub

Photo by ready made on Pexels.com

“Daddy, why do we come visit Granny? Don’t you — I mean — do you find it boring?” 

“Boring? Of Course, she’s boring. She’s a bag of bones. Not much mind there to begin with, but now? Just goes on and on or says nothing at all.”

“So why did we have to come visit?” 

“You think just because she’s useless that she doesn’t have value? Don’t be stupid. Don’t you know why we’re here? Can you really be that stupid?”

“Value? What do you mean? She doesn’t have any value that I can see.”

“Donnie, Donnie, Donnie! She’s worth a fortune! As soon as she dies, we’ll be rich. Richer. That’s why we’re here?”

“But Daddy. How much?”

pile of gold round coins

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“That’s just it, Donnie. I don’t know. She may be useless, but one thing she can do is change her will. And cut us out. She won’t say what’s in it now. So, we have to pretend to be nice to her. When he gets so senile she cannot remember what’s happening, we’ll have her committed and we’ll take charge. I have the lawyers all lined up. But first, you know, we have to play nice. So don’t complain when you come see her. Wait till her will’s read. That’s when you find out how much she really values you.”

“Okay, Daddy, but can’t we just come see her right before she goes senile?” 

“Yes, but no-one can tell. She could have a stroke today. She could even conk off right now in her sleep. We won’t be that lucky though. She could stay ‘competent’, as they call it, for ten more years. Crap! I hope not. Or, she could fall and break her hip. Then, you know, half of ‘em die within a month.” 

“Hello, Father. Squirt.” It was Junior. 

Donnie hated being called ‘Squirt’ — it wasn’t his fault he’s been born later. But he had learned that saying: “Don’t call me that!” just made Fred more, not less likely to say it again. No, there were other ways. Other ways to get back.

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Junior said, “I just saw Granny. She wondered what became of you two.” 

Soon all three of them were crowded into her tiny semi-private cubby. Granny looked a them and shook her head. “What a sorry lot. Son, go somewhere else for awhile. I want to talk with my grandsons privately.” 

Fred grumbled but arose and headed back toward the cafeteria. It had already occurred to him on multiple occasions that it might be worth being her Angel of Death. But even the idiot cops knew where to look. If he slipped her something in her IV, they’d know he had means, opportunity, and motive. Screw it. He could deal with seeing her once a week. He had his newspaper, an endless source of items that say loud and clear: Hey here’s a possible sucker! This one’s husband just died, left her some dough, and she knows nothing about finance. Or, how about this one — this old lady dies, her husband has no cash, and she has to sell her house fast. That means cheap. Yeah, thank God for the newspaper. Lots of stupid people to screw over. 

Granny smiled and spoke in confidential tones to her grandsons. “Your Dad is a pain in my butt. He always was. Even as a kid. You boys seem pretty decent though. As it stands, I must tell you. I’m leaving it to you. And, if it were just a matter of how I feel, I would keep it that way. But your Dad is so thin-skinned. I realize it might actually kill him. I don’t want that. So how about if I do you each a third? How does that sound?”

Junior shrugged. “Anything’s fine, Granny.” 

Donnie thought that was a rather pathetic answer. “Granny, we love you and you’re going to be around for a very long many years! Don’t talk about giving stuff away. You are the one who should enjoy it!.” 

“Thanks, Donnie. Please don’t tell your dad. I want to keep him guessing for awhile. Now, how about you two help me get in my walker. I’m getting stronger every day. That damned flu about did me in though. Every day, I go a few more times around these halls. We can pass the time. I can tell you stories about when your dad was little.”

Junior shook his head slightly. Donnie thought that might be even more boring than sitting in her bare room and listening to her breathe. 

They got her on her feet. As a reward, Granny kept her promise and started droning on about how Fred was when he was only five and stole something or other and was so clever something or other and he got so scared something or ever and peed his pants and then something or other. Donnie felt he would actually die of boredom. Then, something echoed in his head: ‘peed his pants’ — hold on. Hold on! There could be use in that story after all. He could store that away and use it against Daddy if need be. 

“Granny! That was a good story! Tell me again!” 

red school blur factory

Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com

Donnie took a new interest in Granny’s stories, now that he realized she knew things that might prove useful later. Round and round they went. Junior hardly said anything, but Donnie asked a few questions here and there. He could see that Granny was getting very tired. In fact, Donnie himself was tired. But if he kept encouraging, and kept asking questions, it just might work.  Round and round they went. Round and round. It wasn’t working! Donnie was growing impatient. Why wouldn’t she have a heart attack? Damned old bag of bones. Suddenly, something that Daddy had said echoed in his brain. He glanced over to Junior. He had to bite is lip — hard — to keep from laughing. A nurse and Daddy were talking at the entrance to Granny’s room. They were looking straight at each other and not paying any attention to the threesome down the hall. Now or never. Donnie shout: “No Fred, not so fast! NO! You’re hurting her. Here! Let me… FRED!! NO!!” 

Donnie’s heart was pounding. He hated to take this kind of risk, but it seemed to be working perfectly. Granny was tired and losing her balance after the first twist. Now, she only needed the slightest of nudges. Donnie did it with his hip. Over she went. The nurse was already half running in her tight white skirt and clacking workshoes toward the old bag of bones, but she would hit the ground long before anyone could reach her. “GRANNY! Here! I’ll get you! Junior! Junior! I can’t hold her!” 

Of course, Donnie wasn’t really trying to hold her. He was adding a push to her fall.

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After the medical team came and took care of Granny’s newly broken hip, and she was well-sedated, the trio got into the car and drove back home. Donny plunged ahead with his plan. It was good to strike first. 

He’d have to appear genuinely upset. He bit his tongue and stabbed his teeny fingers into his palms, not enough to bleed, but enough to help him into the pain zone. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I tried to catch her but I wasn’t strong enough. I thought Junior… never mind.” 

Dad was hooked and asked, “‘Never mind’ — what?” 

Donnie said, “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to say anything. Tattling is wrong.”

Dad had not only bitten on the hook. He had swallowed it as well. “Donnie. Tell me what the hell is going on. Or, I’ll beat it out of you!”

Donnie put a pained look on his face and glanced at Junior. “I’m sorry brother. So sorry.” 

Donnie had developed his skill of laughing at other people’s idiocy while he appeared the whole time to be crying, wracked with pain or guilt. “Daddy, I don’t think Junior meant to have her fall. He was just … playing … right Junior. You didn’t mean to hurt her, right?”

Later that night, after Fred Senior finished beating Junior, he went into the kitchen and poured himself four fingers of Scotch. He liked that first buzz. He poured himself another one and downed that one as well. Suddenly, he recalled his casual comment earlier in the evening. He had mentioned that if his mom broke her hip, she might die. Could his dumb son be smart enough to have broken her hip to speed up his inheritance? Fred chuckled. No, he thought. That’s crazy. There’s no possible way. It was Junior…or was it? He poured himself another four fingers, downed it and staggered up to bed where he fell into a deep stupor. In the morning, the insightful clarity of the previous night had dissolved into the fog of a hangover. There was a remnant of dislike for both his sons; a sour aftertaste. He didn’t know why. Nor, did he care. 

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———————————

 Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man!  

Donnie Plays Doctor Man!

Donnie Learns Golf!

Donnie Plays Soldier Man!

Author Page on Amazon

Donnie Plays Doctor Man!

03 Friday Apr 2020

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

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

childhood, Conman, crime, criminal, evil, family, fiction, sociopath, story

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{Since this is written from a “God’s eye view” it might be obvious to you that it’s fiction. But in case it isn’t, this is fiction and any resemblance to actual characters is purely coincidental. Anyway, these stories take place on the third planet around a small, ordinary star at the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy}.

hotrod die cast model on board

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Donnie was bored, and had been ever since school let out and there were no little kids to bully. Junior refused to play Monopoly with him any more. What a cruddy older brother, thought Donnie. Just because I was smart enough to hide lots of $500 bills in my pants before the game started. He’s just jealous because he didn’t think of it first! 

Donnie liked pouting. Not so much as bullying though! Bullying was fun! 

Except that time when little Billy had punched him in the nose. He hadn’t been expecting — NO NO NO! Donnie screamed in his head: IT NEVER HAPPENED! IT NEVER HAPPENED!. 

But still Donnie wanted to get back at Billy. He would probably have to wait for school to re-open though. What do do now? What to do? Maryanne and Junior were playing with their own friends. Mommy was re-organizing the attic. Hmmm, thought Donnie. 

He very carefully tip-toed into his sister’s room. He looked around. What to do? If I had some ants, I could put them in the drawer to scare her, but spiders would be better. What about a snake? Too much trouble. Wait! I know! I know! A grasshopper! I’ll go get a grasshopper! 

nature animal insect grasshopper

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Donnie grew excited when he thought about his sister opening a drawer and peeing her pants when a grasshopper jumped out at her. Speaking of peeing her pants, Donnie could see her sister’s clothes hamper in her closet. The door squeaked, he knew, but he slid it open a bit further. He found some used underwear. This gave him another great idea. I am such a genius thought Donnie. I might — no, I am the smartest person ever. 

Luckily, there was a box of Kleenex on Maryanne’s desk. She won’t notice one missing tissue. He carefully took out a tissue and turned back toward the closet. Better use two, he thought. Don’t want to get her cooties! Maybe three is even better. 

He used the tissues to carefully pick up his sister’s white panties, hand-stitched with a little heart. Next, he stuck his head out in the hall. No sign of his siblings. He could hear mom puttering around upstairs. Good. He snuck into his brother’s room and put the panties in his brother’s desk in the upper right side drawer. He closed the drawer and thought. Hmm. How can I get mommy to look in there? I know! 

He rushed into his own room and took out the Silver Dollar he had kept there. It was the first dollar he had ever earned. He earned it by beating up one of the little kids who was showing it off to his friends. Of course, the story he had told his family was that he had “won it” by being really smart at playing cards. They had all seen it. They all knew it was one of his prized possessions because it was so shiny. He put it in the drawer right on top of his sister’s panties. He chuckled to himself a little as he closed the drawer. He snuck a look outside and listened carefully. No-one coming. 

He went back to his own room and took out a book on American History. Somebody somebody something some time something. Somebody else. It was a long book and it said nothing about him. But for some reason, his parents thought he should do extra reading in the summer. 

pile of books

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How stupid! Why did books have so many words anyways? He carefully put the book on he bedside table so he could easily grab it if he needed it. Then, he went back to daydreaming. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he heard mommy descending from the attic. He grabbed the book and opened it to a random page. 

As his mom walked by, Donnie pretended not to notice she was there. Her voice rang out from the hall, “Oh, good, Donnie, I see you’re reading that history book. Who are you reading about now?” 

“What? Oh, hi, mom.” He glanced at the page, looking for something with capital letters. “Oh, I’m reading about Purchase!” 

“Purchase? Who’s Purchase? I don’t remember him. What did he do?”

“He — uh — he did lots of amazing stuff. Just wonderful things. So many things! You can’t believe all the things he did. It’s a shame — you know, nobody gives him enough credit. A lot of people don’t even know his name. Or, they forgot. Or, maybe certain people want to forget.”

“Well, Donnie, I’m glad to see you reading, but it’s supposed to rain later so you should get some sunshine now. The doctor says it helps protect against polio.” 

Donnie was annoyed. He could still get a grasshopper to annoy sis, he supposed. It seemed like a very lame prank compared with the panties. “Okay, Mommy. Great idea.” 

Once downstairs, he sauntered over to the weedy edge of the lawn. Almost immediately he saw a grasshopper. “This day is meant for me!” And as he said “me”, he slapped his cupped hands together trapping the grasshopper. He looked at it. Ugly, he thought. Look at those skinny legs. Stupid sideways mouth. It was different from him so he hated it. He hated almost everyone who wasn’t just like him. 

Anyway, it would terrify his sister and that was the point. But it was so ugly! I’ll bet it could still hop even if I took away its front leg. Or legs. I wonder if it will scream. Checking to ensure that he was still alone, he muttered, “Hey, little stupid ugly bug. I’m your doctor! Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. You just need a little operation.” He chuckled.

close up photo of grasshopper

Photo by cmonphotography on Pexels.com

He listened carefully every time he twisted off a leg to see whether the grasshopper would scream. He couldn’t hear anything, but it seemed clear that the grasshopper hated it, so at least there was that. Every time he twisted a leg off, the grasshopper tried more vigorously to wriggle or fly away. When he got done with the forelegs, he began to wonder whether it could hop with only one rear leg. So he twisted that off as well. But then, he thought. Now, it’s ruined. It won’t hop any more and it won’t scare her and how is that fun? It’s useless. He glanced around. No-one was near so he muttered allowed, “Hey, ugly little useless bug. How’s it feel to be so tiny and weak? Look at me, you bug. I’m going to twist your ugly little head off now and there’s nothing you can do about it. How does that make you feel? I’m your doctor, and believe me, it’s for your own good. You’re too ugly to survive.”

Donnie was so excited that he almost forgot to squash everything into the dirt. Hide the evidence and lie about it. It had become something of a mantra — so much so that he was not even aware he was saying it to himself. He considered getting another grasshopper but he saw himself doing pretty much the same thing to it. He decided he’d have to wait on the grasshopper prank till after he was bored pulling them apart. But there was still plenty of fun in store for the rest of the day, he reassured himself.

Mom called all the kids in for lunch, and they sat down to a delicious meal of baloney with mayo on Wonder Bread. Like many, all that baloney made them thirsty and so they drank lots of Kool-Aid. 

After the first pangs of hunger were gone, Donnie said, “Hey Junior! How about a game Monopoly? 

Junior said, “No! You cheat! You steal money —“ 

Mom said, “Play with your little brother, Junior.” 

Donny said, “ME steal! Where’s my Silver Dollar? Huh? Where’s my Silver Dollar?” 

Mom said, “Did you lose your Silver Dollar, Donnie?”

Donny began, “I didn’t lose it — well, I don’t know. Maybe. But I think Junior has it. He was threatening to steal it yesterday — and the day before — and the day before that. So. My guess is he did it.” 

Junior protested, “I never threatened to take your stupid silver dollar!”

Donny yelled, “Well, I say you did! You stole it and you hid it … where did you say you’d hide it? I forget. No, no. I know, you said, I’ll lock it in my desk! That’s what you said.”

Mommy looked quizzically at Junior. “Is that true?” 

Junior ground his teeth, “No! Why would I steal his stupid silver dollar? And why would I tell him where I was going to hide it? Is that hiding anything? And, by the way, I don’t lock my desk. There isn’t even a key. I don’t think there is, anyway.” 

Donny began to pretend to cry, “Mommy, I really like the Silver Dollar. You know. It’s the first one I ever earned. Can’t you please get it back from him?” Here, Donny pointed one of his teeny fingers toward his brother. 

Mommy stood up and sighed. “All right. Let’s get this straightened out right now. Come with me.” She looked back for a moment to make sure they were following. All of them followed her to Junior’s room. 

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Mom walked over to Junior’s desk and frowned. If it were her desk, she would put important things in the upper right drawer. She opened it up and her head jerked back. She had been simply humoring Donnie. She never expected that Junior had really stolen the Silver Dollar. She turned back to her kids. “It’s here. I can’t believe you did this, Junior. Stay in your room till your dad gets home.”

Junior’s mouth hung open. “WHAT!? No. I didn’t steal it. I don’t even — “

“ENOUGH! You’re just making it worse on yourself! Not another word!” She turned, and began walking to the door, her fist clenched beside her. 

Donny said, in a carefully modulated gentle voice, “Mommy? Can I have my Silver Dollar?” 

“Oh, sorry. Sure honey. I got so upset I forgot.” She walked back to the still open drawer and put her fingers down around the plastic that encased the shiny Silver Dollar. She picked up that shiny Silver Dollar … along with a pair of her daughter’s panties.

Mom had no idea that she screamed aloud. She slowly sunk to her knees and began to sob. She barely heard the screaming of Maryanne and Junior behind her. She barely felt the soft, tiny hand. Donnie was patting her gently. 

He seemed to her wise beyond his years; she felt sure that he was consoling her for the bad luck of having mothered a truly evil child. 

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—————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

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